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Felix Dancer: Sanctioned Op

Little Girl Lost

Chapter Two

Meeting the Client

A Sombernoon Story

byRedFox6

I was up early the next morning, getting ready for my meeting with the Countess. A quick shower, and I was ready to get dressed. I had a pretty good idea of what they would be expecting, so I decided to cater to them. I started out with torn jeans, a ripped t-shirt, and black jungle boots. I slipped a switchblade into my back pocket. A shoulder holster with my biggest and meanest looking slug thrower went on next, covered up by my favorite leather motorcycle jacket. Aside from the spikes and chains on it, it had a few other little modifications; a sheath for a throwing knife was sewn inside each sleeve, the front pockets were big enough to conceal a small semi-auto each, and it had a Kevlar lining. Heavy and sometimes hotter than I could wish, still it gave me an edge. Spiked fingerless gloves and wraparound shades and I was good to hook. I thought about dying my fur, but decided it was more trouble than it was worth. A last once over to make sure that the various odds and ends were in their proper places, and I was ready to meet my client.

Not that I was actually expecting to have to fight my way out of High Town. You can't do that anyway, too much security. And despite what the videos show, one fur against an army never ends well, not for the one fur anyway. No, all this was just for show; give them the image they're looking for, and maybe they won't look any further. What I was hoping for was to get them to underestimate me. In a situation like this, I was willing to take any advantage I could get.

The elevators weren't working again, of course, but it was only six flights of stairs to the garage. The building I live in is not as luxurious as it could be. In fact, it's a bit of a dump, but the rent is cheap, the security is good and it has its own basement garage. I tapped in my code and the heavy armored door opened, creaking dramatically. The manager does like his little jokes.

Once the door was open, I could see the garage, a large chamber divided up into individual stalls for the tenants' vehicles. Some of the tenants have rather, 'esoteric' transports, like the mage on the third floor who favored a steam powered carriage he'd built himself. The spells hadn't quite worked out the way he wanted, so it had to be kept locked up, lest it try and eat the other vehicles.

It didn't like canines, so I was always a little apprehensive as I walked past its stall. I had seen it once when it slipped its owner's leash and chased a dog down the street. Not something you see every day, even in Boanye. The dog was able to take a corner better than the carriage, so it got away while the carriage skidded into a building, scattering pedestrians and taking out part of the corner wall. As I recall, the mage's insurance company refused to pay for the damage, so he wound up working for the building's owner until he paid off his debt. He still doesn't talk about that time, not even while drunk.

I opened up my stall, and there she was. A classic Sabretooth Street Cruiser. Sleek and deadly looking, the dark steel gray paint job seemed to absorb the light, helping it blend into the background. It had a ram bar for a front bumper, tinted windows, reinforced windshield, and thick metal mesh over the side and rear windows. Heavy duty suspension and run flat tires for negotiating the roadways, and a few other little surprises hidden under the skin. One of the best vehicles ever made by Anderson Consolidated Mercantile Enterprises. The new ones just aren't as good.

I ran an appreciative paw over the hood as I got in. Firing up the engine always put a smile on my face; nothing like the sound of a turboed V-8 to get the blood pumping. Even with the muffler on full, the rumbling seemed to fill the garage.

It was bright and sunny and hot as I exited the garage onto Saltrace Street and headed towards High Town. Looking at the weather, I was probably going to regret the leather jacket. Fortunately, the Sabretooth's AC was working, so the ride was cool and comfortable.

This time of the day, the traffic was heavier than normal. All kinds of conveyances filled the street, from animal drawn wagons through internal combustion cars to magically powered vehicles. Bicycle messengers zipped in and out of traffic, peddling furiously to deliver their packages as quickly as possible. They were possibly the hardest working people in the city, and some of the most reckless, dodging through gaps in the traffic that didn't seem to be big enough for an emaciated mouse. They also seemed to know where everything was. Made sense when you thought about it; they had to be able to deliver their packages anywhere. I had cultivated some contacts among them, came in handy sometimes when I was looking for someone who didn't want to be found.

Since this was Angel City, the drivers were mostly polite about jostling for position. No one is really sure whether the angels put a high priority on traffic laws or not, so most don't take any chances.

