Report on Subject Ali al-Amat
Operative Mongoose
5 June

Obtained copy of travel visa, confirms subject migrated from Infinity City to Rhydin City in November of last year.

Full name: Ali bin Raza al-Amat
DOB: 5 November 2243 Allied Terran Conglomerate Nexuspoint timeline
(Note: this sets his age at 41 standard years according to their timeline)
Place of birth: Cairo, Egypt, United Caliphate of Islam, Earth, ATC

Residency:
First permanent place of residence was a brownstone at 220 Highbridge Street in Old Town. Report filed by the City Watch in December of this year stating that subject reported a B&E?Watchmen could find no leads and report was shelved. No other inhabitants.

Second permanent residence was mansion owned by Gemethyst (recently deceased) from end of February until approximately mid-April. Subject appears to have moved out of mansion shortly before death of Gemethyst reported. Subject cohabited with Gemethyst and five-six staff (still tracking them down--they scattered after Gemethyst's death. see note regarding butler below)

Current residence in WestEnd apartment building, fourth floor penthouse, owned by Sinjin Fai, local businessman and former gubernatorial candidate. Subject cohabiting with Fionna Helston.

Employment:
Subject was interviewed by Antonio Falconne and Dr. Maranya Valkonan and subsequently employed by Riverview Clinic as Director of Administration from 20 January to approx. 1 March. Unable to get copy of resume/application at this time; noted that subject received at least one "performance bonus" during his employment: a case of four bottles of L'Esprit de Courivoisier, valued at approx. 1000 gold or $20000 at $20/1 gold exchange rate.

Subject has claimed in the hearing of others that he left Riverview to "pursue other opportunities"; Marona of the Gossip GangSTAR noted that at the time of his departure the Riverview Clinic was showing evidence of embezzlement on the order of 250,000 gold. Subject's assistant Lorelei Ashcroft quit work shortly after his departure and may also be involved. Have not approached Dr. Maranya Valkonan on this; will await further instruction.

No evidence of employment since. Subject appears to have been supported financially by Gemethyst during the time they cohabited. Subject has made public mention within the last month of receiving a business loan, but there have been no new registration listings at the Chamber of Commerce, licenses obtained in name of subject, etc.

Personal:
Subject appears to have extremely short temper: has been observed in fistfights with Sinjin Fai, Zydras, Reap, et al. (note the "freezer incident" as told by subject indicated a fight had just transpired.)

Subject was witnessed by dockworker in WestEnd in a fight with members of the Altar Boys gang. Subject arrived on the scene with unknown female approx 6' 150lbs white skin long dark hair eye color unknown. Witness claims subject shot the female during the altercation with the gang, then "summoned a big black monster" and disappeared. Witness fled at this point--no more information available. Incident was not reported to the City Watch.

Spoke with Fagan, the butler of Gemethyst's household, at a bar in the Old Town. Note that Fagan was drunk on rum at the time of conversation. Fagan claims that subject drew a gun and threatened to kill him at their first meeting. Fagan further claims that subject shouted at kitchen staff on this same occasion and threatened to fire them all. Will attempt to find corroborative witnesses to these incidents, pending your approval.

Subject seems to be something of a ladies' man: has been seen involved with/in close company with Dr. Maranya Valkonan, Colleen MacLeod, Gemethyst, Fionna Helston, the fallen angel "Fury," and others. In particular note that subject began cohabiting with Fionna Helston approx 2 weeks after death of previous girlfriend Gemethyst. Note also that subject moved out of previous girlfriend's house one week prior to her death.

Subject has gone to great lengths to ingratiate himself with the City Watch: has been known to take food and alcohol to them, engage watchmen in regular conversation, etc.

Subject has been seen in the company of Jebediah Long, a local private investigator, Old Town District. Note that after one of their meetings, Long was overheard asking questions regarding Fionna Helston.

Further investigation will necessitate a travel visa to Infinity City as required by the dragon consul laws, and further significant outlay of funds for Nexus travel, research, fees, bribes, etc. Please advise.

(Note: transcription begins; per b-node_instruct
mode record
transcription detail]
transcription language
filedump to ?Subject 229-Aleph-0? enable at endpoint)

DOCTOR MUSA BIN NASSER FAYED: Scribe Hashmi, is your device recording?

SCRIBE AKIL HASHMI: I will confirm, sir. Status check?one, two, three?

(Note: status relay on all b-node modular behavior. Time elapsed 10s)

SH: Yes, sir, it is working.

DF: Very good. Good morning, madam. I am Doctor Fayed, and as I mentioned, this is Scribe Hashmi. These are my technicians, but they will not interfere in our conversation. Consider them background noise. Now, I trust you are well?

(Note: 31s silence insert here)

DF: I am sorry to see that pleasantries are out of the question. One finds they grease the wheels of civilized behavior, do you not agree? Madam, what is your name?

SUBJECT 229-ALEPH-0: My name is Juliana Desmarais. My callsign is Mongoose.

DF: I see. It is good to meet you, Juliana Desmarais. Did I pronounce your name correctly?

(Note: 29s silence insert here)

DF: Scribe Hashmi, append her name, please.

SH: Yes, sir. Append name Juliana Desmarais to record.

(Note: ?Subject 229-Aleph-0?+filetag ?Juliana Desmarais?)

DF: Thank you. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Where are you from, Juliana?

(Note: 33s silence insert here)

DF: Is this your home planet? Your home universe?

(Note: 30s silence insert here)

DF: Why were you seeking information on the Bubasti? What did you hope to find?

(Note: 28s silence insert here)

DF: You realize, of course, that if you do not willingly cooperate we will be forced to employ more persuasive measures.

JULIANA DESMARAIS: My name is Juliana Desmarais. My callsign is Mongoose.

DF: Very well. I am sorry, madam, for both of us.

(Note: transcription break)

(Note: transcription resume)

JD: (screaming 1m1s)

(Note: 52s silence insert here)

DF: Are you comfortable now?

JD: (gasping)

DF: I know you cannot look down at yourself with your head in that position, but I assure you that this device is doing no damage to your body whatever. The pain that you are feeling is purely mental, the result of direct stimulation of the portion of your brain called the insula.

JD: (gasping)

DF: As such, you cannot ignore it. You cannot pretend that it does not exist. You cannot focus on other things. The device compensates for your inattention. Unconsciousness will not save you, as I can force you into wakefulness at any time.

(Note: 37s silence insert here)

DF: Now, let us start again from the beginning. I much prefer civility to force. Good morning, Juliana Desmarais. I trust you are well?

JD: (indistinct)

DF: Could you repeat that, please?

JD: My name is Juliana Desmarais. My callsign is Mongoose.

DF: Very well. It is your choice.

JD: (screaming 59s)

(Note: 1m2s silence)

(Note: transcription break)

?Doctor Khoury??

The nurse called his name as soon as he stepped out of the surgical theater. He was still stripping off his used mask and sets of gloves, and acknowledged her with a swift nod. She was a new one, he thought; she was standing too close, her face upturned, her expression a little dazzled as she met his yellow-green eyes. His physical charms were well-known around the hospital, but the more senior nurses knew to be wary of his quick temper.

?Your grandmother has called. She would like to speak with you as soon as possible. She said that it was important, concerning your family.? She laid a hand on his arm, pretending to concern, apparently thinking to score a fast goal by offering him comfort. ?Is everything all right??

He stared coldly down at her from his great height, as Rage kindled in his heart, until he saw the faltering in her face. Then he said, very quietly, ?Do not touch me again.? The faintest hint of fear dawned in her eyes, as if she could read the truth in his. Yes, definitely a new one. Humans. They were far too much trouble to be worth the effort it took to bed them. ?I will take it in my office,? he added as she snatched her hand back, and stalked away.

Thirty minutes later he was in the back of a car, being driven through the snarl of Cairo streets to the Old Quarter and the House. ?Ismat was not his grandmother, but they found the fiction of a needy relative a convenient one. They could relay information to one another at any time, under the guise of reassurance of close family. However, there was no guarantee that he would not be overheard, or the connection tapped into; and five minutes? conversation with her had convinced him that the subject she had to discuss was far too important to be shared over an open connection, and his own news was more vital still. He leaned back into the cushions of the seat and closed his eyes, as the nearly silent electrical engine hummed a lullaby to him.

She met him in her private receiving room on the third floor. Her black silk robes rustled as she rose from her chair and came to him. He took her extended hand?slender and fine-boned despite its age, dripping with gems set in gold?bent over it, and kissed it. There was a mute approval slumbering in her long-lidded eyes, as she looked him over. After a moment he released her, crossed the room to a set of chairs and a low table and sat. An afternoon tea was laid waiting for them, and there was an unlabeled folder on the table, as well. She followed at a more sedate pace and seated herself beside him.

?Bast,? she murmured, her even-toned voice every bit as fierce as her eyes, as the perfectly straight posture with which she sat, ?did very well when She made you, I believe.?

?I am delighted you think so, ?Ismat,? he replied, just as evenly, and was very glad he was not twenty years older. It was whispered among the older of their kind that she had been a terrible voyeur in her day. ?Did you want to hear my news, or not?? Every meeting with her was like this?a fencing match. He was never sure whether he came away the victor, and he was already tired from twelve hours in surgery. Best he tread with extreme care.

