Standing in Zaheem Gavrick’s office within the Tower of Ministers was a dodgy individual. Dark, scruffy clothes. A wild mane of hair. Most of the face hidden by a scarf. Zaheem did not know how long the man had been there, nor how he’d gotten in. The door hadn’t been unlocked while he was away, and after retuning to the office, Zaheem had not seen or heard the door open.
Admittedly, he had not really been paying that much attention to it. However, the entrance to the office had been within his peripheral vision the entire time, and the Advisor wasn’t going blind just yet. Neither was he so old that his mental faculties were jumping ship.
The only conclusion was that the suspicious individual must have duplicated one of the keys used by the janitors. Using that, getting in would not be a problem, and the door could be locked behind him too. Only, how in Pahrn’s name had the intruder managed to remain hidden in the office until now? There wasn’t that much space, nor a lot of places to hide in.
Well, it mattered not, Zaheem decided. One well-aimed shot, and the paralytic would take care of the rest. The blackjacks could interrogate him after it wore off, and all mysteries would melt away. All that needed to be done was buy some time. Just a little bit, enough so Zaheem could grab the tiny crossbow. Aiming was not a problem. In a small and enclosed space like this, at this distance, the Advisor could not miss.
“Who are you?” he asked, brow furrowed, trying to nonchalantly move his hand closer to the open drawer of his desk.
“Does it matter?” the scarf-face responded with a shrug.
Zaheem felt his jaw clench a little, rather annoyed with the non-response. The tension disappeared quickly though.
Soon enough you’ll be spasming on the floor anyway, introduction or no.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” the Advisor agreed. “But what does is why you are here.”
The man nodded sagely, pleased by the question, it seemed. Was this one of those burglars that wanted to act overly mysterious, having seen too many plays and now believing themselves to be part of one? The kind that waited for the right moment to make a dramatic entry, and only speak to answer questions, but only do so in the most vague and enigmatic way they could think of?
“You may consider me a messenger, if it helps set your mind at ease.”
Oh, by the Marshals of old, it was. Zaheem could barely stifle a groan, but couldn’t control the roll of his eyes. Well, maybe this would make things easier. If he played along, perhaps he could distract the intruder for long enough to shoot him. His hand crept closer to the hidden weapon.
“A messenger! Pray tell, who sent you, and what message do you bring?”
There was an unmistakable glint in the intruder’s eyes now. A sparkle that had not been there before. Competent at reading expressions, Zaheem felt confident the ‘messenger’ was enjoying this. Good. If set at ease, the man would grow less perceptive, and incapacitating him would be all the easier.
“I did. I am both the messenger AND the sender. I have been observing you for a little while,” the messenger admitted, “to make sure you were the one to receive it.”
Zaheem raised an eyebrow. Collected as he might look, on the inside his mind raced. Was this intruder talking out of his ass, or had he really been spying? For how long? Where had he been hiding? Since Zaheem hadn’t even noticed the man when entering the office, it seemed plausible that the intruder could have been ‘observing’ on prior dates.
“Is that so?” he responded coolly, fingers brushing against the sculpted wood of the crossbow. “You being here means I passed the test then?”
“Quite. You see, I’ve heard you speak in those meetings--”
In one swift motion, the elderly Advisor snatched the crossbow out of the drawer, fingers slipping around the firing mechanism. The bow was drawn and loaded, ready at a moments notice. Zaheem’s hand smacked into the edge of the desk, causing his gaze to shift for less than a heartbeat, but it didn’t stop or slow him in bringing the weapon in position. A practiced action executed in the span of a second. From this distance, he couldn’t miss.
Only…
There was no target.
How in the actual fuck?!
Not moving his head, Zaheem scanned the interior of his office, crossbow following his gaze. There were very few places to hide. A potted plant stood against the wall at one side, but though it was large, it provided very little cover. Maybe the file cabinet on the opposite wall? Indeed, a solid object to hide behind, but it was too far from the location the intruder had been standing. In such a short time, he couldn’t have made it that far so stealthily.
Magic then. His mind leapt to rupturing, but that Domain was too loud. Perhaps with a mutation that quieted everything around it down—no, too complicated. Most people would react on instinct when threatened, reflexes kicking in. Executing a difficult process requiring intense concentration in such a brief span of time? Unlikely.
Occam’s Razor, Zaheem decided, the man’s still in the room. Illusions, perhaps. An artefact bestowing invisibility, triggered to respond automatically to a physical threat. No, no. Still too complex. Too far-fetched. Still, he was convinced the intruder was still around here somewhere, he just couldn’t detect him.
