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The Job

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Martin stared at himself in the mirror, which reflected the lavish hallway that he stood in. The floors, walls, and ceilings were all made up of a decorative light-brown marble. Decorative chandeliers lined the ceiling down the hallway, and several side tables held potted flowers and other decor. The windows at the end of the hallway were also visible in the mirror, the grimness of the day outside in the courtyard almost displaying itself as lovely weather, given the innate beauty of the interior. But Martin was not looking at any of that, no. Instead, he was looking at his face. The right half of his face, just past his nose and above his lips, was hideous. It was knotted and shredded, and there were stretches of skin and flesh under which there were large and small holes. His right eye was gone, a dark indent filled with flesh being all that remained. Marcus hovered a hand just over the destruction but did not touch it directly, for it was so tremendously disgusting to touch.

The left side of his face, however, was quite handsome, just as the right side of his face had once been. There, his eye was green, and his face was smooth and unwrinkled. The brown hair on his lower scalp was smooth and straight - a peak hairline. He had once been a very handsome man, the left and right side of his face being perfectly symmetrical. But now, he was hideous, at least when the right side of his face was left uncovered.

“Martin?" Adrius could be heard shouting from somewhere in the house. “Martin?" Footsteps were heard, and the sound of his voice was greater. “Ah, there you are," he stated as he entered the middle of the hallway from one of the adjoining rooms. “Are you alright, does it hurt?" Martin slowly turned around to face him.

“It's nothing," he replied in low tone. Adrius realized that Martin was rather solemn at the moment, so he attempted to comfort him.

“Listen," he began. “You are alive, that's what's important. Your face does not define you."

“Thank you, sir," Martin nodded.

“But I must admit," Adrius continued with a smile. “You looked far more attractive before!"

“Sir, what do you wish to ask me?" Martin changed the subject.

“Lord Hawthorne says that the party should be on their way by now," Adrius explained.

“Yes...I still have some reservations about accepting this job. Are you sure we can trust Hawthorne?"

“Well, regardless, I owe him a favor long overdue, and we're here now," he stated as he threw up his arms in a hasty shrug, letting them fall back against his legs with a dull slap. “I was hoping that you would be willing to welcome our guests. You know: have all the staff line up in the entrance or something like that."

“Of course, sir, it would be my pleasure," Martin nodded. “But I'm not so sure that I have the authority in this manor to conduct the staff around."

“Excellent, I'd be a dead man without you," Adrius exclaimed, ignoring Martin's remark, and then walked off. “We want to make a good impression on our future comrades, after all," he shouted back down the hallway. Martin heaved slowly, still depressed, and turned back towards the mirror. He took one last look at his tattered face and then picked up the fabric mask on the stone ledge before him. He placed the flexible straps around the left side of his head so that the plain, white fabric covered the right side of his face almost entirely, where the scarring was. He sighed one last time, straightened his black tie, brushed off his black coat and vest, and, breathing in through his nose with content, turned on his toes and strode down the hallway, practically a new man.

---

Three seconds after knocking, the door opened. In the doorframe now stood a well-dressed, clean-shaven gentleman with a devoted, though slightly-pretentious expression upon his face. He stared at us, and then glanced up to see the driver standing in the street, next to the carriage, his hat in his hands sheepishly as he waited to make sure that his passengers arrived all right.

“He's been pre-paid," the man at the door stated.

“He told us," Novka replied frankly. The man waved to the driver, who nodded and returned to his carriage. I couldn't help but notice that the gentleman standing before us was wearing a large white mask – merely a large square of fabric – that was secured around his head, covering nearly the entire upper-right side of his face. I thought it rude to ask, of course, but I wondered what sort of disease, infection, or disfigurement he could be hiding. Some of the East-Highland rebels had facial tattoos representing their movement that they had to hide whenever they visited public places, but that was back when the separatist movement was still strong in those areas. Besides, this was Northern Northfjord – far from the Eastern Highlands of Henlot.

“Novka and company," the man asked politely yet sternly.

“Yes," was all that Novka replied. I supposed that everyone was just going by first names around here to keep things secret.

