Barrett felt a twinge of guilt at skipping the Caesar's procession. Not because he had known the man, but because he knew his Ma would ask him about it when he told her about his time in Citadel.
Ah, well. That's assuming I even make it back to Dort. Time to do some more "hands on" investigation.
There were not likely to be many folk wandering the halls inside, so Barrett foresook his magickal hiding for good old-fashioned creeping about. He now had a decent familiarity with the halls and the servants' passages. He used that as well as a cautiously soft step as he headed to the Office of Protocol.
Prowling the Halls Sam 22nd, TT
Moderator: Mods
The halls weren't as empty or even quiet. In fact, Barrett found perhaps more activity than he had expected to find, with several servants rushing up and down the stairs, each headed up to the royal chambers above and back to the Offices of the Chamber carrying boxes, papers, and piles upon piles of clothes. Not even when the Caesar was alive had Barrett seen so much activity, and in such a focused location as well, a line of attendants that would easily see him if they even bothered to pause long enough to acknowledge him.
Despite this activity, the Office of Protocol was not their destination, and Barrett would have little difficulty slipping into those chambers without being seen, for no one...not even any guards...were stationed near his destination. The door gave him no indication of life...no light beneath, no sounds beyond, no movement at all.
Despite this activity, the Office of Protocol was not their destination, and Barrett would have little difficulty slipping into those chambers without being seen, for no one...not even any guards...were stationed near his destination. The door gave him no indication of life...no light beneath, no sounds beyond, no movement at all.
Barrett noted the activity with interest.
Certainly they do not waste any time in clearing away Anochrim and his belongings... How could one man have ever had occasion to wear all of that?
The focus of the traffic elsewhere made it unnecessary to creep, so Barrett simply walked with purpose upon his chosen path. After all, he wasn't doing anything illicit, and to move with greater care might only draw attention. Reaching the entrance to the Office of Protocol, the Querist was shocked to find it vacant.
Perhaps the entire department is at the procession? Still, better to be safe.
Looking about carefully to make sure no one was watching - and retreating to a less public spot if necessary - Barrett silently summoned forth the silver symbols from which he crafted his "Not-here". He allowed the energy to settle around him, masking any noise he made and rendering him invisible.
Then, oh-so-gently, he opened the door to the Office he sought.
Certainly they do not waste any time in clearing away Anochrim and his belongings... How could one man have ever had occasion to wear all of that?
The focus of the traffic elsewhere made it unnecessary to creep, so Barrett simply walked with purpose upon his chosen path. After all, he wasn't doing anything illicit, and to move with greater care might only draw attention. Reaching the entrance to the Office of Protocol, the Querist was shocked to find it vacant.
Perhaps the entire department is at the procession? Still, better to be safe.
Looking about carefully to make sure no one was watching - and retreating to a less public spot if necessary - Barrett silently summoned forth the silver symbols from which he crafted his "Not-here". He allowed the energy to settle around him, masking any noise he made and rendering him invisible.
Then, oh-so-gently, he opened the door to the Office he sought.
While there were many aspects of Barrett's weaving for stealth that remained somewhat unknown to him, the most central function of the magic was clear and obvious. The querist knew that eyes would slide over him in such a state, but he had been caught in the past, and he had seen evidence that he should have been caught much more often than he had. Guards often overlooked his shadow, his sounds, even his scent, when such a thing was apparent...and yet, his magics should not have protected him from these, should it? Surrounding him with his complex illusion once more, he slipped into the Office of Protocol, the door thankfully noiseless under his hands.
And he found nothing. The Office had been used recently...that much was certain...but his initial evaluation proved one thing to be certain and clear. The Office had been "prepared" for search, with all documents, both in shelves, in desk drawers, and in ledgers, had been removed, and not a soul remained within the chambers. Not even the customary baubles and momentos of a sitting Officer were within, giving the place an almost ominous, vacant feel.
While more investigation would be necessary to insure nothing had been missed, Barrett was left with every belief that someone had predicted his arrival, and had eliminated all traces of what work, if any, was done within.
And he found nothing. The Office had been used recently...that much was certain...but his initial evaluation proved one thing to be certain and clear. The Office had been "prepared" for search, with all documents, both in shelves, in desk drawers, and in ledgers, had been removed, and not a soul remained within the chambers. Not even the customary baubles and momentos of a sitting Officer were within, giving the place an almost ominous, vacant feel.
While more investigation would be necessary to insure nothing had been missed, Barrett was left with every belief that someone had predicted his arrival, and had eliminated all traces of what work, if any, was done within.
Records gone. Everything gone but the furniture, in fact. Moved? Or destroyed?
Frustration mixed with an oddly uncharacteristic anger. Barrett was a priest of knowledge. Books, even something as potentially innocuous as purchase records and personnel logs, were a form of knowledge that he was bound by oath and inclination to protect.
He turned his stirring emotions inward, seeking to focus clearly rather than allow it to distract him. The silver flames of the Thinker’s gift were his focal point.