Suddenly, the weapon vanished out of his hands. One moment it was there, another it was gone. No warning given.
“Apologies, but I’d rather not get shot. Don’t shoot the messenger, and all that. No worries, I’ll give it back later.”
Zaheem nearly jumped. The intruder was standing right next to him, crossing his arms.
“How—What—Where did you—”
The intruder paced back to his previous spot in front of the desk. “Unimportant. Would you care to hear my message, Mr. Gavrick? It is worth your while, I assure you.”
Shaken, though not panicked, Zaheem recovered quickly. Without a weapon or the element of surprise, he could not overpower an assailant. He’d never been much of a fighter. So instead he sighed, and lowered himself into his chair. There was one trick left to him.
“Alright then.” He waved one hand in dismissal, using the other to press the button hidden underneath the top of his desk.
The messenger cocked his head momentarily, then gave another shrug. If he had noticed the action, he didn’t let it show.
“Sintra’s lying--”
Once again, Zaheem rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I will. May I?”
“By all means.”
He coughed. “Right. So. You’ve no doubt heard of Sintra stepping up to aid us during the raid on Rhakros. You know of the speeches she’s been given this season. And, somewhere deep down, you know that she’s playing all of us. You know Sintra did not help us because of her good heart. She has motives. Perhaps she was involved in Lisirra’s attack. Perhaps she is the mastermind behind it. That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
It was Zaheem’s turn to shrug, a noncommittal response. “Sure, what of it?”
“What if I told you you’re right? That she has engineered the whole situation. That it was all part of a plot to gain influence within Etzos. That there is evidence of her machinations. What would you do?”
“Evidence?” The elderly advisor rose quickly from his chair. “You have evidence? Show me!”
“Ah…” the intruder sighed. “I would, but I handed over everything I’d collected to another who felt the people needed to know.”
Zaheem’s excitement died down as quickly as it had risen up. Of course this fraud had ‘given everything away’.
“You have heard of her, surely. I don’t know her name, but she spent some days showing off the letters she collected, as well as an artefact of Sintra’s. She’d shared her plan to spread the information with me, you see, and I thought it would be the fastest way to get all of Etzos aware of Sintra’s ploy.”
“You’re saying that what that woman is telling the masses isn’t made up, and the items within her possession are genuine?” Interesting. Spreading the word under the pretense of being a raving mad anti-Immortal preacher was not a bad idea, actually. Bold and dangerous, yes, but not stupid. Rumors about her HAD spread quickly, and a lot of people had attended the exhibitions. If only so they could brag to their friends and family they’d been there and had seen the madwoman in person. As she wouldn’t be taken too seriously, actively working to censor her would lend credibility to her claims. But the longer she continued her speeching, the more the words would stick around. People would discus, debate. People would THINK about what was said. Critically. In time, it might lead to more of a divide between the distinct groups in the population –pro and conta Sintra—which would slow the Immortal’s takeover, and might perhaps lead to more significant consequences. Best of all, Sintra could do nothing about it.
“Unfortunately,” the messenger continued, “she seems to have vanished from the face of Idalos. She and all her evidence. There’s been no more speeches, no more exhibitions. I have not seen her in several days, and believe me, I was keeping an eye on her.” The intruder’s brow was furrowed in frustration. It bled through into his voice as well. “I had feared the public route would be easily smothered, but I hadn’t expected it to go this fast.” A sigh. “Though I suppose this does mean that Sintra or her followers were feeling threatened. Such things don’t happen otherwise.”
Zaheem nodded, mostly to himself as he considered the implications. Perhaps Sintra herself had not acted, likely even ordering her Webspinners to stand down and do nothing. However, it only took one within that group to feel too uncomfortable with a bellringer telling the public all their secrets, even if they did not believe her claims just yet.
“Interesting. Can you tell me more about this evidence you handed over? You mentioned an artefact?”
“Oh, for sure.” He leaned in a little, conspiratorial. “Under Rhakros, during the siege, we found a network of tunnels. One of which led to a secret laboratory where Lisirra produced some drug to keep her citizens docile. Within that laboratory, there was a … magical passageway of sorts that took us to another, more distant chamber. Like a strand of a web that leads to the middle. The mage in our midst had seen such ‘strands’ in farmlands here, where they produced odd phenomena. From what we could tell, they originated in that chamber. There was a pedestal there, with a cube on top of it. It had runes glowing all over, and clearly did not belong in our world. Even us non-mages could tell this thing was odd. We deciphered the runes. They read: Detect, Select, Perfect, Affect. We believe this is the artefact that prolonged the storm that weakened Etzos’s defenses. Moreover, when we tried to leave the chamber, the large spiders Sintra provided to strengthen our forces turned on us. When we killed them, the whole chamber collapsed. We barely escaped.”
