(((Continuing from
Not until we are lost... do we find ourselves again(Open) )))
An odd method of travel. But effective.
Nisreen had allowed herself to be carried by Aven through the streets and the occasional rooftop of Reajh. The starry night cloaking their movements. She had only heard tales in Arca of beings that could move like Aven could move. Intensely gracefully, physically powerful. Beings that were superior to humans in many regards, perhaps lacking in others; hence their non-proliferation throughout all the lands of Le'raana.
So many questions! And Aven even said that he, too, was a scholar. Despite the horrific incident back near the tavern, things seemed to be looking up. Perhaps her persistent bad luck was finished for the night.
"What is this place you mentioned? Is it popular among other locals?" Nisreen considered her words. "Hmm. I shouldn't say 'locals' like that, should I? Sounds too detached. I don't want to seem cold."
Nisreen considered her words again.
Seem cold...did that count? Oh, did that count as a pun? It probably did. And she didn't even mean to say it this time. Just stumbled into it. Awful. Truly awful of her. Surely, she would need to double and triple proofread her notes and future written works for unintentional puns. The first time, with Adam, was a small bit of guilty fun. This time? Unacceptable.
Perhaps this was the last masterstroke of her bad luck. And
now it would take the night off.
Nisreen held onto Aven. Actually enjoying the orthodox ride through the city.
* * * * *
Laython sat like a king at the table. He was inside his personal room in the brothel he recently acquired in Reajh. The yellow-light lantern hanging from the ceiling glowed brilliantly. Spectre and Ghost, his bodyguards, stood behind him to either side, as they usually did. The night lights of Reajh through the large window behind him.
A knock at the door.
"Enter," he said.
The man did. Closed it and walked up to the table and stood before him. Didn't sit. A small-time underboss; he knew his place.
Laython leaned back in his luxurious chair. Elbows on the arm rests. Hands steepled.
"How did it go?"
The underboss narrowed his eyes. "You didn't say the targets had a mage with them."
Ghost and Spectre each laid a hand on their holstered pistols.
Laython smiled. A mocking gesture. "No. I didn't. Because there wasn't a mage with them."
"Bullshit. I lost two loyal men tonight. One of them because he was trapped by a magic spell. The men who escaped all saw it. So cut the shit."
Laython tilted his head. "So. You wish for me to
apologize for their mishap?"
"You knew that mage was there."
"I know of many mages in Connlaoth. Many of whom are indebted to me. But this was not one of them."
A move forward. "You—"
Spectre drew his pistol. Pointed it at the underboss. Shook his head. The underboss froze. Laython raised his right hand and his bodyguard lowered the weapon.
"Let's return to business. Despite the interference, did your men do their job?"
The underboss hesitated. "They got Youssef and his son."
"Then they did their job. Well done."
Averted eyes. "There was a third."
"A third."
"Yes."
"Did your men give you a description?"
The underboss nodded. Gave Laython the details.
Laython scratched his chin. Considered it. "A woman."
"Could've just been a passenger. A bystander."
Laython smirked. "There are no bystanders. Everyone is hiding something. Everyone knows something. Everyone has an agenda. Never think otherwise."
"Want my men to track her down?"
"That won't be necessary. She'll expose herself to me if she happens to be in the business."
The underboss waited. Shifted his weight in the uncomfortable silence that followed. Laython watched him squirm. Watched him work up the nerve to ask the inevitable question. Amused by his struggle.
"And...my payment?"
Laython suddenly drummed his hands on the table. The underboss flinched. "Yes. Your information. Return here at the end of the week. I expect to have confirmation of Mr. Deegan's death by then. The source is good. Reliable."
"Thank—"
"You're dismissed." Laython said with a flick of his hand.
The underboss turned and walked to the door and opened it and left. The door closed.
Laython sat in the chair for a long time, Spectre and Ghost standing quietly behind him. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. Looked out through the window. The beautiful sight of Reajh at night. The blackened cityscape, dotted throughout with torches and lanterns and crowned by the stars.
All of it. Ripe for the taking.
Corrupt the roots. Corrupt the tree.