My lord Aurelius, my search for knowledge is a task that will never be complete. Nor will my efforts to cultivate and refine knowledge of all varieties. I accepted these facts when first you summoned me to the Oracle’s Isle. And while I might exercise discretion in how I share what knowledge I gather, I would never destroy a source. If those whom I seek are so desperate or have so little concern for the written record as to destroy such documents, I pray you will guide me in ensuring that the knowledge is not lost - that if there is a chance to restore some of what has been taken, you allow me to do so.
With renewed determination, he set about a systematic search for even minute clues or remnants. Shreds of paper, chemical traces, tell-tale ashes - anything that might shed light on why someone had done such a thorough job of cleaning out the office.
Frustration mixed with an oddly uncharacteristic anger. Barrett was a priest of knowledge. Books, even something as potentially innocuous as purchase records and personnel logs, were a form of knowledge that he was bound by oath and inclination to protect.
He turned his stirring emotions inward, seeking to focus clearly rather than allow it to distract him. The silver flames of the Thinker’s gift were his focal point.
My lord Aurelius, my search for knowledge is a task that will never be complete. Nor will my efforts to cultivate and refine knowledge of all varieties. I accepted these facts when first you summoned me to the Oracle’s Isle. And while I might exercise discretion in how I share what knowledge I gather, I would never destroy a source. If those whom I seek are so desperate or have so little concern for the written record as to destroy such documents, I pray you will guide me in ensuring that the knowledge is not lost - that if there is a chance to restore some of what has been taken, you allow me to do so.
With renewed determination, he set about a systematic search for even minute clues or remnants. Shreds of paper, chemical traces, tell-tale ashes - anything that might shed light on why someone had done such a thorough job of cleaning out the office.
Whatever purpose behind the destructive measures taken, they were thorough. Barrett's swift benediction added to a sense of despondency and loss that was almost profound, a sense of grief or mourning that filled the air as might have filled a funeral for a living being. And his search did not go without reward, for in the fireplace he found what was left of the documents, clearly burned to ash and the ash left to scatter and blow in the powerful draw of the chimney flue. Many documents were burned here, A death to knowledge that was as complete and absolute as the setting sun.
The Office was not well appointed for any long term living, and it was with some frustration that the querist found nothing in the way of physical material. Only a few simple books remained, ledgers that detailed nothing more than foreign social systems and customs, books that Barrett had seen transcribed before that contained simple information regarding regional customs, a sensible utility to find in the Office of Protocol. His search had reduced him to leafing through the pages of those books, hoping for some stored note or scribbled lines in a margin, when he heard the sounds of men drawing close to the chambers outside. There were perhaps a half dozen men, and they said nothing to one another as they approached. Barrett had been fortunate to hear them before they entered the room.
The Office was not well appointed for any long term living, and it was with some frustration that the querist found nothing in the way of physical material. Only a few simple books remained, ledgers that detailed nothing more than foreign social systems and customs, books that Barrett had seen transcribed before that contained simple information regarding regional customs, a sensible utility to find in the Office of Protocol. His search had reduced him to leafing through the pages of those books, hoping for some stored note or scribbled lines in a margin, when he heard the sounds of men drawing close to the chambers outside. There were perhaps a half dozen men, and they said nothing to one another as they approached. Barrett had been fortunate to hear them before they entered the room.
Upset as he was with the discoveries he had made there, Barrett was loath to spare any attention for the sounds of men passing outside. He gathered up what books were left, with a vague plan of bringing them to the library for redistribution.
He was simply sitting, the salvaged works before him, trying to gather himself and formulate further plans. That was when he noticed that the footsteps were actually approaching. He could have hidden or cloaked himself in magick. Instead he simply sat and mourned the destroyed records.
He was simply sitting, the salvaged works before him, trying to gather himself and formulate further plans. That was when he noticed that the footsteps were actually approaching. He could have hidden or cloaked himself in magick. Instead he simply sat and mourned the destroyed records.
There were five in all, for Barrett's ears and eyes pieced them out despite two remaining out of his site, apparently left to watch the door. The first two were quite enough, however, two hard, lean mean, each entering like cats prowling a helpless target as they stalked in, silent in their soft, black-dyed armors and lethal with their hands ready upon swift, short, murderous weapons, weapons that were not commonly seen in the Citadel itself. As if to dehumanize the predators more, they wore black cloths tied over their faces that would occlude nose and mouth, leaving only their eyes visible for inspection, eyes that cast their piercing, angry glare over the room once, clearly interested only in what people or threats might be apparent. They settled upon Barrett as the sole occupant, and they quickly split apart as they approached him, instinctively working together to entrap the querist whether it would prove necessary or not.
The third man to enter was entirely different, on some ways more and in some ways less. That he was dangerous was a certainty...it was in his eyes and in his face that it could be seen, not blatant malevolence or hate, but crisp impatience and simple reason, a sharp mind that held direction and focus. He wore black silk from head to toe, and his black hair had long since broken in favor of gray tendrils that gave him an almost regal salt-and-pepper look to him. Lean and powerful, his frame spoke of quiet agility and action, and after he entered and considered Barrett with those same narrow, calculating eyes, he spoke with the same quiet agility one might instantly expect from such a man.