Tapping his desk with a finger, Zaheem considered the story. While not inconceivable, he was not naïve enough to blindly believe in a tale that confirmed all the doubts he’d had about the Spider Queen’s presence and motives. Why had the artefact been under Rhakros? Why had the intruder and his companions been wandering in the tunnels instead of fighting a way into the city? Why had Sintra not removed and destroyed the artefact before it was found? And why would this messenger come to him?
“If you so desire, you could go speak with the mage who examined the artefact. You would have to be discreet and make doubly sure you aren’t followed, of course.” A piece of paper was held up, on it just one word. A name. Joderall. Moments later, the paper vanished.
“Okay, but why me? Why come to me to tell me all this?”
“Because you are of the same mind as us. Because you are in a position of power. Because you, Mr. Gavrick, have the means to--”
The door swung open with a loud bang, startling the both of them. Two guardsmen burst into the room, two more remaining outside.
“Advisor Gavrick, everything alright?”
They moved past the intruder, who shot Zaheem a disapproving gaze. Although they scanned the room, eyes flitting from one spot to the next, tense and focused, they did not apprehend the obviously suspicious individual standing in the middle of the room. What was going on? Could they not see him?
“There’s an intruder right
there, you dolts!” he pointed, “Arrest him!”
Yes. Arrest, detain, interrogate. Have all questions answered rather than having to be contented with what the intruder chose to reveal.
However, while the guards did turn in the direction Zaheem was gesturing to, they did not jump their target. Despite staring right at the man –who had turned around and casually made his way to the door—and being within arm’s reach of him, they glanced across the indicated spot with confusion on their faces.
Am I the only one who can see this guy? What’s going on? How is this even possible! He’s right there! Why can’t they see him? Why can I?
Breaking through his wondering, Zaheem came to a decision. If the guards couldn’t see the intruder, he’d have to grab him and hope that broke the spell or whatever he was using to hide himself in plain sight. Hesitation made him reconsider momentarily. Though the intruder hadn’t shown any hostility up to this point, he very well might if Zaheem successfully exposed him.
But if it did undo the invisibility, then the guards could interfere. The advisor nodded to himself, and moved as fast as his aging bones would allow. He pushed past the bumbling guardsmen, closer to the intruder. The man glanced back, but there was no surprise or sense of urgency and threat in his eyes. Only… amusement. Then, he stepped out the door, around the corner, disappearing from sight for a moment.
Zaheem burst into the hall a moment later, head whipping into the direction he’d seen the man turn. No-one was there. Not on the floor, not on the walls, or on the ceiling. Not lurking in the doorway of the next office. He’d simply vanished. Had he used the moment he rounded the corner to become invisible to Zaheem once more? Which meant he was around here somewhere still.
“Advisor Gavrick, sir?” one of the guardsmen spoke to his side. The man’s expression was worried.
“There was a man in my office. Around five feet eight, maybe a bit taller. Dressed in black, long hair, scarf around the face. I don’t know how he’s done it, but he infiltrated the building and listened in on several meetings. He seems capable of making himself undetectable. Probably magic of some sort. I want you to block all exits and search the building. He might be a spy. Capture him and let me know when you do. I have several questions to ask.”
Several of the guards exchanged a glance.
“Well? Don’t just stand there!”
“Sir!” one saluted, the others following suit. “Yes sir!” Then they took off.
Zaheem watched them leave, and sighed. Hopefully they would indeed find him, though he refused to get his hopes up. The intruder had been more than elusive. He turned around, foot kicking something on the floor. His miniature crossbow slid a couple feet over the smooth tiles.
He picked it up gingerly, half expecting it to disappear if he so much as blinked. It didn’t. There was a note stuffed in between the triggering mechanism.
That wasn’t very nice of you
Hastily written, the ink hadn’t yet dried. Zaheem crumbled the paper in his fist, stepped in the office, and closed the door behind him. He went straight for the liquor, needing one after all that. There was another note on his desk.
Remember what I said.
She’s been playing both sides.
She wants the city.
Do something, if you can.
PS. Watch out for spiders. They might be watching/listening.
Behind him, the door to his office fell shut.