She nodded and poured tea for them both, strong and bitter, to go with the sweet honey and almond cakes. He ate five of them, neat and quick, and washed them down with two cups of tea. She nibbled more delicately at hers.

?It worked,? he said at last, sitting back with a third cup to regard her over its rim. The dark plaster wall behind framed her silvered head beautifully; she glanced up at him, gave him the smile of a Mona Lisa as she absorbed the words.

?Tell me more,? she purred.

?The boy?s eyes changed from brown to green as I watched. He is no more than two days old. Shahin?s ka was the only one in migration, and I managed to isolate the boy near him at the moment of the elder?s death. Twenty minutes passed, the boy?s eyes changed, and at once he stopped crying and went to sleep.?

?What of his family??

?They are of no importance. Poor, and with too many children already.? Did she think he had not suitably researched them, beforehand? A fresh spark of anger warmed his words as he continued, ?I am certain they can be bought. Baksheesh does much to heal grief.?

?If this can be replicated reliably?? she breathed, ?none of the elders need ever fear death again.?

As she was one of those elders, Saif was not surprised at her excitement. She was well past eighty, and despite their regenerative nature, it was only a matter of time before cancer, stroke, an aneurysm, an accident took her from them. Oh, and he was going to rue that day, was he not? The idea of being free of her tyranny and her slyness for twenty years or more was a heartwarming one indeed. He had a certain appreciation for the irony that he was smoothing the passage from death into life again of one of the few people in the world that he truly hated.

?If,? he reminded her. ?None of you can remember your time spent between lives, how the leap from body to body is accomplished, what drives you to choose a particular new body to inhabit, how the existing ka in the body is cast out. We shall have to wait and see. Now, what did you have to talk to me about, ?Ismat??

?Do you remember Ali?? She laid her cup aside and folded her hands together on the arm of the chair.

?Raza?s son? Of course. He and I were of an age. What of him? I thought he was dead.?

The old woman smiled, and Saif had the sudden sense of a noose being laid around his neck. ?We believe he is alive. Read this.? She indicated the folder.

He took it up and did so, and discovered that it was the transcript of an interrogation session between the estimable Doctor Fayed and a woman named Juliana Desmarais. When he had read it all, and had taken the time he needed to consider its implications, he tossed it back onto the table and asked her, ?And what does this mean to me, ?Ismat??

?I want you to go to this place, this Rhydin. Establish an outpost there, found a new House. You will discover for me what is this ?Zeppa,? where Ali is, who sent this woman and why they were seeking information regarding us and him. We are stronger now than we have been in five hundred years. I will not have that strength threatened?not by wayward children, and not by marauders from places beyond what we know.?

His heart sank. For all his machinations, he could not refuse a direct order from her, but still?if he could persuade her that the newly resurrected Shahin needed him? ??Ismat, what of Shahin? The boy is still so young??

At once she denied him, saying dismissively, ?Doctor Fayed can take over his care. You are one of the cleverest of my kin, and I trust you to do whatever it will take to bring yourself home with all speed. Go, and do this quickly. Take one of our lovebirds with you, before they do something I will make sure they regret for the rest of their miserable lives. Take as many of the retainers as you need. Keep me as informed as you possibly can, and I will pass on the information to the other elders.?

The noose was tight around his neck, now. He could hardly breathe. ?What shall I name this new House, ?Ismat??

?Name it Per-En Diwa Bastet.? Her voice tolled off the syllables of Old Egyptian with ease. Just as easily, his despairing and furious mind translated it: The House that Adores Bast in the Morning.

Report Update on Subject Ali al-Amat
Operative Mongoose
5 July

Rec?d wired funds transfer and travel visa to Cairo. All expenses documented with addenda describing circumstances for unusual transactions. Please see attached file. Due to distance of Nexuspoint from Rhydin, additional drop forwards are required, with requisite timelag involved. Hotel Semiramis is current base of operations, room 351: please direct correspondence to drop to be forwarded to that address.

All personal information for subject with regards to name, DOB, home Nexuspoint, etc is noted as being consistent with that given in Rhydin. Additional family info available:

Father: Raza bin Shahin al-Amat
DOB 13/4/2204 Cairo, Egypt, Unified Caliphate of Islam, Terra, Allied Terran Conglomerate
DOD 2/1/2276 Cairo, Egypt, Unified Caliphate of Islam, Terra, Allied Terran Conglomerate
Oxford-trained research microbiologist. (See attached file ?al-Amat Sr? for pictures, clippings, work history, etc.) Note extreme degree of resemblance between father and subject.

Mother: C?cile Isabella Audincourt
DOB 1/1/2204 Reims, France, Terra, Allied Terran Conglomerate
DOD 11/19/2243 Cairo, Egypt, Unified Caliphate of Islam, Terra, Allied Terran Conglomerate
Sorbonne-trained infectious diseases specialist. (See attached file ?Audincourt? for pictures, clippings, work history, etc.) Note resemblance between mother and Fionna Helston.

No living members of subject?s family within three degrees of generational (vertical) / cousinhood (lateral) separation could be found. Subject still maintains ATC citizenship.

No records available of subject between record of birth on 11/5/2243 and record of enrollment at All Souls College, Oxford University, Oxford, Oxfordshire, United Kingdom at age 16. Subject graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in military history at age 19 (see attached file ?Matriculation? for list of classes taken.)

Subject subsequently enrolled in ATC Pilots? Academy in Oxford, United Kingdom, graduating a year later, 2nd in class of 52. Subject was assigned rank of troopship captain upon graduation and sent with mercenary company to planet Killarney immediately prior to start of Killarney?s Five Minutes War. Records of title ?Charon? in association with subject begin to turn up at this time. Subject frequently cited for actions in battle above and beyond the call of duty. (See attachment ?Medals and Commendations?, 19 files, for list of specific awards and recognitions.) Note that subject often placed himself in situations of extreme personal danger and suffered no apparent lasting damage.

Note that Allied Terran Conglomerate soldiers are called ?mercenaries,? but are not such in the traditional sense of the word?soldiers are employed by the Conglomerate government and not by any individual nation or world, purportedly in order to divorce them from local politics. (See ?History of InterConglomerate Politics,? attached.)

Subject was given honorable discharge for medical reasons in accordance with Infinity City update timeline. Records indicate that induced schizophrenia required by piloting Slideship systems for ATC causes varying levels of irreversible brain damage in >90% of subjects. Symptoms include: aggressiveness, increased levels of risk-taking behavior, paranoia, obsessiveness, nightmares and night terrors, distrust, mood swings, hallucinations, sensory inhibition, catatonia. Records indicate subject was prescribed medications consistent with approved treatment regiment for Post-Slideship Association Disorder. (See attached file ?Manual of Medical Treatment Options and Patient Information for P-SAD? for more info.)

Subject has been reported as a witness or person of interest in the disappearances of 10 people in Cairo from subject?s age 19 to age 27. In all cases, subject was released without charge and never brought to appear in court. In all cases, no missing person was ever found, or body recovered. (See attached file ?Missing Persons Cases? for clippings and details.) Subjects societal status as ?war hero? played apparent large role in keeping him from being held or questioned for any length of time.

Subject has in public record an inheritance from the father held in trust by a private legal entity with ties to a religious cult named ?Bubasti.? Subject?s inheritance of the trust?s funds and properties is contingent upon his returning to reside in Cairo with a ?child of his lineage? as proven by DNA testing.

Properties held as part of trust:
7000sf mansion/compound in Old Cairo district. Currently unoccupied
130-unit apartment building in Downtown district. 119 units currently occupied
5 buildings varying in size from 1000sf to 1500 sf in Al Darb al-Asfar district. All 5 currently occupied by various retail businesses leasing the spaces.

Funds held as part of trust:
?3.73 billion Egyptian, or approx $600 million, or approx GP30 million Rhydin at $20/1 GP exchange rate. Funds are held mainly in high-security bonds, with the remainder a mix of stocks and other investments.

Information available seems to indicate that subject and subject?s family were themselves members of this cult. This cult has extensive ties with local businesses, government, and crime organizations. Members apparently promote overthrow of national government and Unified Caliphate via guerrilla/subversive counter-propaganda tactics in favor of a return to Egypt?s Old Kingdom rule.

Probability approaches certainty that this operative is being trailed. Have not been able to ascertain who the tracker(s) might be, or who they work for. Planned meeting tomorrow with informant who promises to supply more information on this ?Bubasti? cult. In the event of interception and/or capture (more than 24 hours Barony time between check-ins of this operative), please forward the following eyes-only message to Baron Alain de Muer of Saint Aldwin:


MESSAGE BEGINS


Alain,

Our night together at the Tropicana Sands was one of the best of my life. I understand why you had to break things off before you hired me?it would have been unseemly for someone of your stature to involve yourself with one of your employees. I just wanted you to know that it was a magical time for me, and I?ll always love you for that. I hope?I hope you?ll remember me with fondness.

Yours,
Juliana


MESSAGE ENDS

SPI kept many secrets.