"And what have we here? I thought I was too late, and it seems I'm not quite too late, am I?" he started, glancing down to inspect the tomes that Barrett carried. He clearly was not interested in them, choosing instead to glance around quickly, clearly coming up with the same conclusion that the querist had reached only moments before. "Burned and buried. Everything. Everything except you, that is. I am Secretary Silk of the Imperial Council, and I suspect you didn't actually destroy the documents here, did you, sir?" he asked, his tone pleasant and somewhat agreeable, a stark conflict with his two guards who continued to advance such that they would soon flank the querist completely.
The third man to enter was entirely different, on some ways more and in some ways less. That he was dangerous was a certainty...it was in his eyes and in his face that it could be seen, not blatant malevolence or hate, but crisp impatience and simple reason, a sharp mind that held direction and focus. He wore black silk from head to toe, and his black hair had long since broken in favor of gray tendrils that gave him an almost regal salt-and-pepper look to him. Lean and powerful, his frame spoke of quiet agility and action, and after he entered and considered Barrett with those same narrow, calculating eyes, he spoke with the same quiet agility one might instantly expect from such a man.
"And what have we here? I thought I was too late, and it seems I'm not quite too late, am I?" he started, glancing down to inspect the tomes that Barrett carried. He clearly was not interested in them, choosing instead to glance around quickly, clearly coming up with the same conclusion that the querist had reached only moments before. "Burned and buried. Everything. Everything except you, that is. I am Secretary Silk of the Imperial Council, and I suspect you didn't actually destroy the documents here, did you, sir?" he asked, his tone pleasant and somewhat agreeable, a stark conflict with his two guards who continued to advance such that they would soon flank the querist completely.
Barrett might have been frightened, except he had a perfectly legitimate reason for being there. Still, the black-clad men instantly called to mind the assassins he had faced on Oracle's Isle. And while these were not likely part of the same organization, the mental association did much to sober the young priest.
I wonder what I might have learned had I remained hidden... a missed opportunity? Then again I might have had trouble maintaining the illusion while avoiding their physical presence. And this Silk, if he is the Silk, might have seen through it anyway - which would have left me with something much more incriminating than my presence to explain.
Barrett forced his body to relax, part of him was evaluating the position of the men and the parameters of room and furniture in case action became necessary. Clearly his Salaura training would be no match for these men, but it might combine with his magic to give him an edge in escaping if need be.
"My Lord Secretary," Barrett bowed, but was careful not to take his eyes off the man.
"Too late for what, Sir? I mean, no I did not destroy them. I- I'm not sure to whom this should be reported, my lord."
I wonder what I might have learned had I remained hidden... a missed opportunity? Then again I might have had trouble maintaining the illusion while avoiding their physical presence. And this Silk, if he is the Silk, might have seen through it anyway - which would have left me with something much more incriminating than my presence to explain.
Barrett forced his body to relax, part of him was evaluating the position of the men and the parameters of room and furniture in case action became necessary. Clearly his Salaura training would be no match for these men, but it might combine with his magic to give him an edge in escaping if need be.
"My Lord Secretary," Barrett bowed, but was careful not to take his eyes off the man.
"Too late for what, Sir? I mean, no I did not destroy them. I- I'm not sure to whom this should be reported, my lord."
"It should be reported to me, of course," waved Silk, his wave both dispelling the question as well as the two advancing killers, relegating them to motionless positions against either wall to each side of Barrett. "I've come to do a little research of my own, perhaps to learn much the same thing as you, though I see that what tracks might be left here have been sufficiently...destroyed." I should have visited his house. Dammit, dammit, dammit...not fast enough. No matter. There are other ways to learn about someone's past. I can always fall back to the branding iron.
"Now perhaps you might grace me and my friends with the benefit of your name? And why I find you wandering alone in the Citadel just now? Certainly, I don't suspect you for a moment of having torched all of the documents here, so don't worry yourself on that score at all." No, it was that blithering idiot Marius. Or possibly Azarin. Either way, it's only a little thing. There are other routes to this knowledge. Maybe even this man here...though somehow I doubt it.
"Now perhaps you might grace me and my friends with the benefit of your name? And why I find you wandering alone in the Citadel just now? Certainly, I don't suspect you for a moment of having torched all of the documents here, so don't worry yourself on that score at all." No, it was that blithering idiot Marius. Or possibly Azarin. Either way, it's only a little thing. There are other routes to this knowledge. Maybe even this man here...though somehow I doubt it.
"Research, my lord? Perhaps I can be of assistance. I am Barrett Threespan, Citadel Archives - Mistress Tabeann's assistant. I came here seeking a few bits of information regarding recent festivities and visitors sponsored by the Office of Protocol. The, er, unconventional founding and operations of this Office and its head are rather intriguing."
"Anyway, I found the chambers deserted and the records destroyed. I've salvaged what few books and pamphlets I could for redistribution via the Library and Archives. If you tell me what information you were seeking, I can attempt to look it up through alternate sources for you. Or perhaps I can inquire with Lord de Winter when I meet with him tomorrow. Actually I'm tempted to push up that meeting to today considering this discovery."
Not that I expect either Andolin or the Lord de Winter to be surprised: something this extensive would almost certainly require one or both of them to authorize it.
