Visiting the Old Boss

            Emily Nascine made her way down to the garage and unplugged her bike. It was only half past three in the afternoon, but the sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon. She lived on the east side of Ravenfort, so the sun would be in her eyes most of the way, though she hoped it would set before she got on Bishop’s Bridge.

            She had only been back two days. After the fogs rolled back - thank the gods - the Rookery had sent her across the channel for a preliminary look at the Walls of Vansa. Every few decades, someone in the Rookery had the notion that an expedition to the Wastes could yield profitable, but as far as she knew, no one had succeeded in getting through. In fact, in her opinion, this was probably the worst time they could consider trying to break into the Bone King’s domain, given the recent troubles with Narcia.

            Nascine suspected that the Rookery wanted to give her a simple mission for her first as Expedition Head. She had been on a dozen such trips under Tartin, and even found herself in some pretty serious scrapes, but she admitted to herself that it was a relief to have an easy assignment after the disastrous Sarona Desert expedition.

            Two years later, she still had dreams about the strange little man in his tiny room out there in the middle of nowhere. It frightened her to think that he could still be there, drinking his foul coffee and raving about faceless men. Their expedition had ended there, after Tartin had his episode.

            It was dark as she reached the center of town, a region called Rook’s Hill. Here the asphalt roads gave way to cobblestones. She felt ever bump as she rode up the twisting alleys and by-ways that led to Teriton Square. Upon emerging from the alleys, the square opened up before her, an immense space that served as an exhibition of the greatest statues and structures the explorers of Retrein had ever “collected.”

            On the opposite end of the square was Elona’s Palace, where the ever-youthful Queen of Retrein sat in court.  Nascine had never seen the Queen in person. She was said to be a fairly private person, even if she did make public appearances on occasion. At her parent’s house, out in the suburbs, there was an old photograph of her grandmother meeting Queen Elona as a child. Grandma Margaret had died nearly ten years ago, but Elona still looked like she was thirty, as she had for thousands of years.

            Directly across Teriton Square from the Royal Palace was Nascine’s destination, the Royal Rookery. The building had the appearance of a grand manor house, about the same size as the palace and encircled by a wrought-iron fence. The Rookery had a large garden out in front, with carefully maintained hedges and a collection of statues, not quite as large as the one in the Square, but still quite large.

            Royal Guards stood outside the Rookery. Nascine drove her bike around the side and down into the underground garage. She locked the bike and plugged in its power cord and made her way to security checkpoint. She presented her bag for inspection. Inside, there was a binder that had been zipped shut. There was a black iron lock affixed to the zipper, along with various official documentation and stickers. The guards looked this over carefully before ultimately leaving the binder unzipped. After passing through the metal detector and checking her helmet, she made her way into the lift.

            Security had always been tight at the Rookery, but it seemed that these days it was in a state of near lock-down. Emily got off on the eighth floor and a uniformed guard did a sweep of the lift, scanning it with an electric torch. It was not unheard of for one agent to leave something useful to another, and so every inch of the Rookery was swept for anything that should not be there.

            There was a familiar, comfortable smell on the eighth floor – hot paper and tea. She passed by a few familiar faces who smiled at her as she went by. The floor was ancient hardwood, slightly chipped and warped by the moisture, so that it creaked as one walked over it. Nascine came to her destination and knocked on the door.

            “Who is it?”

            “It’s Emily.”

            “Oh, come in!”

            Gilbert Tartin was sitting at his desk, which was stacked high with books and papers. He had cleared a square foot of space in which to work, but was otherwise surrounded by a castle of literature. He had put on a bit of weight since the last time she saw him, and his impeccable goatee had been shaved off.

            “You look well, Emily. How was Carathon?”

            “The food was good.” Nascine sat down in the chair opposite him, though it was apparent that she could not see over the stack of books on his desk, so he took them down and placed them on the ground next to him.

            “I do love Carathon. Beautiful city, wonderful vistas.”

            “It was a bit anti-climactic, to be honest.”

            “I take it they were sending you to scout the Walls?” Nascine nodded. “They sent me once, when I was just getting started. Actually managed to climb up, but it’s a logistical nightmare. Even if we could get up and over them safely, you’ve then got the Wastes to contend with.”

            “How have you been doing, Gil?”

            “Oh, fine, fine. Just been doing a little book work. Between you and me I think we might have something down in the Redlands coming up. Perhaps an artifact all the way from Arashka, potentially. Oh, how rude of me! Would you like some tea?”

            “That’s all right, Gil. I… we haven’t talked in a while. Since… the hospital.”

            Tartin nodded. “Ah. Yes, I thought that might come up.”

            Nascine reached into her bag and pulled the binder out. “Is it all right if we talk about it?”

            Tartin had grown quiet, shrinking into his chair. “Um.”

            “Gil, have you been seeing… those things at all?” She pulled out a small key and undid the small lock on the binder’s zipper.

            He shook his head, one brisk, reflexive movement. “No. Not since… not since we got back to Cheenra.”

            “You saw one there?”
            Tartin looked up at her. “Can we… I think it’s best if we change the subject.”

            “I’m sorry, Gil, I just… I want to know a little more about…”

            “I haven’t seen any more of them! Please, Emily, I have a lot of work to do and I…. I am not going to talk about this anymore.”

            Nascine nodded. She locked the binder again. “I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t want to upset…”

            “Thank you for coming to see me, Emily. I should get back to work.”

            Nascine put the binder away. She leaned over to kiss Tartin on the cheek, which he accepted dutifully, and then took her bag and walked out the door.

            “Is Gil okay?” asked Portia, one of Tartin’s assistants.

            Nascine looked back at him through the office window. “It’s all right. He’s just a little upset by something I said. He’ll be fine.” She hoped it was true.

            It was no use. Showing him the drawing would have only made things worse. The old lady in Carathon had looked far worse than Tartin did now, but the worst part was that when she drew what she had seen, Nascine had experienced a spark of recognition. The tall, wide frame, the dark black suits, and the off-putting rib-like pattern where its face should have been: it all looked exactly as Tartin had described them. She could practically smell the horrible ooze the little man in those strange Offices had called coffee. To this day she thanked the gods she had only pretended to drink it.

            The ride home was busier. People were just getting out of the office, so the traffic was atrocious. Nascine cut through some of the back streets, but it still took her nearly an hour to get home. As she walked up to the door to her flat, she could hear voices inside. She had scarcely reached it when the door opened, and a tall, thin man with light, thinning hair opened it.

            “Ms. Nascine, we are very sorry to have entered your flat without calling first, but I think we should have a chat.”

            Nascine walked in, holding her bag close. She entered the living room and saw that there were two other people there. One was an old man, jowly and fat, with an old-fashioned suit. The other was Queen Elona.

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)