For all her misfortune, on one little count today Eleanor was lucky: Alain DeMuer was in his old office. "Enter," he said after a moment, and the door creaked ajar at the intonation. Arcane parlor tricks etched into the bones of the building.

It surprised him to be sought out here. Many still knew him as 'the Detective,' but he could count the number of cases he had personally pursued since his confrontation with Howe on one hand; in addition, everyone at SPI outside of Shaw and the old Division veterans avoided meeting their spymaster here face-to-face. They left letters or met him elsewhere... ultimately for no other reason than the dark presence he naturally assumed in his old haunt. Whether or not it was true, many of his own spies feared the young Baron changed into someone else entirely behind his desk.

Cigar smoke coiled thick and pungent around the office, surging towards the door when it opened, scattering when it shut. A brass-framed monitor flickered eerie light until he flipped a lever and switched it off, and dropped a folder and a wide, thin book near the keyboard. A few scraps of evidence were still out in the open, enough to identify the lot as 'intelligence from abroad.'

"Elle," he said, a little surprised; his expresison was both a small smile and a subtle frown. He mashed out his cigar and waved her over to sit across from him. "Jesus... you're lucky you caught me here."

"I understand you're owed one..." Alain smiled grimly, then. "The unmarked graves by the North Road didn't fill themselves." How very easy it would have been for the young man to have become a gangster; some newspapers maintained that he already had.

"What can I do for you, Eleanor?"

The Baron's own quiet, reserved kind of sorrow and pity was written in his eyes and the lines deepening in the corners of his face; however, he did not waste words with sympathy or regret. Warriors had their pride, and this one had his respect. He emerged from his steepled fingers (he had sunk into them while she spoke) to reply, carefully:

"The Barony, D.E., even this place, all of my holdings are enjoying peace and prosperity, and so are my allies... but it's only the illusion of peace. As ever, storms gather, and while soldiers are useful... a clever soldier's an invaluable tool."

He removed a bottle from his desk, gestured towards her with it, inquiringly, and continued, "Have you ever worked undercover?"

He tipped the whiskey over two glasses, slowly shoved one her way and breathed a sigh... leaned back in his seat, nursed his own for a long moment...

"There is a legend in Tamleix and Teobern's old histories, about another port called Hylla. The usual stories persist -- ships all with vast golden sails, markets swapping pearls the size of a small child, streets of marble... old housewives carrying scoops of diamonts in straw baskets." He grinned: it said exactly what he thought about this kind of embellishment, if his tone hadn't already said enough. "Like I said, the usual stories.

"But there's another, that there was a great desert road between a hardy port in the desert that saw the sunrise on the water, peopled by races descended from the elves, and a vast city known as Yi-il-ah, translated by our scholars as Hylla, known throughout many realms very far-removed from RhyDin for their clockwork engines and seamlessly blending the arcane with other technology."

He placed an article, plus a small report on its background, in front of her. "Several months ago HEAT, the merger between some of Mr. Trak'kal's R&D holdings and my own, ran a number of tests on advanced anti-grav and mag-motion high-speed transports... 'speeders.' What the press does not know is that we sent three west through realm-rifts from the test site, at the same time that we quietly began an archaeological investigation at several points along the coast. We believe we've uncovered Vroga, which translates to 'eastgate,' the colony established by Teobern centuries ago as the eastern end of the great desert road."

The Baron waited a moment, sipped at his whiskey, and continued. "One of our scouts finally returned, just last week. She found a number of villages scattered throughout the desert, and at the end of the line... Hylla, a wealthy free city very much interested in restarting one of its most ancient trade routes. Several powerful merchant guilds are already in the process of recruiting investors to build a railroad, and we intend to meet them halfway.

"Unfortunately, the road is very dangerous. Corrupt sheriffs and aldormen have an iron grip on half of the isolated outposts, hoarding water and levying taxes they've no right to... the rest, preyed upon by bands of thieves, and still eyed by nomad empires who remember how rich the road once was. But maybe, a band of bounty hunters and thrillseekers comes along in pursuit of profit... and winds up sorting out these problems, one by one."

Finally he sank into a longer, deeper silence, steepling his fingers, studying her past them. Re-establishing the road to Hylla would benefit many, aid free cities, increase trade and cheat militant empires out of a number of opportunities. It would be a risky move, but the effects, if successful, would outlive the Baron five times over. "...It won't be an easy road."

There was always something predatory about the young man's darker dealings, and an almost subconscious part of him endeavored to make those he meant to ruin feel as though he might favor them; and that friends and allies would give some consideration to what might happen, should there be a betrayal. Deception had long been his greatest asset behind this desk, as much as he had grown to hate this position, and shied away from it now although he had once embraced it.

"Good," Alain said after another moment and another sip, and nodded to her. "The usual arrangements will be made," he added, referring to their previous work on anti-slaving missions on the Barony's borders, "plus a few... additions. Fifty thousand gold crowns currently budgeted and available for start-up and any later expenses, plus quarterly requests capped at twenty-thousand gold, if you need them... unlimited access to the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin's armory and archive... as well as training with any weapons that any of our specialists, or our allies' specialists, know about."

He seemed relieved that he'd remembered all the points, and grimaced a little at having to recite them all, and was about to finish his drink when he paused, raising a finger: "One more thing... One hundred thousand in gold once you complete your mission," and he paused in a way that said or when it ends you, "to be given directly to you, or the charity of your choice."

He smiled, just a little and certainly grimly, as he killed his drink. "I'll admit, this was supposed to be someone else's mission, with all of the particulars drawn up... but he found an icepick in Orseph last week. Can't figure yet if it had anything to do with the Hylla op."

His hand extended across the desk to her: "Godspeed, Elle."