"Anyway, I found the chambers deserted and the records destroyed. I've salvaged what few books and pamphlets I could for redistribution via the Library and Archives. If you tell me what information you were seeking, I can attempt to look it up through alternate sources for you. Or perhaps I can inquire with Lord de Winter when I meet with him tomorrow. Actually I'm tempted to push up that meeting to today considering this discovery."
Not that I expect either Andolin or the Lord de Winter to be surprised: something this extensive would almost certainly require one or both of them to authorize it.
"That's very kind of you, Barrett Threespan, but I have a few...alternative sources myself, and I'll just consult those, I think," responded the man quickly and evenly as his eyes scanned the chambers once more. "However, I do appreciate your offer. Naturally enough, I must be sadly evasive with what facts I can give considering the very sensitive nature of my own inquiries, but I think it might be adequate for me to point out to you that we're both working for the best interest and security of the Empire, and...we're both here in this office at this time."
Silk let those words hang in the air as he approached Barrett slowly, his dark clothing flowing over a lean, muscled physique as he walked. A nosey little man, is he? Very well, let him nose around this, and lets see just what comes of it.
"I've arrived to investigate some of the more...unexplainable personalities that made up this office in recent days," began Silk, certain that those very words would apply instant pressure to Azarin, though it was unclear what kind of pressure that would be. "Why, I've no knowledge of them at all...and no knowledge of their past, or from where they came. I suppose that might be your interest, to a degree, and now that we've arrived to find all their documents burned, I suspect you've learned something more, haven't you? What would make a man be in such a hurry to cover his tracks to this extent, hmm?"
Silk let those words hang in the air as he approached Barrett slowly, his dark clothing flowing over a lean, muscled physique as he walked. A nosey little man, is he? Very well, let him nose around this, and lets see just what comes of it.
"I've arrived to investigate some of the more...unexplainable personalities that made up this office in recent days," began Silk, certain that those very words would apply instant pressure to Azarin, though it was unclear what kind of pressure that would be. "Why, I've no knowledge of them at all...and no knowledge of their past, or from where they came. I suppose that might be your interest, to a degree, and now that we've arrived to find all their documents burned, I suspect you've learned something more, haven't you? What would make a man be in such a hurry to cover his tracks to this extent, hmm?"
Barrett kept a close eye on the man’s movements, not wanting to end up another name on the Citadel’s current casualties list. If the Tyrant moved too close, Barrett would casually counter. The words of the Red Priestess came to him, about Salaura being a means of setting up defensive moves so that they were executed automatically. Much like setting up pieces on a kemn board. And Barrett’s board was the office; his pieces, Silk and the black-clad killers. His strategy, to keep a path free to escape or give himself enough time to use magick to even the odds.
Doubtless, the Lord Secretary had "alternative" sources - many of them, if rumors could be believed and more than a few of those illicit. Perhaps one of those had informed him of Barrett's identity, for Silk seemed convinced that the Querist was here searching for "important" information despite appearances to the contrary. Cautiously he continued to be a helpful archivist. It would be natural for an employee to seek the favor of such a powerful man.
The Dortman wound his way cautiously through known and unknown. The Secretary was determined to push his own idea regardless of whether or not there was evidence to support it. Such a forced manipulation of knowledge was not to the Querist's liking. Nor was the fact that this man paraded trained assassins through the halls of the Citadel. But Silk might be a valuable ally as long as one kept in mind his reputation. And almost certainly a dangerous enemy.
"You ask me to attempt the difficult task of assembling a theory based on the lack of evidence."
Unless you wish to share some of the information from your alternative sources.
"My scholarly training bids me be cautious about formulating a detailed hypothesis when so few details are known. For instance, we do not know who is responsible for this destruction. Either it was authorized by someone with authority or the Office of Protocol has been infiltrated by someone with an interest in covering their tracks. The burning of documents may have been ordered to conceal incompetence or corruption. Or it might have been suggested by some outside authority. Or some combination of these things."
Barrett decided to offer a tidbit of information. One that he himself considered irrelevant, but one that seemed connected to Silk's favored (if unstated) theory.
"The missing scion of House Azarin... certainly a family with many intrigues in its history... might be able to provide some insight - or at least confirm the source of the order. At the very least he might explain his hiring practices."
Doubtless, the Lord Secretary had "alternative" sources - many of them, if rumors could be believed and more than a few of those illicit. Perhaps one of those had informed him of Barrett's identity, for Silk seemed convinced that the Querist was here searching for "important" information despite appearances to the contrary. Cautiously he continued to be a helpful archivist. It would be natural for an employee to seek the favor of such a powerful man.
The Dortman wound his way cautiously through known and unknown. The Secretary was determined to push his own idea regardless of whether or not there was evidence to support it. Such a forced manipulation of knowledge was not to the Querist's liking. Nor was the fact that this man paraded trained assassins through the halls of the Citadel. But Silk might be a valuable ally as long as one kept in mind his reputation. And almost certainly a dangerous enemy.
"You ask me to attempt the difficult task of assembling a theory based on the lack of evidence."
Unless you wish to share some of the information from your alternative sources.