There are always a few, though. A motorcycle was artfully wrapped around a lamppost a block away from my home. The rider had been recklessly riding on the sidewalk a couple of months ago, endangering pedestrians, when he'd been caught by the Angel of Mercy. She'd twisted his bike around the lamppost, then vanished with him. He hadn't been seen since.

Mixed in with the copters and skimmers above the street I saw an air mage's swan boat go floating majestically by, the owner guiding it by her gestures alone. Graceful and pretty, and ostentatious. Only a very powerful mage could create and operate one, so it was a good bit of advertising for her. It also allowed her to write off the cost of just cruising around as a business expense.

The sidewalks were crowded with people of all species. Most had the slightly harried look of those going to work. Small groups of children escorted by their parents were heading to school, chattering and laughing as they went. Scattered about the sidewalks were vendors selling their products to all and sundry. Tourists were easy to spot, taking pictures of themselves in front of the various landmarks commemorating the Reality War. Saltrace Street is where the White Rabbit's forces had been stopped and ultimately turned back, and Angel City was justifiably proud of that fact.

The car moved through the traffic like the predator it was, the dark steel gray paint job seeming to absorb light, making it difficult to describe accurately. From the speakers came the soaring music of Valeria's fifth concert, 'the Nightbringers', one of my all time favorites. The complex rhythms and patterns of the work always inspired me. Since some of her music was set above the range of human hearing, they couldn't fully appreciate Valeria's work, which made it even more popular with anthros. It was remarkable that a human could even compose such a work, and there were many rumors floating around about who and what she really was.

As I approached the gates of High Town, I switched over to the title cut from X's for Eyes' newest album, Dance of the Machine Pistols. X's for Eyes is one of the best revrock groups to ever come through Boanye, and it annoys the rich and powerful no end. I cranked the speakers higher, the music mixing with the throaty roar of the V-8 to fill the air. I tucked discreet plugs into my ears to protect my hearing. After all, even though I had to maintain the image they were looking for, there was no sense in damaging myself while doing it.

Approaching High Town is always impressive. The security walls are 10 meters high and two meters thick, thickly crowned with razortape. The fortifications had been built during the Reality War and had withstood all attacks by the White Rabbit's forces, even after they'd taken all of the surrounding area. The Families who had been there were justifiably proud of their stubborn resistance. They had been an island of sanity in a sea of chaos.

Heavily armed guard towers stood at regular intervals, weapons at the ready. Eldritch sigils could be seen engraved into the reinforced concrete next to the short range screamers. The screamers are ultrasonic directional weapons capable of causing physical damage, ranging from slight discomfort up to liquifying flesh. They'd been developed during the MI Plague, to stop the Infected. One of the more indiscriminate and less pleasant weapons available. Supposedly, they were restricted to military and Arbitrator use only, but High Town had gotten a waiver to install them during the Plague, and had never gotten around to uninstalling them.

At night, spotlights covered every centimeter of the fire zone surrounding the walls. Anyone spotted in the fire zone would be ordered to leave, encouraged by warning shots from the guards. If they didn't move fast enough, or otherwise acted suspiciously, the guards had no qualms about shooting to kill. According to the rumors, the guards could be disciplined if they hesitated too long before going for the kill shot. It was also claimed that such incidents were ignored by the Arbitrators. True or not, it was a fact that shootings here were rarely investigated by them.

The guards here are a mix of races and species, mostly large and impressive. They are always alert and supposedly incorruptible. The rumor was that all guards had to submit to geas' to keep them loyal. They are also reputed to be trigger happy. Most people didn't feel like testing the rumors, although some gangs made running through the zone a part of their initiation rites. If you didn't get shot by the guards, you were in. An interesting way to make sure you had fast runners for your gang.

High Town is one of the most exclusive and highly protected enclaves in the country, with a price tag to match. The PTB do cherish their privacy.

The security here had gotten even more intense after the president had been assassinated a couple of years ago. Supposedly, High Town had even purchased and installed advanced air defense artillery, both missiles and guns.