“Please, enter," the man urged as he stepped back to open the door for us further. “My name is Martin Platt, and on behalf of my boss and our mutual employer, I welcome you to Hawthorne manor." Well, there goes the first name thing, I thought as I admired the decorative wooden columns and carvings of the polished entryway, an elegant wooden staircase making its way up along the wall off to the right, and a corridor extending forward before us. Three other staff members – two butlers and a maid, by the looks of their uniforms, all wolves – stood politely at the side, their hands behind their backs. Clearly, this was supposed to send a welcoming message.

“What do you mean, mutual employer," Novka asked inquisitively.

“Ah, yes," Martin nodded in understanding. “You see, there are some…Details, which have not been provided to you yet. But if you will follow me down the hallway, we will be joining our employer for lunch. Please leave your coats here."

“Very well," Novka heaved with a combination of frustration and submission, and Martin gave a tiny, forced smile before abruptly turning and proceeding down the hallway, his hands collapsed together behind his back. I realized that I had lost sight of Forticay, so I quickly looked around for him – he was leaning over, hands behind his back, staring intently at a decorative wooden clock that sat upon one of the tables against the wall of the entryway. Seeming to sense that someone was staring at him, he looked up, and realized that the party was already on their way. He hastily removed his heavy greatcoat and threw it upon one of the decorative wooden chairs that sat to either side of the table

“I just find anything remotely mechanical to be so interesting," he beamed as we began to walk, clearly still feeling the effects of alcohol to some degree. “I am so bad with introductions," he rolled his eyes. “I get a bit shy," he laughed. I didn't know what he was talking about – he seemed to have done fine when he met only about an hour prior. but then again, by all accounts he seemed to have been mildly intoxicated, at least more so than now.

We followed Martin on through the manor. It was frankly quite a surprise to see how ornate and decorated the fine house was – polished wood, and in some places, marble, floors; paneled or marble walls; paintings and carvings hanging every few feet…It was an impressive collection of art and artifacts. Clearly this place was too good for Ervef; but then again, just as every city has their slums, every slum must have their city, somewhere. This must have been it. We followed Martin upstairs, finally arriving at a dining room somewhere along the left wing of the building. Upon entering through the two large, wooden double doors, we were presented with a modestly-sized space – smaller compared to some of the other ones, but still heavily decorated.

A fireplace burning lowly sat at the end of the room, with paintings of heroic soldiers in battle next to men and women dancing sitting above the mantlepiece. A long, clothed table stretched across the room to the door before it, lined with identical decorative wooden chairs on either side, all of which had white cushions with silver designs on them. The table was cluttered with dishes, silverware, glasses, decorative candlesticks, and so forth – all ornately and meticulously arranged and perfectly aligned – to such degree that it seemed that to even attempt to add a single morsel of food to the conglomeration would have been impossible. The walls to either side of the room – behind the chairs on either side of the table – each had three vertical windows, which, covered with thin cloth curtains, allowed only the bright white light from the cloudy day outside to stream into the space.

At the opposite side of the table were two men who had been conversing, but stood as soon as we entered. The one at the end – an older, gruff-looking man with thick grey hair that he combed to the side and grey beard stubble – wore a thick white pelt about his shoulders and maintained a stern, down-to-business expression. He was tall, too, and towered even over his companion – another dragonborn.

This other man was an interesting figure, to say the least. Like most dragonborn, he had the general shape of a man, though naturally had digitigrade legs, and wore a grey suit and vest, but he was odd in one main respect: his body was covered in red scales, practically a blood red (whereas blue or yellow was usually the norm among dragonborn). His head was nearly that of a miniature dragon's head: it had the complexion of a dragon's face, with the narrowed snout, the razor-sharp teeth (some of which stuck up and down under or over the upper and lower lips, just as with Forticay), nostril lines on the end of his snout, and sharp-looking eyelash spikes above the scales over his eyes. His eyes were of bright yellow which surrounded narrow, vertical pupils. Nevertheless, as we entered, he, at least, began to smile, contrary to his companion. He also spoke first.

“Thank you, Martin, for bringing them up here," he beamed in a voice that seemed slightly deeper than average. Martin merely nodded slowly in reply.