"My scholarly training bids me be cautious about formulating a detailed hypothesis when so few details are known. For instance, we do not know who is responsible for this destruction. Either it was authorized by someone with authority or the Office of Protocol has been infiltrated by someone with an interest in covering their tracks. The burning of documents may have been ordered to conceal incompetence or corruption. Or it might have been suggested by some outside authority. Or some combination of these things."
Barrett decided to offer a tidbit of information. One that he himself considered irrelevant, but one that seemed connected to Silk's favored (if unstated) theory.
"The missing scion of House Azarin... certainly a family with many intrigues in its history... might be able to provide some insight - or at least confirm the source of the order. At the very least he might explain his hiring practices."
Silk did indeed approach, speaking as he did. "The...missing scion...of House Azarin..." he said, reaching close enough to elicit a response from Barrett, a response that took him a step to the left and back, movements that gave Silk to smile with a lopsided, amused grin. "How...aggregate. And what is that, really? A...title? Tell me...since you're not willing to assemble a theory based on the lack of evidence, are you willing to assemble one based on a man who has no documented or proven history? And how could I not argue that he..." Silk pointed to one of his 'guards' standing just nearby "...isn't the missing scion of the House Azarin? If such a house even exists?"
"You're the thinker, so think on this. Incompetence, corruption, those aren't reasons to destroy information. And why would an outside authority demand something this dramatic? Oh, I'm sure you can drum up a line of bullshit as well as the next missing Scion of House Azarin, but it sounds to me like you're evading the most obvious one. And I thought you were supposed to be impartial. So much for the thinker."
All at once, Silk turned and stepped back towards the door, his guards moving away as well to give Barrett some space. He paused at the door and considered the querist one more time. "If you'd like any information from me, you need only send word and I'll arrange it. After all, we can't have too many more of these..." he motioned around the room to indicate what had been done "...before we're left in the dark completely. Good day, Master Barrett Threespan."
"You're the thinker, so think on this. Incompetence, corruption, those aren't reasons to destroy information. And why would an outside authority demand something this dramatic? Oh, I'm sure you can drum up a line of bullshit as well as the next missing Scion of House Azarin, but it sounds to me like you're evading the most obvious one. And I thought you were supposed to be impartial. So much for the thinker."
All at once, Silk turned and stepped back towards the door, his guards moving away as well to give Barrett some space. He paused at the door and considered the querist one more time. "If you'd like any information from me, you need only send word and I'll arrange it. After all, we can't have too many more of these..." he motioned around the room to indicate what had been done "...before we're left in the dark completely. Good day, Master Barrett Threespan."
Silk’s words made no sense. There was no logic to what he said. Barrett had set forth that, given the condition of the records, someone within the Office had destroyed them either by order or to conceal something on their own behalf. This covered all potential explanations save that the records had destroyed themselves or had been destroyed at random… or as a decoy.
The Secretary seemed to be ridiculing Barrett’s reluctance to jump to any conclusions in order to rush the Dortman into a specific opinion. And apparently he hoped that he would invoke an emotional response in order to cloud the priest’s judgment. Barrett was having none of that. He calmly centered himself reaching deep for proper perspective and the patience to interpret the pattern before him properly.
“My Lord, I prefer to base my theories on facts, not men. Records will vouch that House Azarin exists.†Or existed up to a point
“I can neither prove nor disprove that our Master of Protocol is the legitimate heir to said house. Fortunately, that is not my task.â€
“I assure you, I have no interest in military assembly of bovine waste. I evade no explanation; I merely consider the broad categories into which all possible explanations fall. If I am asked to look into this matter, I will be happy to seek you out with any theories I do formulate.â€
So that you can specify which explanation you would have me assume.
Barrett waited for Silk and his minions to depart, listening carefully to make sure that they had cleared the vicinity before taking another look around the office to make sure that there was nothing he had missed.
The Secretary seemed to be ridiculing Barrett’s reluctance to jump to any conclusions in order to rush the Dortman into a specific opinion. And apparently he hoped that he would invoke an emotional response in order to cloud the priest’s judgment. Barrett was having none of that. He calmly centered himself reaching deep for proper perspective and the patience to interpret the pattern before him properly.
“My Lord, I prefer to base my theories on facts, not men. Records will vouch that House Azarin exists.†Or existed up to a point
“I can neither prove nor disprove that our Master of Protocol is the legitimate heir to said house. Fortunately, that is not my task.â€
“I assure you, I have no interest in military assembly of bovine waste. I evade no explanation; I merely consider the broad categories into which all possible explanations fall. If I am asked to look into this matter, I will be happy to seek you out with any theories I do formulate.â€
So that you can specify which explanation you would have me assume.
Barrett waited for Silk and his minions to depart, listening carefully to make sure that they had cleared the vicinity before taking another look around the office to make sure that there was nothing he had missed.
Silk nodded. Suddenly I'm less concerned about this investigation. If this is the best mind they have to investigate it, I might be better served letting him live. The poor man would try to rationalize the world without ever actually living in it. "Very well. Good luck in your hunt, Threespan. Let's go. And you! Leave the ledgers. You're in the Office of the Chamber, and it isn't seemly to steal," he shot, pointing at Barrett. "It'd be...haha!...a damned shame if you were taken up just now...and by me."