I remembered that time vividly. The peace treaty was being hotly debated in the Legislature, with the final result very much in the balance. Everyone was very tense, not knowing how it would end. And then the president was killed. The entire country went into shock, security forces were seen everywhere, the army was mobilized, and no one really felt safe. Suspicion immediately fell on the Duke d'Cavlok, whose personal troops had precipitated the crisis with the Forest Lands in the first place. He denied all responsibility, of course. No one really believed him, but there was never enough evidence to bring charges against him.

The PTB, fearing a revolution at any time, fortified their estates and holdings. At the same time, they began maneuvering to shore up their political positions. Seeing which way things were going, most ended up currying favor by supporting the treaty. The fact that doing so meant humiliating the Duke d'Cavlok was an added bonus. The d'Cavloks are not beloved, even among the PTB.

Concrete barriers zig zagged up the road leading to the public gates, forcing all vehicles to slow down to navigate the road. A lowered crossbar stopped them at the checkpoint for the main gate. Fifty meters down the road was a gun tower, the barrels of a quad 25mm covering the checkpoint. The guards were carefully scanning everyone with both magic and technology before allowing them into High Town. The way things were going, I could tell it was going to be awhile before I got inside.

There was a separate lane for the residents of course. They zipped right through, the guards saluting as they passed, while paparazzi took videos from just outside the fire zone.

When I reached the barrier, I turned down the music, lowered my window and showed the guards my ID through the mesh. Bulked out in Class IV battle armor and visored helmets, they carried IDW bullpup assault rifles at the ready. The IDW is a nasty little weapon, firing very high velocity small caliber Teflon coated rounds, with an insanely high cyclic rate that could empty out their 50 round magazine in less than three seconds. They didn't worry me so much, the Sabretooth's armor was immune to their weapons. The quad 25, however, was another story entirely. It would chew through both the car and me without any problem at all. In fact, the rounds would probably also shred the car behind me as well. It would all depend on how good the gunner was.

One guard scanned my ID, while another ran checks on my vehicle. Apparently, the results worried him. He got into a heated argument with the first guard, gesturing at the readout on his scanner. They seemed to have conflicting orders, so they kicked the decision upstairs. A human officer in full battle armor came over to join the discussion. He heard both sides, then made his decision.

"Doesn't matter," I heard the officer say to the second guard. "The Countess Bathory has cleared him for entry. We gotta do what she says."

Turning to me and giving me his best scowl, he went on, "You're only authorized to go to the Bathory estate." He handed a small GPS unit through the slot in the mesh. "Follow that. It'll take you to the servant's entrance.

"Don't stray off the path," he went on, tapping his rifle significantly. "Cause any trouble, and we'll take care of you our way."

"Damn," I thought, taking the GPS unit and dropping it casually on the bucket seat next to me. "They're laying on the intimidation pretty thick. I guess the Countess really wants to put me in my place. Maybe I should have been nicer to that first messenger."

I smiled nastily at the guards and answered, "Don't worry, I won't bother your owners any more than I need to."

When the barrier went up I pulled out, squealing my tires and leaving the officer to scowl angrily after me, fingering his rifle wistfully. Obviously, I'd just made a friend for life.

High Town is one hundred square kilometers, and is home to the one hundred richest and most powerful Families in the country. It is filled with large estates separated by broad boulevards lined with trees. The estates each have their own security, usually walls with armed guards at the gates and cameras covering all approaches. Family crests are prominently displayed at the entrances, and are pretty much the only way to tell who lived where. There are no street signs in High Town; you either know where you're going or you're not supposed to be there.

The place is an absolute nightmare for stakeouts; it's difficult to get into, there's no cover, the roads have no parked cars on them, and the private security forces are known for their harassment of outsiders who just happen to be passing through for a visit. Gods help you if your vehicle breaks down, you'll be knee deep in rent a cops before you stop moving.

I followed the directions the GPS gave me in its soothing female voice. Interspersed with directions such as 'Turn left in fifty meters', where warnings such as, 'Remain on your route. Deviating from your route will bring severe penalties.' It was pretty much a sure thing that I was being tracked as I went. It was almost as if they didn't trust me.