Since their unofficial transformation into House DeMuer's private intelligence apparatus in the aftermath of the "Province Plaza incident," the information coming both in and out of the company was strictly controlled by contracts, non-disclosure agreements, and the unspoken knowledge of what fates might await violators. Accounts and payrolls were heavily coded, as were the day-to-day tasks of SPI's small, elite body of what they called field analysts.

Juliana had been their most promising analyst. Mr. DeMuer and Mr. Shaw were the only two within SPI itself who knew what she did, but everyone knew what she was capable of. She was sharp and cunning, a tall slender woman with auburn hair and a professional's coolly confident smile. Alain remembered when he had told her about keeping a gun at the ready before an early reconaissance operation in Icecrest, and he remembered what she had said: "I won't need it."

Physical violence, at least by her own hands, was not in her nature; only Shaw knew that she was the only analyst with no kills to her name, but a phenomenal success rate. She kept her facts in perfect order in her brain and a malfunctioning Furby on her dusty desk at the office, which Sir Malcolm had stubbornly "forgotten" when he came to gather her things for her next of kin.

When it rained, Juliana never took a cab, and walked to and from work under a black umbrella. Her joys were small and private, and would die with her, because all the things her comrades could recall were not spoken at her funeral. On a hill outside of Teobern in the Barony, a dozen men and women gathered quietly; the sky was dark gray and it rained gently, and everyone gathered under black umbrellas of their own. A priest stood between them and a gravestone marked with her name, year of birth, year of death, and SPI's symbol -- an Egyptian eye. The priest read slowly and inexorably in Latin without meaningful pause, as if some small part of him knew he was there to provide a comforting drone and little else.

Steely-eyed analysts in trenchcoats clasped their hands together at their stomachs and stared attentively at her grave. No one knew how she was killed, even that handful who knew the very most. They ruminated quietly on her fate and theirs while the father spoke; when the old man finished, shut his holy book and trudged off to his lonely chapel, every man and woman came forward, one by one, to lay down a single rose. The cluster of red stood out on the dismal day in a plain stone graveyard, like an angry welt on the gray landscape. People were beginning to leave when Alain spoke:

"They'll come for us next." He looked back at them, and at the looks that were frozen by his words... grim resolve, anger and resentment, trepidation and fear, speculation about their dangerous future. With their black umbrellas shouldered like military rifles, they drew closer in again. "That's what you're wondering... what I've been wondering... and it makes sense. She died looking into the past of a realm-crossing RhyDin resident named Ali al-Amat, as a favor to Lucien Mallorek. She pursued his name across worlds and found his old friends, a group called Bubasti... They killed her. You'll find the files on your desks when you return."

Steely resolve, across the board now, was the order of the day. The analysts paid rapt attention like a line of soldiers before their CO. It was cold and it was wet, but they were making battleplans. The rain be damned. "Could've been they were after their privacy... but I don't think so. Like Juliana, they were following a lead, and she told us how strong and pervasive they are. If Ali al-Amat can cross worlds, so can they, and they'll go to RhyDin to follow the next lead... Us.

"But we're not fighting on Ali's terms, or Lucien's. It's time to fight for ourselves, on our own terms. Your lives, our lives are more important than a spat between a fresh ally and a mystery man. The Barrister owes us a debt, and we'll collect for our own wars and what matters to us. We have something Mr. Al Amat wants, and Bubasti too... It won't be our weakness. We won't let it make us vulnerable. We'll leverage it as an advantage, to our ends..."

Eyes narrowed and grim smiles blossomed like black flowers. Alain lit a cigarette. "...and we'll avenge Juliana's death. Bubasti owes us a pound of flesh... that's what we'll take."

Look for the Eye, she'd told him when he'd set off. He knew the landmark well, as did any runner in the city. It was an easy trip and he was paid well for it; the coin was a pleasant weight in his pocket, slapping against his right thigh as he ran through the streets from the inn. Yes, he thought, it was a good night for a run, the moon peeking between wisps of cloud against an indigo ink sky, the wind calm and the temperature soft for so early in the season.

He crossed at the Highbridge ? there were more people about this late there; it was a simple habit on the night runs. The mermaid statue glimmered pale and ghostly in white marble as he trotted by it. He didn't pause to cast his wish into the waters. He had his wish in his pocket. Now, he just needed to drop the message off and he could be on his way home with a coin to show his mother for the day?s adventure.

Towards the harbor, the bells of Perp Miz beckoned him into the WestEnd, chiming the quarter-hour with a reverberating bong. Even now, people lingered in the courtyard in front of the church. As the weather grew more clement, the crowds, day and night, would grow. The slap-slap-slap of his feet beat in tempo with the thudding techno bass of the Rave as he wound deeper into the district.

He didn?t hear the feet following him. They were not human, and they weren?t at street level. A monster's silhouette slipped unseen across the wavering moon in time with those other steps.

There were two of them, keeping pace easily. One crossed the gap between buildings to his left in a single effortless leap. To his right, had he looked over his shoulders, he might have caught the catlike gleam of eyes amid the chimneys and rooftops there. But he didn?t, and so, when he turned South again up a street angled away from the road leading into the docks, away from the burnt-out rubble of an old elven tavern, he didn?t see them leap to follow. Instead, he turned, chasing up along the street where - yes, just ahead - the unmistakable painted Eye watched over its demesnes.

The first drew a little ahead, paused crouching on the edge of a warehouse roof and made a small, coughing, signal. The quiet sound served its purpose. One last stretch of feline muscle put his companion in position to flank the runner, poised for a leap to ground level when the time was right. Half a block away, the apartment building that is the messenger?s destination stood oblivious to the trap. Another half block beyond that and across the street was the Eye itself, blinded to the night?s mischief.

A flash of fangs shone white in the midst of all that black fur as the first beast dove off the building and down to the street below. He chose the spot with an eye for bracketing: it put him ahead of the boy, and placed Sadir behind. There was no chance of the lad ever reaching his destination.

The messenger-boy threw himself back and fell, skittering in a sideways crabwalk to angle himself away from the two cats.

?Saints ha' mercy on m' soul!? When he cried out, he felt the gold piece in his pocket scrape through the coarse cloth against the wet cobbles.

Feline mouths and throats were never meant to shape human words. It gave Saif?s demand an unnatural quality, the resonance of his chest darkening his tone. ?No interest in your soul, boy, just your message. Hand it over to us, now.?

?What're ye?? His breath was a ragged thing given a rawer edge by fear. He stank of it, there in the street just an ironic half a block from his intended destination.

From behind him, Sadir?s low growl crawled along the bricks, geared to play over the boy?s nerves. There was no Cairo or Oxford in the quality of it ? just the deep scrape of a predator voicing its hunting call. ?Ourselves, and not something for you to play with. Your message, boy.? He settled into a half-crouch, coiled muscle held in readiness ? still except for that tell-tale lashing tail.

A shaking hand dove into the front of his shirt, his blunt nails scrabbling on the parchment before he managed to extract it and toss it away from him. ?Take it! Take it! Only, dun eat me!?

While Sadir collected the paper ? efficiently stabbing his claws through the parchment ? Saif paced forward to within inches of the terrified boy. His feline nostrils flared while he breathed in through a half-open mouth, taking the child?s scent in two short huffing breaths. In the half-cat form he was larger than most full-grown men. He loomed, held the boy?s gaze with his cat-green eyes.

?You will speak nothing of this. If anyone asks, you knocked on the door and nobody answered, so you pushed the note under the door and left. You delivered your message. Do you understand??

?Y-y-yesss! Yes!? His eyes were white with fear as the beast advanced on him, breathing him in. ?I knocked and they weren't none of th' family t'home.?

?You delivered your message. You saw nothing unusual. You did well.? Sadir?s voice was not designed to be any more reassuring than Saif?s. He coughed a laugh that sounded to the lad like a blood-thirsty snarl; and with that, he crouched and launched himself upward, back onto the rooftops.

Saif waited a moment longer, and then backed two paces. His spring took him directly over the cowering boy. Then the pair of black monsters were gone.

It would be a lie to say that the lad didn't - for a heartbeat - consider running up the stairs to the apartment to tell them of the purloined note. But what could he say that could be believed? Talking black lions stole it from him? And what if they were still watching him? No. As soon as he could scramble to his feet, he was off and running back toward the heart of town as fast as his legs would carry him.

(Adapted from live play. Players: Saif Khoury, Sadir and Zahra Khoury)

My dearest cousin,

You must be wondering what happened. We departed so quickly and they did not let me say goodbye even to Um and Ab. And your jadda is convinced that I am distracting you from the woman, that you are the reason why I have not yet chosen a bedmate. They would never have let me speak with you.

I do not know what they told you of our journey, but it seems you were right: ?Ismat is not content to allow Tilau Ali to spite her wishes any longer. She has dispatched ?Am Saif to bring him back, and Sadir and I have been sent with him.

This place where he is hiding ? this Rhy?din ? is impossible to adequately describe. It is cold, and constantly rainy, and, oh, the stench! Like the worst of the peasant market stalls. The city is completely at odds with itself. A small section on the outskirts houses the station and jump points, but everywhere else you turn is strangely primitive, even where some of the technology overlaps. I have seen dragons and men with swords walk amongst ship?s pilots, and neither group finds the other odd. I can see how easy it would be for Ali to hide here and think himself safe from detection, but I do not know how he can bear it.