He turned and left, his guards slipping out behind him soundlessly and with only a single glance cast back in Barrett's direction before they, too, were out of sight, the sounds of the Imperial Secretary fading down the hall.
He turned and left, his guards slipping out behind him soundlessly and with only a single glance cast back in Barrett's direction before they, too, were out of sight, the sounds of the Imperial Secretary fading down the hall.
A frustrated sigh escaped the young priest's lips.
Is there anyone in these walls who doesn't know my business?
He set about the task of re-examining the office for anything that might have been overlooked before. He then created a detailed list of the materials that he had found there, writing a brief description of each book or pamphlet. He was determined to keep reliable record of just what was and was not found in the chamber.
Once that task was complete he considered the implications behind Silk's words. While he had expected information to flow quickly, he was still not happy with the results. Perhaps magickal surveillance or mindreading could be partially to blame.
Aurelius. My lord.
He let the energies at the center of his being grow into the familiar silver characters.
Please augment my natural efforts to keep my thoughts my own with your divine will. The Game being played here threatens to overtake me before I have begun.
Barrett wove silver symbols into his own willful defenses to create a barrier against mental intrusion. His first efforts at such had been clumsy yet effective. Now he tried to refine the formula to something that would protect him without demanding his full concentration.
Is there anyone in these walls who doesn't know my business?
He set about the task of re-examining the office for anything that might have been overlooked before. He then created a detailed list of the materials that he had found there, writing a brief description of each book or pamphlet. He was determined to keep reliable record of just what was and was not found in the chamber.
Once that task was complete he considered the implications behind Silk's words. While he had expected information to flow quickly, he was still not happy with the results. Perhaps magickal surveillance or mindreading could be partially to blame.
Aurelius. My lord.
He let the energies at the center of his being grow into the familiar silver characters.
Please augment my natural efforts to keep my thoughts my own with your divine will. The Game being played here threatens to overtake me before I have begun.
Barrett wove silver symbols into his own willful defenses to create a barrier against mental intrusion. His first efforts at such had been clumsy yet effective. Now he tried to refine the formula to something that would protect him without demanding his full concentration.
As he had done in the past, Barrett called upon the divine power of his faith and began shaping the powers to his will, concerned that his thoughts might have been robbed from him. They responded quickly and without difficulty, requiring perhaps less focus from him for reasons well beyond his understanding. Once more, he shaped the energies into a shield designed to block those that would pry into his mind, and while his shield was elegant and undoubtedly effective, it never seemed to sustain itself beyond his immediate knowledge, leaving him largely distracted from all other tasks. Still, the shield grew easier with practice, proving that progress could indeed be made.
It was a minor thing at first, but it couldn't be ignored. As Barrett focused his mind and practiced his shield, trying to give it some substance that would be easier to maintain, a glimmer of the scene that just passed before him flashed back to his eyes, a memory of his own that, without his cogent request, returned to him in full.
Ten paces by five, the door four paces from the near end on the northern wall, two windows and a fireplace spaced evenly along the south wall. Silk was two and one half paces forward, four and one quarter paces from the eastern wall and one quarter pace closer to the north wall from the south. The first of his men was directly north, two paces away and against that wall, with the other two paces south and one quarter pace east placing him just beyond the window and well before the fireplace. Only his eyes were visible, and they've gazed at me before without the shroud covering the remainder of his face such that he might not be recognized. He glanced out the window as he passed.
I have met him before. In Bevan's office.
It was a minor thing at first, but it couldn't be ignored. As Barrett focused his mind and practiced his shield, trying to give it some substance that would be easier to maintain, a glimmer of the scene that just passed before him flashed back to his eyes, a memory of his own that, without his cogent request, returned to him in full.
Ten paces by five, the door four paces from the near end on the northern wall, two windows and a fireplace spaced evenly along the south wall. Silk was two and one half paces forward, four and one quarter paces from the eastern wall and one quarter pace closer to the north wall from the south. The first of his men was directly north, two paces away and against that wall, with the other two paces south and one quarter pace east placing him just beyond the window and well before the fireplace. Only his eyes were visible, and they've gazed at me before without the shroud covering the remainder of his face such that he might not be recognized. He glanced out the window as he passed.
I have met him before. In Bevan's office.
The focused recall was not an entirely foreign experience. At least, in theory it was not. The clarity and the fact that he had not specifically attempted such a recall was most unusual. Thus he considered it the Thinker's answer to his plea.
Thank you, my lord, for helping me to survive to serve you. I have faith that you have not set me to tasks beyond my potential to fulfill, and I promise to hone the skills and develop the knowledge that you reveal to me.
He allowed the memory trance to take him completely then, seeking further details about the identity of Silk's man: the face beneath the mask and information from the prior encounter. It would be useful to recognize him more immediately in any future encounters.
Once he had correlated what memory-images he could, Barrett collected his written inventory and made his way out of the chamber.
The entire scene had felt slightly staged. Had it been a coincidence that Silk arrived in the office slightly after Barrett had finished his search? Were they searching for the same thing? For the same reason? Or had Barrett's presence kept the Secretary from some other task?
