Prelude

D"Arcy Ellington, Lord Gualt, was a fool. There should be no mistaking that point, he reflected as he considered the errand he'd agreed to undertake for the stripling lord. A fool, but a wealthy one, fortunately for Callide, and either fortunately or unfortunately for the Abran populace, had been thrust into an excess of power he was ill-equipped to handle. The untimely death of Ellington's father, the old Lord Gualt, occurred while he was squandering his youth, his health and his father's purse in the dens of Byrewile, else it would have been likely that he, too, would have suffered the same suspect end delivered to his father, his mother, and some eighteen of the household staff, as the ducal manor burned down around their ears in the middle of a particularly long midsummer noctus. Rumor had it the blaze shone at its height like a lighthouse across the plains of Larundy, all the way to Eisenmore itself. A lucky fool, then, as well. But a fool nonetheless.

Eleven ruling houses expressed appropriately phrased sentiments of sympathy as the young lord of the twelfth took his place in the Principus. They were polite, kind, even deferential. The wearing of color was prohibited across the countryside from the short diurna that followed the long night of the massacre until the quaternal Long Day in memoriam. The Earl of Eddingham went so far as to commission a dirge. For the men and women who traveled in the loftiest social circles, the entire affair was at once the meat of every gossips" banquet and the source of every tedium as soon as the thrill of speculation waned.

Happily, the new Lord Gualt was not long in providing them with fresh entertainments. His behavior upon succession exceeded his early dissolutions to a truly shocking degree. There was no vice, no licentious act abhorrent to good company that he did not indulge in openly. Even still, he might have gone on with his status unthreatened. While he was frequently subject to public scorn, his peers either secretly envied him or shared in his profligacy. The boy was fast on his way to becoming the darling rogue of every polite drawing room of consequence in Abra.

His downfall, naturally, was a woman.

There were few things that he disliked more than people who were late for appointments. Most people wouldn't know it to look at him, but he was fastidious in his personal habits. He arrived in RhyDin that morning, spent a couple of hours getting the lay of the land again, and eventually made his way to the gentrified neighborhood of converted row houses at ten minutes before the hour.

Then he waited.

At precisely three p.m. by the local clock tower, he rapped on the heavy wooden door three times, eying his reflection in the polished plaque with a small measure of bemusement. He was dressed for the occasion, a two-piece navy suit, white shirt, blue and green tie. His hair was tied back in an unruly but stylish queue. He took the trouble to shave, but it was a careless afterthought. Those few he counted as friends and whiled away the longer nocti with at his club over cards and glasses of scotch would wonder where he'd spent the previous night, if they'd seen how rumpled he was by normal standards.

He waited, but not long. A very bland man in a dark grey business suit opened the door just after the third knock, and gave a polite little smile that was as average as the rest of him.

"Ah. Do come in, sir." The man held the door open, no name asked for nor given out here with the opening to the street, and stepped back with a gesture to invite him into the building.

His expression barely altered as the door was open. He stepped in without a word of greeting; the man answering the door was clearly not the person he was here to meet, and if he was James Whitney, Esq., he would be very surprised. He followed the forgettable man down the hall a few feet, where he opened the door to the left.

"Morana is expecting you, Mr. Callide. Right this way. And may I fetch you coffee" Tea" Or something else?"

A negating wave of his hand refused the offer of refreshment. "Not at present, thank you." It was always best not to accept food or drink before contracts were signed. Negotiations were sometimes ....interesting.

He strolled toward the open door, once the fellow stepped away, and entered with a sweep of a glance around the room before settling on the woman. He took in everything with a quiet and routine precision, in particular a few of the loci legilorum: books on law across the multiverse lined the built-in shelves, leather-bound and weighty. There was nothing at all on the desk top except a precisely ordered stack of manila envelopes, unsealed but with the flaps tucked in to conceal the contents, a red folder with a few papers, and a slim gold pen. Behind the desk, the woman was dressed for business in a midnight-blue skirt suit and low black pumps. She had her hair up in a neat French twist and clear polish on her fingernails.

"You must be Vir Callide. It's a pleasure to meet you; I'm Morana." A smile curved up her lips while she stood and offered her hand across the desk.

His face cut into a polite smile made somewhat courtly by the tilt of his head in a short bow. "I have heard of you, of course. It is a great pleasure to meet you at last." He released the shake after an appropriate amount of contact. His hand was distinctly cool compared with hers.

Her smile curled. "In particular, I was very impressed with the report on the job you completed for Lord D'arcy Ellington a few months ago. You have a very deft hand, and I did notice that several others tried and fumbled the matter before you cleaned things up."

"It was very kind of him to recommend me. I found his dilemma to be intriguing. It was unfortunate he did not call me first. The other contractors were out of their depth with that situation. More fools them for not admitting it right away."

"Mmmm. I do hope I haven't already made a similar mistake. Which brings us to the point, rather." She reached over and adjusted the red folder on top of the envelopes. "I would like to hire you, Mr. Callide, for at least five very specific retrievals, and an option for further employment on an independent contractual basis."

Vir took it upon himself to take a seat across from her, easing back into the old wood and leather with a comfortable creak. His brow arched faintly in question, encouraging her to continue.