Saif has acquired a small compound, which he is establishing as a House here, until we can come home. We have yet to find suitable servants. Sadir warned me not to go out into the city alone, but my uncle was silent on the matter. If I didn?t know better, I would have thought he was amused by the conversation.

I will not be made a prisoner, of course.

Saif believes that once we find him, we can leave this place. Sadir is not so certain. I am not sure which outcome I prefer ? exile, or the knowledge that once I am in Cairo again, I must bed the man ?Ismat has selected for me. You are doing your duty by the tribe, and I do not blame you for it. Neither of us are children anymore, to play kissing games in the gardens. Tell me ? why can I not make myself do the same?

No, I will not stay in. Perhaps I will find Tilau Ali before the others. Perhaps I can convince him to come home with us and your jadda will be so pleased that I can wait a while longer. Just a little while longer, that is all I ask, before what must be, is.

Do you see how silly I am, habibi?

Zahra

The Pass at Ja'ir, in 'Backwater' Vrashne
February 2010 C.E.

The mountail called Ja'ir cast a long and deep shadow even in the early morning hours, and at sunrise the village huddled onto her west flank sat in total darkness while the horizon glowed. As the minutes passed and the day approached, ridges, then the valleys below them would take shape and fill up with daylight; the lay of the Dalibad Ufrit would be revealed, and the copper towers in the little port of Dalibad itself, away to the southwest, would glint in the distance.

Seamus knew exactly how it would all happen, because this was his fifth time watching it. He watched from his small third-story apartment's adobe terrace, nursed a small ornate cup of pungent, thick black coffee, and grumbled over his hangover. The light hurt, but morning was (supposedly) always the time that the Ufar's new adviser came for a visit. He disappeared into the busy, crowded village's narrow streets and did not emerge until noon, whenever it was time for a visit at all, but the Saint Aldwin Order's informant was unable or unwilling to follow the man closely enough to figure out where he went or who he was talking to.

A train whistle sounded in the valley, ringing through the woods and scattering flocks of birds still unused to its shrill. For five days Seamus had also witnessed the railroad making its way from Dalibad up to Ja'ir, the massive mountain whose southern end was the only viable path through the treacherous ranges that stretched into the east. Not many teas and spices came by this road, but instead a number of the resources the surrounding nations needed for their rapid industrialization: wagons and trucks (simple vehicles that closely resembled the old Mack AC's) laden with coal, iron, copper and timber came through the Ja'ir pass to other roads up and down the coast to busier ports, or to the port of Dalibad itself which was also growing, but modestly. By day the village buzzed and rumbled with the traffic, but at this point in the morning most of the departing drivers were still warming their engines and making ready.

All told, the Dalibad Ufrit was solid but humble, important in a minor fashion, and the Ufar was invited to balls and given trade treaties in exchange for the arrangements his predecessors had made long ago, which opened the pass up to relatively unrestricted merchant travel as a means of ending a lengthy and costly war. That the feeble old Ufar had so recently reshuffled his courtiers and advisers, and taken a sudden interest in the new roads and rails that had been snaking their way into and through his small realm for well over a year, did not even constitute a red flag in the Order's opinion; but it warranted investigation all the same.

And so Seamus whiled away his dull nights in the village drinking and sharing wild stories, and his days watching, waiting and recovering. Sooner or later he would see the Ufar's new adviser at long last, witness him going into a brothel to be with his favorite prostitute, and solve the entire mystery. Then he would ride out to Dalibad, take a ship down the coast to Akor, and sail on the Red Jack to Teobern; a fast ride through all the right shortcuts would put him in RhyDin in less than three hours, and then he could see...

"It is most un-like you to be lost in thought, Sir Morvan." Seamus started, squinted, then grinned at his companion for this dull holiday: Javal, kish (a sort of knight) to the Triye (a sort of minor prince) of Dar-El Zjamin, little more than a village in the middle of several tea plantations outside of Akor. Javal's young Triye and Seamus' young Baron proved to have similarly entrepeneurial minds, and a friendship was struck up between them, as well as many of their knights. "But perhaps I am... off of the mark, and perhaps you have lost the last of your thoughts to the liquor."

"Quiet, Javal," said Seamus, still squinting through the morning. "Have some coffee. It's going to be another thrilling day, friend."

"This non-stop action you speak of?" Javal smiled as he sat across the table from Seamus, and poured himself a small cup. He had a funny habit of saying 'non' and 'un' as separate words, and today was a rare event: usually Seamus harassed him for it, quite a lot.

"Something like that." Seamus sighed openly and rubbed at his brow; he could hear his head throbbing, and the little yearning ache he felt for Atalanta's company made matters worse. Falling in love was an inconvenient business, though Seamus admittedly knew very little about it. "What the hell are we doing here, Javal... Not that your company isn't the highlight of every passing moment," and the two shared a grin and a chuckle, "but there's plenty that needs to be done at home."

"Your Baron is concerned," Javal said simply, opening his hands and shrugging very lightly, as if there was no need to question at all. "He is a far-sighted man; he must see a pattern."

"You think our man Obed's up to something here?" Seamus raised an eyebrow, the sharpest expression he felt he could muster at the moment.

"Not at all," Javal answered, chuckling again and shaking his head. "I think that this is... as you say, a very very large waste of time. But foreign powers besides Sinaldwin," meaning Saint Aldwin, "have turned their eyes on Vrashne, and there is a dark pattern emerging even in this," he waved a hand towards a convoy of trucks rattling by to make his point, "rising tide of change, and this is still a, um... a..."

"Lead?"

"Yes, a lead worth investigating."

Seamus made a face, but also a little grunt that translated to conceding Javal's point. "Still. I hope Obed shows up today... Then we can go home."

"You are in love, Seamus," Javal observed, and Seamus blinked at how astute the other man was. "And it can be a dangerous thing. Be careful what you wish for."

* * *

Two hours later the pair had just finished a long breakfast typical of upland Vrashne, about six small plates of food staggered out over time. Javal was hunched over the table, carefully rolling a number of spiced cigarettes, and Seamus was busy puzzling over a newspaper printed in Vra'in (his reading fluency was abysmal), when three knocks came at the terrace door. They moved immediately, Seamus pressed against the wall to one side while Javal carefully opened it.

To one of their hired 'eyes on the street.' There was a brief exchange in Vra'in, too fast for the Newbreton knight to understand, but Javal updated him quickly: "By the old shrine, in the east of town. Do you choose the higher path, my friend?"

Seamus grinned and shook his head, as the informant looked between the two of them, goggle-eyed. "Streets for me. Happy flying, Javal."

Exhaustion and the hangover's lingering pain didn't go away, but Seamus found a place for them, 'off to the side,' as he focused on the environment, his goal, and their changing relationship. Teobern was home to an old martial arts philosophy that had been adopted by the Order, aimed at preparing mentally for 'missions,' akin to transforming the human mind into a sort of computer. Every aspect of himself and his surroundings changed into a factor, each constantly in flux, and diligently he saw to it they added up to his goal.

He scrambled to the edge of the rooftop and waited for a lull in the traffic, but not too long for a complete lull -- a handful of witnesses to a man dropping down to the street from above was not so terrible a risk, weighed against the limited time available to him. He fell to a windowsill, then to empty scaffolding, then to the narrow lane and threw his hood up as he passed into a larger crowd. He moved with the flow of traffic wherever he could, passing people at a brisk walk. When a truck rolled by honking its horn, Seamus fell to one side with the others, then ran lightly between its rear wheel and the buildings.

It turned onto a wider road, Seamus rejoined the crowd, and within two minutes of walking he had spotted three men looking around at least as much as he was. Former soldiers, broad-shouldered, middle-aged and stern-looking, with a dozen people within the loose triangle they formed. Among those was a wealthier man, well-dressed and fitting Obed's description... This would not be easy. Not on his own, in any case.

He passed a man leaning under an eave and flashed him three fingers, then closed his hand. Javal melted into the crowd five seconds after, picking his way over to the largest of Obed's three bodyguards. In a moment there were cries of anger as Javal ran away with the contents of the man's pocket, the crowd parted and watched, and Obed stared after them uneasily. Not enough to postpone his meaning: he shook his head and turned down another narrow street, and Seamus followed him.

Thunder rumbled. A grey blanket rolled over what had been a bright, chilly midmorning, and a thin haze settled over Ja'ir's snowcapped peak. The weather was turning...

* * *

The 'skiba den was not unlike opium dens on many other worlds: a seedy establishment located beneath a warehouse, thick with smoke, and even at this hour of the morning there were addicts sprawled on the plush couches in a narcotic daze. The bartender was too busy preparing his own small dose to give entering customers more than a grunt and a sneer, flatly ignoring drink requests at this time of day, holding out for requests for his 'spices' and business with the 'dancing girls.'