When I reached the Countess' place, it was pretty much what I expected; a large estate surrounded by high walls topped by guard towers and with a single main gate engraved with the Bathory's crest, an eagle stooping with claws outstretched. The name of the estate, the Talons of Savagrone , was prominently displayed above the gate.

As I drove up to the gate, I gave a quick scan for heavy weapons. None could be seen, but, given who I was working for, it was an almost sure thing that they were there somewhere.

The guards wore black uniforms with scarlet armor, and carried TDN Industries M54 battle rifles. I was rather surprised; I would have expected them to have fashionably high tech energy weapons, not the workmanlike M54. The M54's are not the flashiest or most high tech of weapons, but they are rugged, reliable, accurate and deadly. Variants of the M54 have been the preferred weapon of the armed forces for over thirty years. It said something about the Countess and her family that they went for reliability over flash. I wasn't really sure I liked the idea of working for practical nobles. They might not be as easy to fool as I'd hoped.

When I showed the guards my ID they made me get out of the Sabretooth and submit to a full body scan. My .45 and switchblade caused a few problems. A stern lecture, punctuated by jabs from an M54, convinced me to leave them at the gatehouse. They promised to give them back when I left. Satisfied they'd pulled my teeth, they let me through, giving me precise directions on how to get to the servant's entrance at the back of the mansion.

I pulled out, still looking for the hidden heavy weapons, and drove up the long, curving drive towards the mansion. It appeared to be paved with cobblestones, worn down with age. The grounds were well kept, with trees and bushes set at apparently random intervals on the neatly trimmed grass lawns. Statues and fountains could be seen on the grounds at various places, connected by winding gravel paths, with here and there a gazebo or bench for the weary walker. Figures could be seen tending to the grounds, keeping everything neat and tidy.

The house itself sprawled out in the center of the estate, four and five stories tall in places. Towers were at the corners, with large windows on the lower floors. The stonework certainly looked ancient, dark gray and covered with thick clusters of ivy here and there. But there seemed to be something off about it. Nothing I could really put my finger on, but it all seemed a bit too precise, as if the stains and ivy had been artfully placed there to create the overall effect.

The road split in two, one half going towards a roundabout in front, while the other half curved towards the servant's entrance at the back of the mansion.

I had an image to maintain, so I pulled into the roundabout, speakers blaring, and parked by the front doors. I angled the Sabretooth so as to block as much of the road as possible and set the security system. Between the alarms and the stun settings, I could be pretty sure the car would still be there when I left.

Unless of course they just decided to hit it with rockets or something. High Town is a law unto itself, and the Arbitrators wouldn't even be allowed inside to investigate the explosion. If they were lucky, they might receive a report from the Countess, which might or might not bear any relation to the truth. I felt very alone as I got out of the Sabretooth and headed for the entrance.

The front doors were thick oak, banded in dull steel. The wood was dark colored, as if from great age. A large bronze knocker shaped like a lion's head was set in the middle of one door.

Lifting the ring in its mouth, I thumped it heavily several times against the brass plate underneath the head.

While waiting for someone to let me in, I glanced casually around the alcove, trying to spot the security cams and weapon ports. They were too well concealed for me to spot, and I mentally congratulated the architect on his skill.

It took a while, but the door finally opened, revealing an angry looking Humberto Roland glaring down his nose at me. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to come in the front door.

"I'm here to chat with her Ladyness," I said, and tried to push my way past him. It was not unlike trying to push past a brick wall; there was definitely more to Humberto Roland than there appeared to be.

"You will come with us," Roland said, iron in his voice. He motioned to the two male servants behind him. One was a large human, while the other was a wolf anthro. Both towered over me by a good head and a half and were quite obviously bodyguards. They moved with the assurance and grace of someone who was quite comfortable in violent situations. The two fell in behind me as I followed Roland down the hallway. They made it crystal clear I wasn't going to be wandering off on my own.

The hallway was about what you'd expect from an ancient manor house, dark oak paneling and soft, thick carpet, helping to deaden sound. The walls were lined with family portraits interspersed with crossed weapons of many different styles and eras. The portraits seemed to stare down disapprovingly as we walked by. Several suits of armor were set at intervals as we traveled down the hallway, ranging from antique plate mail to what looked like a complete set of ultra modern powered armor.

