Le Café de l'Hesaie

            The sun rose over a crisp morning in Omlos. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but every now and again the wind picked up, and anyone on the streets was suddenly reminded that, yes, it was still winter. Reston Square sat in the middle of the neighborhood known as In-Town. For a time In-Town had been Omlos’ artistic and cultural center, but in the past few decades a number of skyscrapers had been built there to accommodate various businesses, and many of the starving artists had been forced to move away. Despite this, In-Town took advantage of its old reputation, drawing tourists to its famous institutions like MTG, a bar where many now-famous musicians had gotten their start.

            Given Nascine’s cover, it seemed like the ideal place to meet. Exposure like this wasn’t exactly safe, especially given the fact that they were going after an assassin, but there wasn’t much they could do entirely alone. Tarson was staying in as much as possible. He was only a few years younger than Nascine, but he hadn’t joined the Rookery right out of college, as she had. She had to remind herself that he didn’t have her near-decade of field experience. It would be prudent to keep him inside and out of sight. She imagined he was quite bored in there – a communications operative on a mission that had gone silent – but in a hostile situation like this one, boredom was a good thing to be desired.

            She sat at a table outside of the Café de l’Hesaie, one of In-Town’s old institutions. It was actually quite pleasant. She took a bite of her ham sandwich and washed it down with a cup of very strong black tea. Her contact, a man named Yasik, sat down at her table.

            Yasik was very tall, and muscular. He wore a business suit and a kofia on his head. Nascine could hardly recognize him.

            “You look different,” she said. It was true. Every time she had seen Yasik before, he had been a short, somewhat rotund half-Arizradnan with deep red skin. Now his skin was the color of milk chocolate, and his hair was short and extremely curly.

            “It’s the hat, right?”

            “That must be it.”

            Yasik picked up a menu. “Hm. Is it too early for wine?”

            “It’s nine in the morning.”

            Yasik smiled. It was bizarre, despite the fact that every feature of his face had been changed , the smile was exactly the one she had always known. In truth, she didn’t know all that much about Yasik himself, but Tartin had introduced him to her as a trustworthy man. Tartin had always thought he was Narcian Intelligence, though one of the more outlandish theories circulating through the Rookery was that he actually worked for the University of Carathon. Still, his dossier dated back over forty years, and he’d never done anything to raise any suspicions he was not a friend.

            “I heard about your cat. I am very sorry.”

            Nascine nodded. “Thank you.”

            “You know, there are quite a few stray cats in Omlos these days. Far more than usual.”

            “Is that so?”

            “If you want, I could leave out some milk, get you one.”

            Well that was easy, thought Nascine. “You know what kind of cat I’m looking for?”

            “Oh, I’ll get you a real mouse-killer.”

            “Good.”

            “I should warn you, though. This cat of yours. She’s a stray, certainly, but she’s got a few friends.”

            “Oh? What sort of friends?”

            “House cats.” Nascine’s stomach seemed to drop three stories. She stared at Yasik for several seconds before she regained her composure. The House? She could hardly believe it. For a moment, she thought she must have misinterpreted what Yasik was saying, but he gave a very slight nod to confirm that, yes, The House was in play here.

            Even in the Rookery, most people doubted The House existed. Yet ultimately, it made a lot of sense. Why would Queen Elona herself put Nascine on a mission to bring in Rosanna Jaroka? The Stag’s Head Cult was certainly a danger, and Jaroka was, if the intelligence was correct, a very notorious assassin, but now… This was the plan. To get to the House through Jaroka.

            She hadn’t been told. Nascine set aside her personal offense, now wondering what purpose it had served not to let her know. Yasik was talking now, so she turned her attention back to him.

            “How’s your friend? Is he enjoying the sights?”

            “No, he’s sleeping in.”

            “I’d love to pick his brain about something. Please let him know, would you?”