Obed stepped in, with no bells at the heavy wooden door -- undoubtedly meant to keep sound in -- to announce his arrival. He gave the bartender a dismissive wave which was met with a look of recognition and a brief gesture towards the usual table, all of which a fortuitous arrival at the door was quick enough to witness. The well-dressed man took a seat in a large circular booth and lit a strangely aromatic cigar, while the patron who followed him found a corner to slip into an apparent daze, similar to the other customers.

Minutes passed. One of the patrons was pulled to his feet by a woman in a long, sequined skirt, and led by the hand into a back room; Obed watched mutely, stared at the door, and puffed on his cigar. There was nothing else in the room worth paying attention to, nothing more interesting than the muffled thumps and shuffling that came through the locked door. The hazy den continued to be dull and quiet, an immobile place, until a man with mirrored glasses came in.

He was wiry in a way that made him stand much taller than his just shy of six feet, and confidently oblivious to his surroundings except those that concerned or interested him. He felt no need to gauge or analyze the environment the same way most other spies did; he had a very good handle on threats he could and couldn't deal with, and it let him walk through dangerous missions and into secret meetings with blinders on. It was the kind of attitude that drove other operatives up the wall, and he loved that about himself.

The man with mirrored glasses pulled out a chair across the table from Obed -- the open quarter of the booth -- and sat backwards in it. He set his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together, and said, "So let's talk about your Ufar's new direction, and what I can do to show you the way."

* * *

"I couldn't get close enough."

Javal poured two small measures of a clear liqueur, while Seamus stretched in his cushioned chair and sighed, hands folded behind his neck, kneading himself with his thumbs. "This, ah... jamming, as you say?"

"Yeah." He took his drink. Their apartment was quiet: snow was coming down, the sky was dark, and most had taken shelter indoors and hunkered down for the storm's duration. "I don't know what he was doing there..."

Javal leaned forward, intrigued, frowning: "This cannot be any great surprise, that Obed was meeting with a foreigner." He sipped his drink, then pointed. "You know, he may be foreign himself..."

"Mm." Seamus shook his head. "No -- I mean, maybe, but that's not what has me concerned... I know that man. I've seen him. Even worked with him, so to speak." Javal's face grew quiet. "Alexander Shade, grandnephew of the founder of Shade Inc., a private military company we try to keep at a distance."

"The type that... designs diseases, builds and sells very large bombs, arms two armies against one another..."

Seamus grinned and gave a short, humorless huff of a laugh. "You've got the rub of it. He worked with SPI and the company's Security Division for about a year, and stopped nearly a year ago. He was taking too many long vacations overseas, if you get my meaning... He'd given us the surname 'Tallorin,' and we suspected it was fake, but..." The knight peered across the room at Javal. "Y'see, that's standard practice for a lot of the people I've got to work with. Lots of them go on the run or into hiding at some point in their lives..." He shrugged. "But when we found out it was Shade, we tried to find him and confront him... and he'd caught wind of it somehow and disappeared. Never let him into any of SPI's sensitive contracts from what I'm told, but he's spent enough time around us to be an expert on our modus operandi."

"Then whoever has introduced him into this equation," Javal said slowly, "has an idea that your people may interfere in Dalibad. Or... perhaps they may have designs on threatening your interests here."

"And we've got a few," Seamus admitted, "starting with the pass and the railroads. Iron and timber through the pass to build the rails, rails to increase trade, distribute finished goods..."

"...and so on, and so forth, to increase the pace of, ah... industrialization."

The Newbreton knight shook his head. "We can't assume they're after us, specifically, but that they're expecting us seems... likely. Like it fits, anyway." He pinched the back of his neck again. "This isn't my field. Collecting puzzle pieces, sure... not putting them together. I'm not that man. We need to get this to our analysts... and to DeMuer."

"And with your leave," Javal said, though it was merely a formality as he would do this with or without Seamus' permission, "I will bring the information to my lord's spymaster. I can imagine he will be -- "

Whatever Javal was imagining, it was left unsaid; a sharp series of knocks came at the door, and Javal sprung across the room to open it. It was not one of their informants this time, but a messenger Seamus had seen before on other assignments with his Vrashne counterpart. He was very out of breath, and barely managed a bow as he stuffed a scroll tied with a black ribbon into Javal's hands, then stumbled off for a glass of water. Seamus read the signs and anticipated the news correctly: as he began to collect his things, Javal spoke again.

"...It appears that you and I are to be, ah... 'wanted men,' very soon. This was issued in Dalibad only two hours ago, orders to jail any foreigners outside of this list of nations -- and neither of our mother countries have made the cut, I am afraid -- who are not present on explicitly Ufrit-approved diplomatic or mercantile business. And those are to be 'removed from the Most Perfect Ufrit of Dalibad immediately,' upon concerns over foreign spies, save for some who may have 'letters of special exception.' " Javal folded up the letter and pocketed it, then clasped his hands together. "Something is indeed happening, Sir Morvan, and I regret that we have spent this time so idle and inattentive, relatively. I... hope it will not prove costly. We should leave at once," he added, and tossed keys across the room to Seamus. "Take the motorcycle, and make for a southern port before news reaches there, too, or the southern border if you have no other option."

Seamus stared for a moment, hesitating: "You'll be...?"

"I shall be fine, Seamus," Javal reassured him. "I may blend in a little on my way out, but you... will not do so as easily. We will see one another in Akor in two weeks, if we both survive. Godspeed."

* * *

The following morning, as the Red Jack chugged its way out of Akor's busy port, Seamus stared despondently over the railing at the retreating city. Under most circumstances he would be happy to be leaving for RhyDin so much sooner than he expected... but not under these. He would be lucky to see Atalanta at all... Politics were not among the knight's wide range of skills, but he had lurked over the Baron's shoulder at enough functions to know that this was more than a minor diplomatic faux pas, far more than a gaffe. These were the rumblings that alluded to war, and while the course was not yet set in stone, the Barony of Sinaldwin would be hard pressed to avert it. "...And who'd want to bring a war to Dalibad?"

He muttered the question into the air, but the wind gave no useful answer. Whenever he tried to imagine who would instigate this level of sabotage, all that came to him was an image of its depraved courier, the man they called the Butcher of Singra: Alexander Shade.

(Cross-posted from here.)

The elf?s name was Hrive. Winter. He had had another name, but he gave it up on the bright summer day that he came home from a hunt and found the little eastern village of Hound?s Leap empty of life. His parents and brother, his wife and their unborn child, his entire village?everyone slaughtered, dead, all dead. Fifty people. The crops were untouched, the village?s wealth remained. They were all killed simply to be killed, unmade, rendered down into just so much meat in an orgy of violence. He?d ridden on to the magistrate after two days of burning the bodies, mad with grief and bewilderment, his heart withered in his chest. When he arrived he found that men, women and children from half a dozen other villages in the area had arrived before him with the same unbelievable story.

One month later he discovered the reason why: it had all been done to send a message to their local lordly landowner. The message, he was told, was that the lord needed to come to an arrangement regarding his northern neighbor and their shared border. The deaths were a testament and a promise: this is only the beginning, unless you do as we say. More searching uncovered the name of the man directly responsible for the violence: a human mercenary. Alexander Shade. The northern lord had a castle and an army, and was essentially untouchable. This Shade, though?Hrive could find him. If it took a thousand years, he would find him, and the restless souls of his friends and family would at last know peace.

He tracked the monster half across the world, always arriving too late to catch him. It was a stroke of luck that a rumor led him to Vrashne, and surely a blessing from some unnamed god of vengeance that he saw the man himself securing passage back to the city of Rhydin on a small arcane steamer. He sought passage on the ship himself; with his limited funds, it was made a condition of his berth that he work through the trip.

He did what he could to get close to the despicable beast responsible for the deaths of everyone he cared about in the world. On the third day, the last of the journey, he finally found work splicing and repairing rope on the deck that would allow him to shadow the monster and his traveling companion: a tall, thin, dark-haired human male whose name, he learned, was Saif Khoury. He edged as close as he dared, listened in on their conversation, and waited for an opportunity to strike.

Shade was a handsome man, young by human reckoning; he knew the man had expensive tastes, and this was confirmed by the fine cut of his clothing and the spiced cigarettes he smoked. Hrive eased nearer and strained to listen over the two sailors muttering gossip in Orcish nearby, tried to think past the inferno in his heart. Shade and Khoury exchanged some desultory conversation as they leaned against the railing, talking about the weather and the experience of the trip. Clearly the main subject of their conversation had not been reached, not yet.

The waterfront of Rhydin?s New Haven district swam into focus ahead of the steamer?s bow. Fear that Shade would once more slip out of his grasp led Hrive to make a mistake?he came too close to the pair. Shade sensed him, though he was behind the monster and was certain he?d made no sound. The murderer rapped a pack of those cigarettes against his palm, whirled, and offered one. Hrive could see his own startled expression reflected back at himself in the man?s mirrored sunglasses. I see you, they said. I knew you were there the whole time. Pure unmitigated evil rode the edge of Shade?s grin.

Hrive?s heart seized. He muttered something, he didn?t know what; shook his head, and backed a few feet away. He bent his head over the rope and fought to calm himself, sneaking glances at the two men and listening as closely as he dared.