The Querist's initial speculations created a many-layered tale of deceptions within deceptions. A few weeks earlier such intrigues would have left him with something of a headache, but his time in service to The Thinker at Citadel and on the Isle of the Oracle had changed him. Barrett walked the halls, taking a circuitous route to the Office of the Chamber. He knew better than to think that such a route would throw off any spies, but it at least gave him time to digest information and to think.
As he walked he considered the problem of the potential intrusion of mindcraft. He could not keep his shield fully effective and concentrate on other tasks... not yet anyway. But perhaps he could use only a small portion of his mental capacity to weave a pattern of those energies about the edges of his consciousness, a sort of alarm to warn of any intrusion. He had felt the stirrings of others as they invaded his mind before. Perhaps a minor algorithm could turn such a sense of disturbance into a trigger for his full shield.
Thank you, my lord, for helping me to survive to serve you. I have faith that you have not set me to tasks beyond my potential to fulfill, and I promise to hone the skills and develop the knowledge that you reveal to me.
He allowed the memory trance to take him completely then, seeking further details about the identity of Silk's man: the face beneath the mask and information from the prior encounter. It would be useful to recognize him more immediately in any future encounters.
Once he had correlated what memory-images he could, Barrett collected his written inventory and made his way out of the chamber.
The entire scene had felt slightly staged. Had it been a coincidence that Silk arrived in the office slightly after Barrett had finished his search? Were they searching for the same thing? For the same reason? Or had Barrett's presence kept the Secretary from some other task?
The Querist's initial speculations created a many-layered tale of deceptions within deceptions. A few weeks earlier such intrigues would have left him with something of a headache, but his time in service to The Thinker at Citadel and on the Isle of the Oracle had changed him. Barrett walked the halls, taking a circuitous route to the Office of the Chamber. He knew better than to think that such a route would throw off any spies, but it at least gave him time to digest information and to think.
As he walked he considered the problem of the potential intrusion of mindcraft. He could not keep his shield fully effective and concentrate on other tasks... not yet anyway. But perhaps he could use only a small portion of his mental capacity to weave a pattern of those energies about the edges of his consciousness, a sort of alarm to warn of any intrusion. He had felt the stirrings of others as they invaded his mind before. Perhaps a minor algorithm could turn such a sense of disturbance into a trigger for his full shield.
The name he gave was Anthony...just Anthony and nothing more. He was a servant, albeit a minor one, working virtually anywhere he was needed, from serving drinks and meals to straightening rooms or endless, endless cleaning. He interviewed well, a hapless man with no distinguishing features at all, with a recent illness that kept him away form his duties for a couple days sometime early in the month. He gave Barrett no reason to be suspicious then...no reason until today, when his soft, brown eyes and wrinkled, aristocratic nose marked him over the dark rag he wore over his face.
As Barrett walked, he noticed the same series of servants moving through the halls, launching upwards towards the higher levels of the Palace by way of her centralized stairs where they collected more things and brought them down to storerooms near the Office of the Chamber. The Office itself...the one maintained by the Major Domos...was strangely empty, though the shabby condition of the office was not lost upon the querist. Under the watchful eyes of no less than four Purple Guards, he could peek in to an open door and see a cluttered, messy desk...a very uncharacteristic clutter considering the immaculate condition of the remainder...and one that seemed at home with an unsightly stain of ink...Barrett was accustomed to the site of spilled ink...that ran down the front of the desk to join what might have been bloody footprints leading from the office to one of the windows, footprints that would take some effort to remove from the once-beautiful rug.
"May I help you, sir?" came the tentative question of the guard nearby, his careful, neutral face characteristic of the Palace guardians. His stance, holding him just before the office doorway, made it clear that he would allow no one to enter the office, undoubtedly on order.
As Barrett walked, he noticed the same series of servants moving through the halls, launching upwards towards the higher levels of the Palace by way of her centralized stairs where they collected more things and brought them down to storerooms near the Office of the Chamber. The Office itself...the one maintained by the Major Domos...was strangely empty, though the shabby condition of the office was not lost upon the querist. Under the watchful eyes of no less than four Purple Guards, he could peek in to an open door and see a cluttered, messy desk...a very uncharacteristic clutter considering the immaculate condition of the remainder...and one that seemed at home with an unsightly stain of ink...Barrett was accustomed to the site of spilled ink...that ran down the front of the desk to join what might have been bloody footprints leading from the office to one of the windows, footprints that would take some effort to remove from the once-beautiful rug.
"May I help you, sir?" came the tentative question of the guard nearby, his careful, neutral face characteristic of the Palace guardians. His stance, holding him just before the office doorway, made it clear that he would allow no one to enter the office, undoubtedly on order.
A peek was an opening for the senses. Barrett took advantage of it to see what could be seen. The desk clutter. the stain. The footprints. Where those ink or blood or something else? Were there marks on window or wall.
Next, the guards themselves came under scrutiny. Barrett was determined to be more conscious of the identities of everyone whom he encountered in Citadel: Which guards were posted where or were encountered at specific events? Were there more spies in the servant or guard ranks that he could identify? Even if no treachery was revealed, this focus would have the eventual advantage of familiarizing him with both guards and staff.
