A Modest Proposal
64 Searing 121
Evening breaks through the glass of the greenhouse. It is a universe made of orange and green, with constellations of flowers in every shade imaginable. Carefully cultivated by the local town council, it is one of Kalzasi's lesser-known beauties. Slightly off the beaten path, a little far from the fashionable promenades, it is all the more beautiful for its quiet. Birds flicker in the boughs. Roses blossom in an artificial heat. Water trickles through irrigation, and the vines crawl hungrily up the well-manicured trees. Hungry roots dig deep into the soil, while fragrant shrubs nestle beside every white-stone pathway.
It is balmy, even in the evening, but Petra doesn't mind. Dressed in her tight leggings, high boots, and bolero jacket, she cuts a handsome and all-weather form. Her ponytail twirls in her fingers, an unhelpful habit that nevertheless at least keeps her hand busy while she waits.
Waiting is something she does well. In all honesty, it's something she was born to do. Watchful as an owl, and just as patient, she contents herself with examining minutiae - the trickles of water off rocks, the flights of butterflies, the coming and going of young couples, old widows, and nursemaids with schools of young children. She makes a census of faces, and then a census of birds. She tests her memory, and listens, and waits.
My fault for being early, but I suppose there are worse things in the world than passing a quiet quarter-hour in a garden. It's a fine change from books, at least.
She sees Lucia before Lucia sees her. It's not surprising. The woman is everything Petra isn't. Tall, buxom, beautiful, strong... Petra admires her as she cuts through the modest crowd. The shock of blonde hair is especially fetching in Kalzasi, and she has to admit that the mercenary air suits her well. Most sellswords reek of desperation and hunger, but she looks every bit the professional.
"Maybe they breed them different in Zaichaer, Yesod. With a little more pride in their work. I like her already."
She stands, and Yesod falls in behind her. The tall demon, the work of metal and impossibility, was doing a fine job of staying somewhat out of sight, but with his master moving, so is he. He looms behind her, bathing half of her in a surprisingly dark shadow. She is split in half, orange and black, with only her eye showing on the benighted half.
She doesn't smile. Her face is just as much a mask as Yesod's. But her manners are good. In the Zaichaeri fashion she steps forward and offers a hand, her palm slightly upward - polite submission. She looks up at Lucretia with a placid, attentive expression, and speaks first, as is proper.
"Miss Schildknecht, a pleasure." Her pronunciation of the foreign name is imperfect, but her voice is striking. High, sharp, calm. Like a shard of glass, still sharp, in the bed of a smooth, glacial river. "Thank you for meeting me here. I think it a better environment for pleasant discussion." She plucks a small purse from her breast pocket and hands it over - a mix of gold and silver, a fair pay for an afternoon's work of bloodshed.
Always best to overpay on the first meeting, and it's not like my research budget doesn't have some wiggle-room. Conversation is cheaper than violence, but a good impression is worth any sum.
"This is Yesod. Pay him no mind." She nods back to the demon, and then starts walking, intending her new friend to follow. As if that is all that is necessary to explain a looming demon.
"How long have you been in Kalzasi, Miss Shildkneckt? I hope it is to your liking."