"I put your nice little tropical foothold on his radar...I even gift-wrapped it for you. Now I know the next best step is kicking in his front door?" Shade turned sharply and stabbed the air in front of the man Khoury with his lit cigarette, scowling. "Question now is, do you guys have the stones to take this thing to the next level?"

Khoury was silent for long minutes before responding. "The prince in Vrashne has been warned that the lake level is going to rise from impoundment," he said finally, his expression unruffled, face turned up into the sun. "The force field for the dam will go live in three days. The spillway will be filtered to prevent fish escaping into the runoff, and my?colleague?will have the toxin fed into the runoff as soon as the lake level rises. The dam should be topped in three weeks' time."

He opened his eyes, considered the mirror-shaded mercenary. "In other words, we are going to take away from the people downstream both their water and a source of their food, and poison what remains. They can pay for what they need, or they can die." His calm, crisp voice sounded angry, then. "Is that simple enough for you?"

Shade wheezed laughter into his cigarette a few words before Khoury was finished; he leaned forward and slapped his knee, and finally managed, "Of course it isn't! Don't you know anything about following up on a good threat...or anything about the man, Alain DeMuer?" He shook his head, not even giving space for a reply, as Hrive listened in growing horror. "I suppose you don't, or you would've brought that poor sweet girl along as a hostage. Or at least sent the bastard her eyes in a gift bag.

"But that's why you have me, friend. You've gotten his attention, and you've got a good hold on a big part of..." He sighed slowly and tapped ashes into the sea. "Whatever that brownie island's called," and he gestured vaguely, "no offense." Pause. "Vrashne. Sorry, but when you've pushed enough of those into total war, they all kinda run together.

"You see, what you've got in Vrashne is good, don't get me wrong...but we still don't know what Mr. De Muer will do. He's 'the Baron,' which means he's surrounded by a lot of people who help him out." He spat over the side and added, "A lot of white knights. Idiots with ideals. Last I met him, Mr. De Muer was a very dark soul, and even when you made him angry, he sometimes found it in himself to make a deal...he considered it...but he has all these friends, aides, helpers who keep him on the straight and narrow nine times out of ten. And it affects him an awful lot whenever he loses one of them, the silly goddamn bastard, because he cares about these guys. He's surrounded himself with people he'd like to protect, and it's a simple matter of hurting them to get whatever you want."

Shade leaned on the railing and began ticking names off on his fingers. "There's his knights, Malcolm, Seamus and Roland?they'd all tell him to fight in Vrashne, so any one of them we could crucify, that'd be a good idea. Atalanta, his housekeeper of all people, I'm pretty sure she's got his ear when it comes to 'matters of the heart.' She'd be very easy to kill. Silas Greyshott, his bumbling idiot of an inventor. The list goes on, all of them people I've seen whisper in his ear when it comes time to make a deal, which is why he keeps saying, 'No deal,' and keeps turning good situations upside down even when he stands to make a profit. Show we can kill just one of those people, and to protect all the rest, all the helpless, stupid little idealists?"

He opened his hand toward Khoury, as if he had proven his point. "He'll do whatever we want. So you can run the risk of him stopping you in the desert...or you can seize that extra leverage."

The other man, Khoury, stood smiling and listening as Shade went on. When the monster was done, he spoke. "Your personal predilections aside, Master Shade, I do not intend to start a war just yet. I want De Muer's attention, and his ear. Allowing you to slaughter your way across the region may well delight you, but it will prove a distraction from the real issue right now. And if you are unleashed now, what have I in reserve, if the baron refuses me?

?No. No," he said, and leaned against the barge's rail. "Put your knives away and cease your slavering. There is no way De Muer can stop us."

"You don't trust my, ah...surgical precision, do you?" Shade chuckled; he'd been smiling softly ever since the word "slaughter" had left the other man's lips.

You cannot control him, Hrive wanted to scream at Khoury. He is evil, and nothing you say is going to stop him. Not in the end. But this Khoury was just as evil for making use of Shade in the first place, for this plan to poison a river in Vrashne simply for another message like the one that had destroyed his family. The need to kill Shade was a physical ache in his hands, in his chest; but he was beginning to realize that he had a duty to warn the people of Vrashne of their plot as well. But his wife?his children. He agonized in silence as the two men stood and stared at one another.

Even rebuked, Shade remained confident, cocky. "...Okay. Fine, we can do it your way. I'll stand back and prepare." He twisted one side against the railing to look over at something in the water, and at that moment Hrive?s heart made the decision for him. He tensed, dropping a knife from his sleeve into his hand, then sprinted across the deck. His knife yearned for the killer?s heart.

But Shade had been waiting for him. The monster pivoted smoothly as Hrive struck, dodging so adeptly that his knife only ever touched air. His back shrieked out a blast of pain as the murderer?s weapon struck home; he stumbled, lost his balance, and tumbled over the railing and into the sea.

Blood stained the water red all around him, and his limbs were seizing with pain. Past the pain, past the shock of denial and the slap of the waves against the side of the barge, some trick of acoustics and adrenaline gave him Shade?s next words clearly. They rang in Hrive?s ears as he slid under the water's surface, and all his grief and vengeance came to an end.

"You'll need the knife. And I'll be waiting when you do."

(Adapted from a written scene by Alexander Shade and Saif Khoury.)

Excerpts from Zahra's Diary

Thursday, 22

It has been strange and lonely the last few days, with only the cook and her assistant to talk to. I pretend not to see the guards, their looks are too familiar. As if. Sadir has been out these last three days and ?Am Saif left before daybreak this morning on business of his own with no instructions to cook regarding lunch. He was gone away all day yesterday, too.

Sadir returned home this afternoon and went straight to his laboratory. I did not see another soul until dinner, when he finally emerged to join me at the table. Since the meals were left to my imagination today, and I have had no appetite of late, I told the cook to make whatever she felt like. What she felt like was a creamy vegetable curry and rice. It was delicious, but I think Sadir was put out about the lack of meat. That?s all right. I was put out by his refusal to tell me where he?d been. We were charming company for one another.

After dinner, he found me in the library, and for no reason I could fathom, asked if I would like to accompany him to the Red Dragon Inn and see it for myself. ?Am Saif would not be home tonight, he told me, and there was no reason for us both to sit around the house in foul moods. I did not tell him about my adventure over the weekend, but leapt at the chance.

He spent the better part of the walk there bemoaning the foulness of the coffee to be had in the city, and pointing out the sights along the way that reminded him of cities he had visited in England. He was almost charming ? but, diary, I have to say that for all of his amusing conversation, there is something about it that never reaches his eyes. He is witty, and can be very pleasant when he makes the effort, but Tilau Sadir is cold and untouchable underneath it. He has children, I learned, a few years older than I. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to have him for a father. My own ?Ab is as different from him as day from night.

Imagine my surprise when he took me into the inn, and the aroma of coffee and cardamom greeted us. He, too, seemed surprised. He saw me to a table and went to get us each a cup. I thought maybe Tilau Ali?? But he was nowhere in the room. The coffee, when Sadir brought it, though, was more than palatable.

We drank our coffee and watched the antics of the patrons, and were just about to leave when we saw a woman come down the stairs. I don?t think I could tell you what she looked like ? she had long, dark hair, but beyond that? There were two things, though ? she was pregnant. That was the first. I didn?t notice the second until Sadir?s fingers curled around my wrist and he whispered in my ear to point it out. She was wearing a shirt advertising a sports team from Infinity City.

I think we saw Tilau Ali?s wife.

Saif Khoury looked up from his studies at the big desk he?d installed in the room he appropriated for his office. His face was dark and intent above the anecdotal history on the Barony of Saint Aldwin in which he was making notes, and his brows formed the upper curve of a question mark punctuated by the pursing of his lips as Sadir strode in from the hallway. He?d heard him come up the stairs from the basement laboratory where he?d spent most of the afternoon, but he hadn?t expected the question that preceded his entrance to Saif?s sanctuary.

?Have you seen Zahra?? he asked, before adding on the wake of an appreciative sniff. ?You have coffee??

He set his pen and notes aside and gestured expansively with a flick of his yellow-green eyes to the credenza. ?I just made it. Please, help yourself.?

?Excellent,? Sadir looked eminently satisfied as he took one of the small cups and filled it with the aggressive, Turkish-style brew Saif preferred: bitter, hot and unbearably strong.

Saif made a face, closed the book and tossed it face-down onto the massive desk. Then, he stretched, digging his knuckles into his back while he answered the first question. ?I believe our lovebird is out wandering again.?

The older man frowned coolly at that. ?She goes out too much unaccompanied.? He took a sip of the strongly bitter coffee and glanced at the mantel clock. It was past ten and full dark outside. ?This concerns me.?

?Twice now,? Saif murmured on a small shrug, then nodded toward the book he?d discarded, shifting the topic. ?And just as well. We can speak freely, alone in the house. I fear I am wasting my time with that. There is little here we do not already know.?

Sadir crossed with cup and saucer in hand and took a seat across from him. Reaching for the book, he laid it in his lap and flipped through it. ?The Barony's establishment is recent - there is not much history to delve into beyond the personal. And that of their allies.?