“I hope you may, guardsman. I am seeking the Major Domos with some important information. Has something happened to him?â€
Next, the guards themselves came under scrutiny. Barrett was determined to be more conscious of the identities of everyone whom he encountered in Citadel: Which guards were posted where or were encountered at specific events? Were there more spies in the servant or guard ranks that he could identify? Even if no treachery was revealed, this focus would have the eventual advantage of familiarizing him with both guards and staff.
“I hope you may, guardsman. I am seeking the Major Domos with some important information. Has something happened to him?â€
The guard never hesitated for a second, a clear sign of either preparation or utter truth. "The Major Domos continues his duties even after his majesty's passing. He's in the Royal Chambers, clearing and cleaning them. He has instructed that he might be found there, and he would welcome any urgent business to seek him there."
The maintained his attention upon Barrett as was custom and etiquette...the Purple Guard were nothing if not the very soul of proper...awaiting any further questions. Meanwhile, more of the Caesar's things were being brought to nearby storerooms for securing by the Lord Chamberlain.
The Office, however, revealed precious little else. The clutter appeared to be little more than a series of mismatched parcels, the kind often used for messages, and judging by the spotty and unruly nature of these messages they were all condolences, requests, or correspondence regarding his current task, perhaps interested parties seeking some measure of benefit from the great man's passing. The city had it's share of jackals, too.
The maintained his attention upon Barrett as was custom and etiquette...the Purple Guard were nothing if not the very soul of proper...awaiting any further questions. Meanwhile, more of the Caesar's things were being brought to nearby storerooms for securing by the Lord Chamberlain.
The Office, however, revealed precious little else. The clutter appeared to be little more than a series of mismatched parcels, the kind often used for messages, and judging by the spotty and unruly nature of these messages they were all condolences, requests, or correspondence regarding his current task, perhaps interested parties seeking some measure of benefit from the great man's passing. The city had it's share of jackals, too.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Barrett's brow creased at the guard's hesitation and words. Could the man be lying? It seemed unlikely... unless his orders were to mislead those seeking the Major Domos. Perhaps Marius was trying to avoid all of the fortune seekers. It seemed pointless to browbeat the man, as that would only convince him that Barrett was one of the ambitious courtiers. Instead, he offered a shrug and a bit of the truth.
"I hope I will find him there, since my information concerns a potential threat to his own person."
Unless the guard offered further information, Barrett would give a polite bow and head for the royal Chambers in search of the elusive Lord de Winter.
"I hope I will find him there, since my information concerns a potential threat to his own person."
Unless the guard offered further information, Barrett would give a polite bow and head for the royal Chambers in search of the elusive Lord de Winter.
And Barrett did. The Royal Apartments were already undergoing a dramatic change, as drawers, casements, and wardrobes were pulled open and left such that their contents could be marked as clear. It was here that the servants were drawing all the royal goods, from all the Caesar's rooms as well as a few of his guest rooms down the hall, carefully removing all personal, additional material at the Major Domos' direction.
Lord Marius de Winter himself was stationed at the Caesar's desk in the royal study, several stacks of papers before him, all facing down, as he sorted through the deceased ruler's notes and correspondence. Glancing up, he spied Barrett, his very eyes bringing a pressure to Barrett...to the querist's very mind...that instantly set off warning alarms.
There were no servants in the office, leaving Barrett alone with the Lord Chamberlain. He rose quickly, leaving his documents behind and slipping out from behind the desk, clearly intending to intercept the querist long before he got close enough to the desk to see anything sensitive. "Good day, good day, sir. Please have a seat here..." he motioned him to a chair by the window, one that was well away from the desk at which he was working. "I am Lord de Winter, Major Domos of the Citadel. How can I help you?" he offered. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with features that were the envy of many, most prominant though was his striking amber eyes that seemed to pull one in if they weren't paying attention. His hair was long and of a golden hue that spoke of elven ancestery somewhere along the family line.
Lord Marius de Winter himself was stationed at the Caesar's desk in the royal study, several stacks of papers before him, all facing down, as he sorted through the deceased ruler's notes and correspondence. Glancing up, he spied Barrett, his very eyes bringing a pressure to Barrett...to the querist's very mind...that instantly set off warning alarms.
There were no servants in the office, leaving Barrett alone with the Lord Chamberlain. He rose quickly, leaving his documents behind and slipping out from behind the desk, clearly intending to intercept the querist long before he got close enough to the desk to see anything sensitive. "Good day, good day, sir. Please have a seat here..." he motioned him to a chair by the window, one that was well away from the desk at which he was working. "I am Lord de Winter, Major Domos of the Citadel. How can I help you?" he offered. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with features that were the envy of many, most prominant though was his striking amber eyes that seemed to pull one in if they weren't paying attention. His hair was long and of a golden hue that spoke of elven ancestery somewhere along the family line.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Barrett's response to the intrusion was immediate and extreme. Shields slammed into place with no regard for subtlety, and he called upon the Thinker to protect his temple. While other gods had buildings and holy orders of priesthood to tend them, the followers of Aurelius invested the sanctity of that relationship in their own minds. For thoughts and knowledge in their purest forms were not bound by physical objects and places.