Feargus

After having the portrait delivered to the Jaskar, I kicked around the city for a while, and I popped in to say hello to Vivienne. There hadn't been any fallout from the former Captain's death, and everything had proceeded as expected as far as getting Marat Kavelin in his seat. She suggested I pay him a visit, and that he'd know who I was.

But unless the Captain was planning on thanking me for murdering his predecessor, which I doubted, then he had work for me. I really didn't need more on my plate, to be fair. But what could I do? The Captain's quarters looked different when I wasn't breaking in, and whereas before it smelled like rotten fruit and feet, this time it smelled like chicken soup.

Gentle looking chap, Kavelin. He generally had that dark and brooding Amali look about him, but without the edge behind the eyes. He was mindful of personal hygiene, unlike myself, but much like myself, he had great hair. I respected that.

Once the introductions were handled, we had a seat at the desk.

"Thank you for your help," he said with a purposeful pause, "in this matter today."

I nodded. "What have you got?"

"Ambiance is making its way around the city and I'm trying to track the source."

No, the Captain wasn't worried about Jaska suddenly having a better atmosphere. Ambiance was a narcotic—I reckon Riz mentioned it briefly in his story. You may have thought he was kidding, but he used to partake quite a lot. Powerful hallucinogen, that.

"I suggest starting at the brothel." Kavelin pulled out a map of Jaska and showed me the way. "Door with a goose in the stained glass window. The former Captain used to frequent, and it seems the rest of us weren't made aware of the steadily growing problem."

I nodded again. Former Captain covering up some drugs. Got it.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be discreet, but so it's on the record."

"How discreet are we talking? Total dark or can I play a social game?"

"Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job."

"Fair enough, mate."

More on my plate, and suddenly, I was hungry.

The Silver Spoon was a soup bar—literally—located in the Jaska city centre. It had tavern decor and two full-sized bars they utilized to serve soup in tankards. When I stepped in, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Better than the Captain's office, but by a margin. The Captain made a mean chicken noodle. My stomach rumbled.

The second thing I noticed was the table in the back corner. Black chairs, black table cloth, a bell, and a vase with a single very, very dark red rose.

What were the odds? I preemptively thanked the goddess Rhian Lucky Sinclair.

The hostess greeted me at the door. "Just yourself?"

I nodded.

"Table or a sit at the bar?" she asked.

"Can I sit at the black table?"

"Um—"

I'd taken a bath that morning and I was feeling pretty good about that. I smiled winningly.

"I don't think she'll be in today, so I guess it's fine. People don't usually want to sit there."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Well, I'm full of surprises."

The lass grinned and motioned me along.

Once I sat down, my suspicions were all but confirmed. The chair was smaller and made for a leaner person than the average chair in Amalia. It was a Strachan chair.

♪♪♪ What was the point in having minions anyhow. ♪♪♪

It was dark outside, and I was on my third tankard of soup when the door blew open. She wore a black dress with long sleeves, black tights, and black shoes. The white bow around her neck was a bit dirty, but it was perfectly straight and centered. As for her hair? I'd never seen anything like it on a person her age, and even then—it wasn't grey, it was silver. Her big, pale eyes locked on me, and I clocked the scars on her left cheek.

The hostess rushed over, but Everleigh held up a finger.

If the other patrons had any interest in what was going on at the door, they didn't show it. The hostess yielded and Everleigh approached my—her—table.

She sat down across.

I smiled.

She didn't.

"Hi," she said.

I smiled wider. "'Ey, there."

"You're at my table."

The lass still had her Strachan accent but it was muted and monotone.

I nodded thoughtfully. "It's only fair, isn't it? Tread where I tread, sit where you sit."

"Okay." Everleigh Gloom blinked lazily. "Thanks for the gift."

I wondered which way she'd take my message, much in the way she probably wondered how I'd interpret her message. "Aye, you, too."

It was quiet while she stared, and then she waved away the server.

"I've decided you're going to help me," she said.

"Am I?" I flashed a grin. "And what exactly am I going to help you with?"

Everleigh Gloom stood from her Strachan-sized chair and made her way to my side. She cupped her freezing cold hands against my ears and leaned in.

She smelled like death, dirt, and flowers.

"I want you to wake up Zacharias Vonsinfonie."

While she went back to her seat, I took a sip of soup, mainly to make sure I'd keep a straight face. How much did she know?

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're not an idiot."

"And how do you expect I'm going to find deep fried pickles?"

Everleigh Gloom blinked lazily. "Uh—I'm going to help you. Obviously."

"So why not do it yourself?"

"Plausible deniability, and it's better if I don't."

"What about honey glazed ham?"

"What are you talking about," she answered. "What's the matter with you."

What a disaster.

But I had the sneaking suspicion she had no clue I was already planning on looking for Zacharias, and I wondered if whatever was causing the food-related issue was also preventing anyone from reading my mind properly about it. I had doubled my defenses, but—aye, just no way of knowing for sure unless I asked. We weren't there yet.

"All right," I said. "I'll help you—for one future favour."

"That's not how this works. I already did you a favour."

"And I didn't ask for it."

There was a stretch of silence while I finished my soup.

"Fine, one favour," she agreed. "But how did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

Everleigh sighed tremendously. "Sebastian."

"Well, because I'm not an idiot."

I caught a twitch at the corner of her lips.

The sparkle in her eye told me it was a smile.

But then she went cold again. "Does anyone else know?"

"About buttery pancakes?" I asked. "I don't think so."

"Okay. Buttery pancakes, whatever. You can't tell anyone about Sebastian."

I held my hands up.

"Please."

Interesting—Everleigh Gloom was scared.

So, I promised her my silence.

It wasn't as if I could repeat any of it coherently anyhow.

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