I slouched along with my paws in my pockets, to prove I wasn't intimidated in the least. My nonchalance didn't seem to impress my guides at all.

After what seemed like a kilometer of walking, we reached a large set of doors. One of the male servants opened them while the other escorted me in. I was in a large library with broad windows on the outer wall. The other walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Several comfortably upholstered chairs stood in the middle of the room, with reading tables next to them.

Glaring at me angrily, Roland coldly declared, "You will await Her Grace here." I could tell that if he had his choice, he would much rather be beating some respect into me than being polite.

No one offered me any refreshments. When Roland and the servants left, I could hear the doors lock behind them. I guess they were trying to put me in my place. Or make sure I didn't wander off on my own and get into trouble.

From the sounds, I could tell that at least one of the servants was stationed just outside. He was being very quiet, but my ears were sensitive enough to hear the faint sounds as he shifted around. It was apparent that they weren't taking any chances with me.

I took a quick glance at my chrono. Just shy of 1 PM. "Ten minutes," I thought. _"She'll make me wait at least ten minutes, maybe more. Have to show the peasant that he's interrupting something important." _

I took a look around the study. I spent some time trying to spot any security cameras or other surveillance gear. I couldn't spot any, which meant either they were very well concealed, or they weren't there at all.

That quickly grew boring, so I started checking out the bookshelves instead. They were filled with real books, reference works, genealogies, histories and political tracts, in several different languages. Many of the books seemed to be law books. They all appeared to be well read.

_ "Interesting,"_ I thought. "Most people would have all this on a comp or DataBuddy. Appears the Countess likes to use real books. Or maybe she doesn't trust computer security."

I spent a few minutes speculating about it, until a sound from the hallway caught my attention. Several people were approaching the study, walking briskly down the corridor. I checked my chrono, to see that it was now 1:12 PM.

A small, sardonic smile flitted across my face. "How predictable," I thought. _"Asserting her dominance by making me wait." _

I made sure my sunglasses were firmly seated on my nose and faced the doors, waiting for them to open.

The doors were opened by the servants and the Countess made a dramatic sweeping entrance into the room. It was something she probably practiced on a regular basis, just to intimidate her guests. She was dressed in a formal business suit, expertly tailored to her body, and probably costing more than I made in a year. Around her neck was a pendant with a stylized star and skull nestling between her breasts. From my earlier research, I recognized it as her Proctor badge. She was an older woman, still fit and attractive, though there was an indefinable something that told me she had to work hard to keep her body in shape. Her hair was made up in an elaborate coiffure rising above her head. I couldn't tell if the white color was natural or not.

I caught the faint smell of gun oil about her. Humans rarely understand just how acute anthro senses can be. Looking closely, I could faintly see the outline of a holster on the right side under her jacket. Classic fast draw position; with one move, you sweep the coat back and draw the gun, flicking off the safety as you go. You bring your arm forward and you're ready to fire. I had no idea how good the Countess might be, and didn't really want to find out, especially not on her home turf, where she presumably had armed guards close by.

Three human women followed the Countess into the room.

The first woman through the door behind her was instantly recognizable as a Sister of Inquiry, a well known organization of torturers. They had made an art out of the extraction of information and the punishment of offenders. They also had no qualms about who they worked for, as long as they were paid.

The Sister of Inquiry wore the long, black robes and hood of her Sisterhood. Her face was covered with a mask, dark colored lenses being the only break in the material. The fabric of her robes and mask seemed to absorb the light, making it seem almost as if she was standing in a pool of shadow. One pale hand casually held her Rod of Inquiry by her side. The Rods used a combination of magic and technology to cause pain without leaving physical traces. The pain could range in intensity from a light papercut to molten lava pouring over the skin. From past experience, I could testify to its effectiveness. It was rumored that members of the Sisterhood never revealed their names to anyone, and that they only revealed their faces to their victims who were about to die. Given how much they were hated and despised, it was a very plausible rumor.