Her fingers touched the red folder briefly, twisted it one hundred eighty degrees, and pushed it from the stack of envelopes toward him on the desk. "Summaries, darling. I believe, from the reports I've received of your abilities that you should be able to handle any of these jobs, especially if you had been the first that I went to. Unfortunately, you were not. My previous choice is....proving ineffective."

He pursed his lips, reaching to take the folder from her and flip it open. "Your current contractor is still working the jobs?"

"If he is, I am not aware of it at this time. He's provided no progress reports in nearly three months. You may be familiar with him - Benjamin Taiz. He came almost as highly recommended as you." She sounded more than a little bit displeased. The summaries were short, a paragraph or two about each target and the specific goal - were they wanted alive, dead, or whether or not it mattered. Also listed were the items to be retrieved with the targets. "If you accept the contract, I will also provide you with these." She tapped the thick manila envelopes.

"He is still alive?" It wasn't a casual question. Two of the previous men on his last job were not. He traced down the summary sheet with a slither of icy blue eyes, mouth pursing again at one or two of the details. "I will need," he murmured before she could answer that question, "the use of a secure warehouse. I trust there is a discreet place in the city where an account can be arranged so that I can purchase any materials I will require?"

"To the best of my knowledge, he is still alive. I am....quite put out with Mr. Taiz, but that doesn't get me what I want. Can you?" She asked it evenly while she picked up her gold pen and turned it over and over between her fingers.

He paused in his reading to look up at that. "I believe so, yes."

She smiled her satisfaction. "We have access to several very secure locations. At least two are warehouses. And there are many places in the city where an account can be arranged discreetly. We have a list of already standing accounts, or you may select your own and provide us the information and we will see to the rest."

"I will trust to your recommendation. If I find they do not have the materials I need, I will send word." His gaze tipped up to meet hers again. "May I?" He indicated the pen.

"Of course, darling." She leaned forward to hand over the pen with a slight smile.

His answering smile danced lightly over his mobile lips, brief as the twinkle of light skipping along the barrel of the pen. He jotted a figure down next to each of the summaries - and make no mistake, each was stiff - and turned the folder back around toward her, offering back both it and the pen.

She took the pen, the folder, and pursed her lips as she studied the figures. Her dark brows arced up along with the expression before she settled into a satisfied smile. "Mmm. I do love a man who knows what he's worth." She tapped the pen against the desk, added another string of figures below each of his neat notes, higher yet than his fee. "For prompt delivery, within sixty days or less, and an additional bonus for each day less than thirty." The paper would be dizzy at all the spinning, if it could be.

He glanced over each of the additions, and nodded when he got to the end. "And I do love a woman who agrees with me. I will point out, some of these contracts of yours have been running for a while. The items may not be retrievable, if they've sold them already." He knew she knew this, but it was important to be very clear. "If I can trace them past the sale, I will."

"Mmm. If you'll notice, there's no penalty for failure to retrieve the items if you are able to track them to at least the initial point of sale. There is another substantial bonus if you retrieve everything." And now the corners of her mouth ticked up in another smile. "Of course, and especially given my previous experience with Mr. Taiz, you will understand my requirement for regular progress reports."

"Of course," he replied smoothly, his gaze lingering on her ticking mouth. That corner, right there. "I will be taking a room at the Red Dragon." He has clearly already thought this through. "It is better to be part of the scenery. Strangers stand out."

"Yes, they do. You may contact me here, through the offices of Mr. Whitney - who you haven't met yet - or Mr. Grey - who you have. If you find you need something unusual or extraordinary, please don't hesitate to ask for it. I would hate to have you fail for lack of exactly what you needed."

She slid the stack of envelopes toward him, as much information as she had on each target divided into separate manila containers, unlabeled. "You will find, Vir Callide, that I am willing to indulge those who produce results."

The fate of those who didn't was left unsaid. He cocked his head, indicating his understanding, and reached for the folders to draw them closer. He'd study them in more detail in private later. "I think, Morana, that you are going to be satisfied with the investment." It was subtle, the inflection and accent behind his words, foreign and familiar at once.

"I'm quite sure I will be. Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Callide. Do you have any further questions?" She was all business as she retrieved her pen, scrawled her signature across the bottom of the contract, and relinquished it to his care.

"Not at present, unless you'd like to recommend a room for me at the inn" It's been some time since I last visited." He rose smoothly, like he had too many joints.

"Mmm. Not a specific room, no. I believe another employee, one of our research scientists, has also recently taken up residence there. Dr. John Benandanti. Perhaps you might find something near him?" Her smile was faintly amused. She did not rise when he did, simply offered him a nod. "In any case, I will look forward to your success, Vir. Have a pleasant afternoon."

"I'll be sure to do that," he murmured, the sardonic smile flickering to life beneath the cover of his beard and the shadows that cut angles across his face. "Good day, Morana."

"Good day, Mr. Callide." Her pen flipped over and over between her fingers as she watched him walk to the exit of the room. Mr. Grey was waiting on the other side to show him out the front door.

It was turning out to be an exceptionally fine afternoon, he decided as he stepped back out into the cold, gray RhyDin winter.

(Scene based upon live play with Morana, with thanks)