?Perhaps.? He swiped a hand across his face. ?But Shade mentioned a number of people I want to know more about, and I am not fi ?? Saif paused in mid-thought and looked up. This late, there were no servants to be flapping about in her wake, but the door made itself heard, clattering shut and echoing down the long, dim hall. His eyes cut back to Sadir, one long, black brow arched. ?There. Our wandering lovebird returns.?

Sadir?s frown returned, and he covered it with a sip of the coffee, his eyes on the doorway as he listed to her advance.

She was wearing the midnight blue silk, one of her favorites. The caftan usually accented the dusky warmth of her skin and highlighted the shine of her eyes. When she appeared in the open arch of the door, however, it emphasized the grey undertones that stole the bloom from her cheeks. She said nothing at first, gripping the doorframe.

Now Sadir scowled openly as he rose to his feet. The book and the coffee cup were set aside with the careless precision that marked most of his motions. ?What has happened??

?Zahra...?? Thunder gathered on her uncle?s brow as he studied her, rising with Sadir.

Her eyes glittered with angry tears. Opening her mouth to speak, she stuttered around a bone-deep shiver. ?T-til-lau A-li...?

Both men responded in unison. Saif?s eyes sprung wide, then blazed in a rush of Rage as he rounded the desk and started for her with his hands outstretched. Sadir?s expression clouded into fury as he stepped forward in Saif's wake. ?What has he done to you? Sadir?s words ripped out with a snarl.

Despite the anger in his face, Saif?s hands were exquisitely gentle as they smoothed over her cheeks, and took her shoulders. Diverting to check her pulse was the work of a moment, before he eased her into his arms. She was freezing and her heart was racing.

?H-he-ee he?? Her voice intimated that she was furious more than frightened, and she was obviously very frightened indeed as she burrowed into the warmth of her 'Am Saif's embrace. ?s-says h-he-he wi-will k-k-k-ill us a-all if w-we d-d-don't l-leave h-him b-b-be...?

?What did he do to you?? When Sadir repeated the question, his voice was calm, even soothing, but the yellow-green of his eyes were filled with Rage at their core.

?H-h-he j-j-just t-tou-touched me.?

Over her head, Saif caught Sadir?s eyes. He mouthed two words at him, soundless and slow: Use this. The other man clearly understood; he tipped his chin in acknowledgement.

?I'm so c-cold,? she breathed on a miserable whisper.

Saif soothed a hand down her back, pouring the heat of Bast's creation into her as he held her and dried her eyes with a careful stroke of his fingers. ?You must tell us everything that happened, little bird,? he crooned as he offered her over to Sadir. ?Let me get you something warming to drink.?

Sadir stepped smoothly into Saif?s place, folding her into a comforting embrace and warming her with Bast's energy.

?H-he has a w-wife...? She mumbled against his chest.?Pr-pre-pregnant.?

?The one we saw the night of the coffee?? Sadir asked her, sharing a glance with Saif, who answered with a taut smile as he poured her a tiny cup of the ferocious brew. At her shaky nod, he added for Saif. ?She scented of him. And there was the shirt ? I told you about that.?

?It was more than a touch that drained you so, Zahra. Did Tilau Ali say nothing while he touched you? Perform no action?? Sadir?s scientific mind twisted, exploring possibilities. ?Did he have contact with anything you ate, or drank?? Saif returned with the cup, coiling himself onto a corner of the desk to hold it for her until she was ready for it.

?He said - he said - another man threatened her once, and he drank his life. He said he was going to drink mine... unless I told him who came with me.? She reached for the coffee, adding hastily as Saif?s head came up, his eyes boring holes into her. ?I didn't tell him. I told him I felt sorry for him. He looked so sad. I felt sorry for him.?

As Zahra reached for the coffee, Sadir released her to retake his seat. The phrase ?drink his life? widened his yellow-green eyes, but they narrowed immediately after with the rest of her confession. ?Whether or not he knows of our identities specifically, he is now alerted to the family presence. Taking that note only delayed the inevitable.?

She sank into an empty chair, both hands curled around the tiny perimeter of the cup to warm her aching fingers, and looked back and forth between them. After a moment of silence, Saif beckoned with a flick of his fingers for her to continue.

?He whispered something, before he grabbed my wrist. I didn't recognize it.? She shook her head. ?Everything else was inconsequential. He remembered my Ab. He said I was brave. His eyes... before he touched me, he looked like he was furious, frightened... desperate, perhaps. Beyond that?? her voice took on a faraway quality as she picked through her jumbled thoughts. ?His hair is long. He has a scar on his cheek.?

Sadir made a small noise of surprise at that. ?I wonder where he acquired that??

?He limps.? She continued, pulling threads of the evening. ?There was a woman at the door talking to his zawja... she called out to her - "Missus Ali" - I did not hear a name. Another woman went and took her away. I was so surprised by her... the baby ... but why would they do that? He must already have seen me.?

Saif growled. ??Ismat is exceedingly remiss. We will tend to that while you are here.? I will tend to that, said the look in his eyes. ?You are Bubasti, not a housecat to be kept sitting in a windowsill. He should not have seen you so easily. Your training resumes this week.?

Sadir rumbled approvingly. She sat up straighter through that, her eyes ticking uncertainly between the two of them.

?What else?? Saif clipped.

?The woman who took his wife away,? it was her last piece of news, and she was reluctant to share it. ?She was mich-ma?it. Not Setite.?

Saif?s expression hardened into stony disgust at that, and she looked away, finishing the coffee in her cup in a quick and bitter wash. ?He has been away from home for far too long,? he said at last, softly. ?I hate to admit it, but 'Ismat is absolutely correct in this.?

?He has forgotten who ? what ? he is.? Sadir echoed his own quiet condemnation, with a pointed look to Zahra.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Her slippers were stained with bourbon and wine, and bits of glass still peppered the soles; she slipped them off and tucked her feet underneath her to warm them.

?Sahla?i,? My little lamb, her uncle murmured. ?We cannot let this insult go unanswered. Will you help us, when the time comes? I swear I ? we ? will not let him harm you again.? He was quiet, and very earnest. It was obvious that he put his empty cup aside so that he would not shatter it in his long-fingered hand as he leaned toward her.

She looked at Saif, who looked so like Ali, and thought about Ali's sad, frightened eyes. Then she recalled the way he seized her and the deliberate way he did her harm. He must be mad. It was the only conclusion that made sense to her. ?We will not hurt him? Only take him home??

Sadir answered her first. ?Only take him home, where he can again be part of the family. As he should be.? The words were quiet, and sounded utterly sincere. ?He must remember himself, and his obligations.?

'Am Saif had not called her his lamb since she was a tiny, tiny child. She absorbed Sadir's promise. What he said was right. But she wanted the promise from her uncle: he held the power, here. She was not so foolish as to miss that. ??Am?? she prompted him.

?We do not intend to hurt him, Zahra,? he said at length. ?But he must come home. He is threatening the safety and sanctity of the entire tribe with this madness of his.?

She took a deep breath, the ache of her body deciding for her. ?Of course I will help you. What of his family here??

?That...? He trailed off, tapping the forefingers of his laced hands together: ?We shall have to see. If the child is his, then we must wait and see whether it is one of us. Even if it is not, if it is indeed his, it carries our genome.?

?A little cousin,? her murmur was wistful.

?We need the woman's name, and any others he is close to,? a thoughtful frown turned down Sadir?s mouth while he considered. ??especially the woman's name. If she does carry his child?? His words broke off while he thought, but Saif completed his thought for him.

?We may bring her back with us.?


(Based on interaction between Saif Khoury, Zahra Khoury and Sadir Shenouda)

Lirssa woke sharp in the deep purple of her room in the castle. Her eyes strained wide to see around her. Nothing was there but the memory of claws and breath-stealing fear. Blood pulsed loud in her ears and the crush of her chest against her heart urged her to move. Kicking her legs free of the warm blankets, she swung her legs out where feet met fur.

Dante lifted his head and licked her ankle. ?Hey, boy,? she whispered. ?Let?s take a walk.?

The electronic box her Maman called a PDA lay on the bedside table. Even in the spectral light of false dawn, she could see its odd outline, and she snatched it up. Bare feet felt the cool of the floor and the light brush of her blue pajama top hem across legs half uncovered.

A soft kiss of air touched her cheeks when she opened the door. She turned for her parents? room down the hall. Biting the edge of her lip, she halted. ?I?m not hurt.? She reasoned with Dante, who gave her a thoughtful look as dogs are wont to do. ?There?s nothing wrong.? The prickly feeling crept up her back and sent a wiggle through her body. ?I?ll tell ?em when they wake. They need their sleep.? She wondered, though, how well they slept. It was likely less than she.

Tapping up the map of the castle on the PDA, its screen gave her face a haunting glow. She wandered the corridors feeling the energy and peace of motion chase away the phantom panic of a dream already slipping into shadows of memory. Her mind had moved on to where she was, and more importantly why.