The second woman through the door wore the elaborate formal robes of a Healer, while the third wore only the chains and collar of a Penitent ESPer. She kept her head bowed and her eyes averted all the time, her shoulder length hair falling forward and helping to conceal her face. A stylized rising sun had been branded on her forehead, and the rest of her body hair had been removed as a sign of her status, which was clearly revealed by her current state of undress. Also clearly revealed was the fact that the room was a tad bit chilly for her.

Penitent ESPer's are highly religious members of the Orthodox Church of the Blessed Sun, and are so ashamed of their abilities that they gladly accept being sold into slavery as penance for their possession of 'witch' powers. They let themselves be controlled by others, doing what they are bid without question. They see it as a way of controlling their deviancy, while the church sees it as an excellent way to earn some extra money while foisting undesired members off on others.

Of course, there were interesting rumors about what else they did for penance, especially in the privacy of their own rooms.

The Orthodox Church of the Blessed Sun is one of the more rigid and intolerant human sects around. Anyone not meeting their standards is considered not merely unclean but unworthy of being saved. Needless to say, they don't have a high opinion of anthros or other nonhumans. We mostly ignore them, which seems to drive some of their members furious. Their antics can be most amusing.

Apparently, the Countess was trying to impress me with her power and resources, so I kept my face neutral and unimpressed. I wasn't going to let her think I was intimidated just because she was from an ancient, noble family, had important advisers, more money than I would ever see in my lifetime, a powerful position, and a small army of servants and guards available.

Inside though, I was more than a little bit intimidated. Someone with this much power could easily destroy my life and suffer few if any consequences. So it was important to keep up a facade of indifference.

I inhaled softly. Unlike the butler, none of the women wore anything powerful enough to mask their scents. I memorized them, just in case.

"I am pleased to see that you are prompt," the Countess declared, before introducing the others.

"This is my Healer, Moira," the Countess announced, gesturing at the woman on her left.

I glanced at the Healer as she was introduced. Attractive enough, as humans go, but I'd spent enough time with my friend T.J. to have heard of her. She'd been turned out of the Guild for actions unbecoming a Healer, specifically, associating with and helping that unnamed Sister of Inquiry the Countess had on retainer. The Guild has very specific rules on what a Healer can and can't do, and assisting with torture is at the top of the list of forbidden practices. They couldn't take her powers, of course, but she was no longer allowed to wear the Guild caduceus or claim any assistance from the Guild or Guild members. Guild members weren't even allowed to talk to her.

"And this is Pet, my ESPer," the Countess finished, looking at the naked woman in chains kneeling just to her right. She affectionately ran her hand through the woman's hair, just as you would with a loyal dog. The way the Penitent nuzzled into the Countess' hand, I almost expected to hear her purr.

The Sister of Inquiry was left unintroduced, of course.

Just looking at her associates, I could tell right off the bat that the Countess and I weren't going to be friends.

I was also willing to bet that the Penitent was a telepath. For obvious reasons they're the most in demand. And the most expensive. The Countess presumably had little respect for people's privacy. Not too surprising, for a cop. And a noble born one at that.

Fortunately, over the years I've learned a few tricks to combat telepaths. For one thing, they hate humming. The tricks mostly only work against casual scans, but I was willing to bet that the Countess wouldn't risk a deep scan, not at this stage of the game, anyway.

I adjusted my sunglasses. "This is all well and good," I said. "But I would like to know why I'm here."

A slight smile creased the Countess' face. "Your file stated that you were blunt and direct. I hope your reputation for discretion is equally accurate."

"Great," I thought. _"She has a file on me. That can't possibly be a good thing." _ My paranoia moved up a notch or two.

"To business," she began. "We have hired you to retrieve someone for us.

"Specifically," she went on, "my daughter. She has gotten some silly romantic idea of life in Boanye, and has run off to live there. She has not responded to any messages we have sent, and is, in fact, actively hiding from us.

"Your job is to find her, and return her to her Family. All of this must be done discreetly. It must be kept out of the public eye."

"Just great," I thought. _"It's even worse than I imagined. Find a family member who's done a bunk, without letting anyone else know what's going on. _

_ "And what would her rivals be willing to do to find this out?" _

I mentally lowered my odds of getting out of this in one piece, and wondered if it was too late to get a nice safe IT job somewhere.