            Tarson? Why does he want to talk to Tarson? Maybe he just wants to check him out. Yasik’s eyes lit up when the waitress came. “Ah, my dear, I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Latté rouge et quatre beignets, s’il vous plait.” The waitress nodded and walked away.

            “Good, I was worried the servers here didn’t speak Hesaian anymore.”

            Yasik’s man was supposed to meet her at The Cave, a dive bar in Eastwatch, a somewhat less “tourist friendly” part of town. Nascine made sure to check out the place before she went in. Yasik she trusted, but this unnamed friend, she did not. The bar had two doors, one in the front, the other emptying out onto a small alleyway to the side. The alley was only about five feet wide, where the building squeezed up next to a hair salon.

            She sat at the bar with a glass of soft cider. She’d made sure to dress down as much as possible. This wasn’t exactly a singles bar, but the last thing she needed was some drunk asshole hitting on her. She had little control other than body language. She hunched her shoulders, kept her head down, and leaned on both elbows with equal weight.

            Someone came in. She glanced at him, just long enough to get a read. Instinctively, he looked out of place. He wore a plaid flannel shirt that was slightly worn, but something about it – maybe it was the evenness of the wear – looked artificial. There was a slight hint of some sort of hair product that wafted in when he entered, too. Nascine thought this must be Yasik’s man.

            He sat down right next to her, which seemed to confirm it.

            The man flagged down the bartender. “Pint of Banafel Pale Ale.” He waited for the bartender to bring him his drink before he spoke to Nascine. “We’re very flattered.”

            Nascine was confused. She glanced over at him. Despite his clearly artificial shabbiness, he held himself and spoke with great posture and form. “You’re my professor’s friend?”

            The man shook his head. “No. And I’m not speaking in code, Ms. Nascine. We are, truly, flattered. Sometimes it can be frustrating to be the ghosts, to hear people deny you even exist. Queen Elona, well, she’s been wanting to find us out for a long time. It’s an honor to be considered by such a radiant and great woman. Sadly, Ms. Jaroka has some… assets… that we are not quite ready to part with. You do understand, don’t you, Ms. Nascine?”

            “You’re with the…”

            The man put his hand on hers, a calming gesture. “No dear, let’s not discuss private matters here. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come with me? Once we’ve left, you and I can ask each other as many questions as we like.”

            There was something in the palm of his hand, like a small flat lever. Nascine twisted his hand around hers, yanking it upwards so that his sleeve fell. There was some kind of device attached to his forearm with a leather strap. The device had two glass globes filled with some kind of powder or paste, and a long spring-loaded syringe tucked near the wrist. Nascine brought the man’s wrist down on the edge of the bar as hard as she could, smashing the globes and from the sound of it, some of the bones in his arm.

            “Now!” he half-yelled, half-yelped. Another man, sitting at a table on the far end of the bar, stood up, pulling a submachine gun from his coat. Nascine was down in an instant, ducking the bullets flying overhead before she registered hearing the gun go off.

            Back door.

            She burst out the back door, fleeing the shouts and screams coming from the bar. But not all of the shouting was coming from within. There were more from around the next corner, where the alley turned to meet the street.

            “Round back!” she heard. That way was blocked. She turned around, but the alley ended in a dead end offering only a dumpster.

            They were already coming. Nascine looked up at the walls of the alley. The rooftop was only one story up. She silently said a little prayer to whatever god looks after trapped thieves and bounded toward the dumpster, leaping on to it, then scrambling up the wall and pulling herself to the roof.

            She ran as far as she could along the rooftops, finally landing on the street when she ran out of roofs. Miles she ran, and by the time she got back to In-Town, her heart felt like it was going to explode. They hadn’t chased her. In the adrenaline-fueled flight, she hadn’t dared look back, but now she realized they had not followed her any farther than one city block..

            The House is patient.

            The she burst out laughing, eliciting strange looks from her fellow pedestrians.

            I guess that confirms it! The House is real.

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)