The where was -- oh it was exciting: a castle with corridors and passageways, high turrets and deep dungeons. Such adventures and stories she could tell in the secrets of its walls. How many stories of princesses trapped in towers has she watched or played? What about the great rescue, like in Robin Hood. She peeked down a stairway, picturing Errol Flynn as Robin Hood coming to rescue her. A giggle tickled at her throat and escaped secret smiling lips. There was so much to see and to do. The things she could tell her tutor about the pink dolphins. It was the biggest stage she had ever been on and it was hers to roam.

As ever, though, nipping at the heels of that excitement was guilt. She knew danger. She knew it since she was a child. It was a tiger in the thick jungle prowling at her side. The danger for her Papa was all sharp teeth and glowing eyes, so near as to feel the heavy breath of it tickle the hairs of her neck. But he would make it go away. He made that Michael go away. That Michael had burned. They would get home soon; home to climbing ropes and painting; playing music and singing songs in French, adventurous meals, fish in the aquarium and chickens in the coop. They would get home.

A renewed ache struck her chest and she began to run. Run, Bubber said. Run and climb. Go high should danger come. Fly little bird and remember keep your center tight inside. Keep yourself strong and flexible like bamboo.

She ran uncertain of the turns, her bare feet slapping at the floor in staccato steps along with the double time of Dante?s nails. At a junction of two halls, she stopped and swayed a moment. Strong and flexible. Strong and flexible. Her breath dug deep into burning lungs. Swiping away loose hair from her face she looked down at the map in the peach blossom of the sun?s rays. It was morning. She had to be their ?toile. Their little star. They needed her. She needed them. She wanted to go home.

Chief among Ali's interests for the evening had just walked in through the door of the inn: a tall woman, thin as his hopes for a peaceful solution with his family, white clothes on white hair on white skin with great brown eyes melting and knowing and far, far too intimate as they touched each face. Artsblood Shusberg nodded like a junkie or an epileptic, a tiny twitching jerk of her head; then she swept into the room, picking her feet up too high, placing each leg to show it off as she pranced to the bar. Her legs bent in ways they shouldn?t have, as she folded herself up atop a barstool. She framed her face with cartoonishly thin fingers and watched the rest of the people in the room for a minute as he watched her, accepting a blown kiss with an expression that was at once lascivious and disturbingly clinical. He was under no illusion that she was unaware of his study.

She had a drink she was fond of making: merlot in a glass poured full of sugar until it made a strange, non-Newtownian slush that resisted the action of her fingers through it. Arts sucked delicately on those fingers as he limped across to her.

He leaned into the bar beside her and they went on watching together for a few minutes as the usual night?s insanity commenced. Eventually he commented, ?You?re looking rather less bloody than when last we met, my dear,? and sipped from the glass still in hand.

?Perhaps,? the woman purred, ?I was not quite myself then. Or perhaps I?m not now. It?s really rather difficult to keep track.? She touched her white thatch of hair, almost coy. ?Suffice to say I?m not the same. I appreciate your kindness then, though?? Her knife-cut mouth twitched at the corners.


?I wondered whether you would hold it against me.? They?d fought not long before. He?d recognized the need in her; rather than allow it to unleash itself upon innocents, he?d brawled in the street with her, redirecting that need into rage and onto himself. It had, at least for that night, worked.

She rewarded his joke with a raw little chuckle, a manufactured clucking. ?Only while we sought to tear out each other's eyes, dear. Otherwise my holding-against is exclusive and again returned?? She gave him that little twitch of a smile again. ?My Witch, you see, has returned.?

?Mm.? His gaze dipped to her hands, took its sweet time wandering up her body to her face. Arts appreciated being appreciated. And it was a source of endless wonderment to him that he came within a breath of losing his eyes to the claws of such a frail-looking woman. ?I am delighted to hear that.? And not only because it meant he wouldn?t have to take any more punishment from her.

When she tilted her head like that, it reminded him of an insect. She stared at him, brown eyes unblinking. ?I accept your delight with thanks.? She lapped at the slush in her glass, watching him as she did. He returned the favor, taking a drink of what was proving to be really excellent bourbon.

Her enormous eyes dropped to the glass as she drew it from her mouth, a pretense at coquetry. ?One of these days you're going to tell me how you can drink that rot,? he commented.

She lifted her elegant little chin in question. ?The trick is not to drink it, but to only taste at it??

?Ah. A performance art, then. Somehow that doesn't surprise me.?

The words hung between them. When she spoke again, her own words were barely driven by breath. ?It was a kindness you did for me. I know that. I hope to return the favor someday.?

There was his moment, his opening. He drew breath and launched into his pitch, casually dropping the words into the space between them. ?You can. Sooner than you think, my dear.?

When she only touched her mouth to the drink, her thin lips were stained into the momentary lie of a starlet?s fat pout. Then she licked them clean, and the illusion was destroyed. ?Is there someone you'd ask me to?dance with?then??

?My cousins have come to town.? She knew the importance of the words. She was what she was, and she knew what he was.

An eyebrow as white as her hair crawled up her face. An honest and terrifying smile bloomed and died in a breath. ?Indeed. Family can be such a chore.?

?As well you know.? And as well he knew; he?d had to deal with her family spat once upon a time, carrying a woman who?d just had her brains gouged out with a broken winestem up to his room?not to die, as any normal woman would have, but to heal. He looked away from her for a minute, gave her time to think of it over.

When he glanced back at her, her eyes were tracing over the rafters. As if she?d read his mind, she said, ?I have not been blessed with familial harmony. Ask what you need. I am, as the bard said, your huckleberry.?

?I would rather you did not kill them, or put your own?life?in more danger than necessary. But I fear for Fionna and Lirssa. I cannot be in all places at all times. And I'm going to need help in driving them out.?

She giggled, high and brittle like a champagne flute on the verge of shattering. ?I will not put myself in danger. I have someone to live for, after all. But I will help protect your Fionna. Though I can of course not guarantee a lack of dying, I will strive for moderation.?

?It is all any man can hope for.? Hardly a guarantee, but more than he?d expected to get from her.

?Moderation in all things, including moderation.? She swirled her tongue in her drink, and he found himself smiling and fighting the urge to hug her. Madness abounded. And as if she?d?hm. He was going to have to look into this mindreading business, because she smiled back at him. It was an honest expression, true, awkward on her barebones face, gone almost as soon as it arrived. ?Tell me where you wish me to be, and when, and which?if any among them?is the greatest danger.?

?I am certain of three of them.? He'd met Zahra in the inn. Kate told him about the others. ?There may or may not be more. The one who is my twin is the most dangerous.?

The uneven count led her into a small moue of displeasure. ?Allow me, then. Since there are only three, one of us will get quantity, the other quality??

?They have, I am certain, not come alone,? he corrected. ?They travel in entourage, with faithful retainers. It is what we do.? He gave her a small shrug. ?And you are not the only person I am enlisting in this.?

She uttered that tittering giggle again. ?Entourage, little more than the peel on the banana, the grapeleaf on the dolmades. I can share, or at least appear to do so.?

?I knew I could count on you.? He grinned at her, sliding a little of his true nature into it.

She returned it. ?And so few see through to my better qualities.?

?I've seen your pointy bits.? He knocked back the last of the bourbon and left the glassful of slowly dying ice on the bar. ?I know better than that.?

She appeared scandalized, probably for the benefit of anyone close enough to overhear their conversation. ?I spoke of my loyalty, of course.?

His attention ticked back to her. ?You mistake me. I know better than to imagine you merely a fluffy barfly.?

As she stretched, he could hear her bones snapping and popping. ?Mistakes are, I find, both safe and spicy.? Then she clapped her freakish hands. ?A barfly! Only in my schoolgirl fantasies.? In one of his heartbeats she changed, became musing. ?My?the woman Magenta could be a barfly, that ruined noir decadence, as sweet as a rotting peach.?

?Oh?I don't think so.? He?d been on the receiving end of one of Magenta?s drug concoctions, once. ?But I have a certain fondness for your?Magenta.? He repeated her deliberate self-correction. ?She?s graced my bed, after all.? She was with me after you stabbed her that night, he might as well have shouted from the rooftops.

It provoked more of her attention. She propped an elbow on the bartop, folding into herself like a collapsing paper airplane as she cuddled closer to him. Those too-knowing eyes stroked and prodded at him. Whatever she saw?his urgency, perhaps, or the fear underneath it?she nodded at it. ?She and I have abandoned much of our enmity. You haven?t asked for her aid in the current matter, have you??

?I?m very glad to hear that. Picking up after you was distressing.? He?d propped a foot on a barstool?s rung, the better to dig his knuckles into the rising ache in his leg. ?I have not. I?ve not seen her in ages.?

She studied his leg as he kneaded it. ?But she always seems to turn up, I've found. One can never safely assume her gone. How came your pain??

?An old war wound, compounded by a disagreement.? It was the closest thing to the naked truth he could offer her, given their surroundings.

She smiled at him again, sly. ?A pity it didn't slow you when we danced.?

?You have wretchedly sharp nails, woman.?

She shrugged her way to her feet. to her feet. ?You will be glad for them, I think, when they flay in your Fionna's defense. Good evening, Ali. A Witch will be waking soon, and I will be in the hole where her sight would be.?

?Goodnight, madam. I hope you rest well.? He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, as he limped out.

(Adapted from live play with Artsblood, with thanks.)