"You've got your own people," I pointed out, reasonably. "What do you need me for?"

"My people are known to my rivals," she answered. "I need someone who is not associated with me for this mission. Someone who is both discreet and familiar with the city. We have chosen you. Do not fail us." The threat of what would happen if I did fail her was left unspoken.

Several holes in this plan immediately occurred to me. If the Countess didn't want anyone to know I was working for her, why send her chief butler to hire me in the first place? Or, rather than meeting me somewhere private, have me publicly come to her home? It seemed to me that that would do nothing but draw attention to me.

Or maybe that was the point. I draw the attention away from her people while they're finding her daughter. I could almost feel the target being painted on my back. This job was looking less and less attractive by the minute.

The Countess handed over a holocube of her daughter. It showed a human female of about 18 to 19 years old, with dark brunette hair framing her face. By her smile, she was very happy about something. The resemblance to the Countess was striking; except for the age difference, they could be twins.

"Her name is Theodosia," the Countess went on.

"No wonder she ran away," I thought, keeping the sardonic smile off my face.

It took awhile to establish a timeline of what happened and when, the countess didn't really seem to want to talk to me. I think she was embarrassed, either about her daughter running away or having to depend on a commoner. Or maybe both.

Eventually, I was able to establish that the daughter had left over a week ago, slipping out of the house in the middle of the night. The family hadn't been too worried, she'd done this before and had always returned within a few days.

This time, though, she hadn't returned as expected. Eventually, someone had checked her bank account, and found that she'd withdrawn a large sum of cash the day after she'd left home. There had been no activity in her account since.

One small piece of information did come out. One of the house maids had helped Theodosia leave the estate. They let slip that the maid was currently being interrogated.

I gave a small shudder, grateful that my sunglasses hid my eyes. Between a Sister of Inquiry's tortures and a telepath's mindrape, the poor maid didn't stand a chance.

"Let me talk to the maid," I said.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a second, then, "We have already questioned her," from the Sister of Inquiry. Her mask had a built in voice distorter, giving her a harsh, metallic sound. "We have told you all that we have learned. What more could you discover that we have not?"

"Maybe nothing," I answered reasonably. "But, you never know. Sometimes fresh eyes are useful."

A few glances passed between the three, but they couldn't seem to come up with any real objections.

"You may speak with her," the Countess graciously allowed, before leading me to where the maid was being held.

A short walk down the hallway, (with Roland and his bullyboys right behind us), and we reached another door. The Countess unlocked it and ushered me in.

The room was fairly large and empty, except for the maid, a small, lovely fennec vixen, in the middle of it. She was naked, sitting cross legged on the floor, paws tied behind her back, wrist to opposite elbow. A rope around her neck forced her upper body to bend forward, with her muzzle almost touching the floor. The end of her tail was tied to the back of her neck, exposing her nether region. It was a very effective technique. Over time, the bent over position slowly built up the torture, causing intense pain while leaving few marks. Physical, anyway. The way her scent had built up in the room, she had been in this position for several days now.

I took off my sunglasses and knelt down in front of her. She looked up at me with pain dulled eyes.

"Untie her and get her some clothes," I said. "I'll talk to her, find out what she knows."

The Sister of Inquiry ran her Pain Rod across the vixen's tail hole. She screamed and sobbed and pleaded, while the Sister looked at the Countess and said, "I do not believe she knows anymore than she has told us, Maitresse."

I gave her my best glare. It's a good glare, if I do say so myself, my blue eyes hard and cold as the Arctic wilderness. I gave it a little extra boost courtesy of a simple spell that Angie had taught me a few years back. I'm not a mage, by any means, but I can use simple, low power spells. Even with her mask to shield her, the Sister of Inquiry fell back a step, unable to meet my eyes, and not liking what she saw there.

"I said, untie her and get her some clothes," I snarled. "As soon as you've done that, I'll talk to her in the library."

When they brought her in to the library, she was dressed in mismatched civies that looked like they'd been hastily chosen at random out of a laundry pile. It was obvious they didn't want her in the house uniform anymore. Despite that, she was still a very attractive vixen, and I found myself thinking very inappropriate thoughts as she stood before me. It wasn't hard to tell that she was scared; her eyes were downcast, her ears were flattened to her skull, and her tail brushed the floor as she waited for permission to sit down. The Sister of Inquiry stood in one corner of the room, monitoring the conversation.

I smiled at her while gesturing at the chair opposite me. "Please, have a seat," I said pleasantly.

"My name's Felix," I went on when she sat down. "What's yours?"

"Shamira, sir," she said quietly, not looking up.

"Well, Shamira," I started. "I've been hired to find Theodosia." I stumbled a bit over the name, trying to keep from chuckling as I said it. "And they tell me that you helped her leave."

She looked frightened, and I continued, "It must have put you in a terrible spot, having the daughter order you to help her leave and not tell her mother. I imagine she'd done this before?"

When she nodded yes, I went on with my questions, slowly building up a picture of Theodosia and her behavior in the days leading up to her leaving. Apparently no one had thought to ask these questions before. Damned amateurs.

Several points came up. The main one was that Theodosia had become enamored of a new hot spot, the Hellfire Club. I had heard rumors of the place, a high class night club for the vriks of High Town. It was a safe place for them to go and feel that they were living dangerously in the big bad city, without having to actually go into the city. Typical teen rebellion stuff.

I was actually vaguely jealous. There hadn't been anything like that where I was growing up, we'd had to live on the real Street, with real dangers to dodge. Not all of us had made it.

It sounded like a good place to start, and I made a mental note to ask Humberto to get me a pass to the place. It would be fun to see what their version of the Street looked like.

After a half hour, I decided that I had gotten about as much info as I was going to. At least here.

"You're probably out of work, here," I said to Shamira. "If you even want to stay." I glared at the Sister of Inquiry, without the boost this time. She still had a hard time meeting my eyes.

I handed Shamira my card and said, "That has my contact info, if you think of something else later on.

"If you have somewhere to go, I can give you a ride there. If you don't," I went on, "I know some people who can help you out."

"I, I don't really have anywhere to go to, sir," she said softly.

"Well, no real problem," I said. "Just sit tight here for a few minutes, while I talk to Rollie for a bit."

The disrespectful nickname brought a small smile to her face, quickly covered but genuine.

Big surprise, Roland was right outside the door with his bullyboys. I explained to him what I wanted. He looked down his nose at me, like he didn't really believe my reasons, but he got me the pass I wanted.

I escorted Shamira to my car, opening the door for her like a proper gentleman. She glanced up at me with a shy smile, before settling into the bucket seat, placing her small bag of personal possessions on the floor between her feet. The interior of the Sabretooth seemed to fascinate her, I caught her checking it out when she thought I wasn't looking.

I smiled to myself as I fired the car up, letting the roar of the V-8 fill the air. Pulling out of the roundabout, I ran a diagnostic check. No one had tampered with the Sabretooth, or tried to plant tracking or surveillance bugs on it. Vaguely reassured, I headed down the driveway.

At the gatehouse, the guards handed over my weapons without hesitation. Apparently they had been apprised of the situation, because no one asked questions about my passenger.

The main gate was easy too. I dropped off the GPS and they waved me right through.

Shamira looked rather apprehensive as we left High Town. Many of the servants were members of families that had served for generations, and had never been out on their own. In their own way, they were as sheltered as some of the people they worked for. Leaving the protected zone for an unknown future had to be terrifying to her.

"Don't worry," I said, smiling. "I'm taking you to see the Holy Sorrow. They're good people and will take care of you. You'll be safe with them."

She looked at me in gratitude. Obviously, she'd heard of the Holy Sorrow, that religious order of warrior nuns that fought for the poor and disenfranchised, often in direct opposition to the rich and powerful. "Thank you," she said. Already, she was looking reassured, relaxing into the bucket seat as we traveled down the road. She gazed curiously out the windows at the passing scenery.

I decided not to tell her about the black car that had started following us when we left High Town. No sense in worrying her unnecessarily. I had no idea who was in it, whether they worked for the Countess, or one of her rivals, but I had the onboard computer record its image for future reference.

I was beginning to think that this was going to be a very long case