“I hope that the journey went well?" The man in the stated as he placed his hands upon the table. He was clearly trying to make an effort at politeness. “Please, have a seat," he gestured to the dining set before us. We all filed inside and took our seats. I ended up sitting in the very middle seat on the left side of the table – between Novka and Forticay, with Martin sitting across from me. “I'm sorry that I ordered that we converge in Ervef, but this is my Northern-most property, so it was the most convenient. Besides, when things happen here, no one takes a second glance."

“It's not the most charming place, that's for sure," Vage sighed, clearly not concerned about being perceived as potentially rude. He looked sort of awkward, sitting in onw of those little chairs, towering over the table.

“On that we agree," the man replied with a slight smile, finally taking his own seat at the table's end, the fireplace glowing softly behind him, contrasting with his haggard, if steady, features. “I've been trying to sell the Ervef Hawthorne Manor for years – there simply aren't any buyers." He cleared his throat violently – he sounded in ill health. “Before we eat, let's cover a few things, first."

“Good," I heard Vage mutter from across the table, next to Martin.

“You are Adrius Melbrook, Martin Platt, Vage Ledgwick, Forticay Nalavius, Tovef Halfe, and Novka Stylus," he affirmed, clearly wanting to get that out of the way in as frank a manner as possible. Now we really don't need to worry about concealing last names, I thought, no longer mad at myself for so willingly giving up my last name earlier, though I could sense some slight annoyance from both Vage and Novka. “Consider this room sealed," the man continued. “Anything spoken within these walls is safe and secure," he assured. “Similarly," he paused for dramatic effect. “You have all been hired for a top-secret job, and I know that I can expect the same level of secrecy from each of you." He paused, staring at us, for some sort of confirmation of his words. Presumably satisfied, he continued: “Consider this your last chance to bail, if you must. From here on out, you will have knowledge of compromising information, and any attempt to desert the task to which you will shortly be assigned will result in your immediate and unceremonious execution." He cleared his throat again, this time coughing. “But, I would like to remind you how much money is being offered to you here." No one stirred. Clearly, everyone was intent to remain on board. I glanced across the table at Martin, who even seemed to be rolling his eyes at our employer's dramaticism. The only one who seemed at ease with everything that was going on was, frankly, the other dragonborn, Adrius – he simply sat in his chair with a content smile upon his face, clearly amused at the current situation.

“My name is Cornelius Hawthorne, Baron of Yevgonost, in Southern Northfjord," he affirmed. “And the job I have for you," he continued. “Is no small matter." Once again, no one spoke – everyone was apparently eager to hear what this man had to say; or, rather, was becoming annoyed at having to wait so long. “I apologize that I could not have provided you with any more information aside from the slim amount that I gave to some of you earlier on, but that was for the sake of secrecy," he continued. “If my meddling in the affairs of which I am to share with you were made public, it would be the ruin of us all."

“Good mercenaries don't reveal the identities of their clients," Novka shrugged. “Unless they don't want to be hired again."

“Good, then we understand each other," Hawthorne nodded quickly in approval. “First off, ladies and gentlemen, why do we hate the Northern Armies?"

“Sorry?" I asked, deciding to show my interest by engaging in the conversation. I immediately regretted attempting to do so by expressing confusion, however – not a good move.

“Our enemies to the North – why do we fight them?"

“Well, they attacked us," I reasoned, trying to recover from my blunder. “They invaded Agranda, Blime, and Northfjord decades ago, provoked by our sanctions and collective refusal to trade openly with them…As well as access to resources," I added.

“Indeed," Hawthorne nodded. “But what else?" Novka sighed.

“Because their Southern neighbors were becoming too progressive for their taste," she stated matter-of-factly. I suddenly felt like an idiot for giving the answer that I did – sure, the people of the Northern territories wanted access to the rich silver and gold mines of the North, and were under pressure from sanctions, but those sanctions were placed upon them by the comparatively-equal and inclusive in places like Henlot and Ressex, which they deemed contrary to their way of life, so much so that they judged it as threatening to their economic and self-determinatory interests, when we had decided to no longer trade with foreign powers that did not recognize members of different species as equals. I was sure that Novka's evidently low opinion of me had dropped even further, now, due to my overlooking of this important piece of information.

“Exactly," Hawthorn asserted with a firm point at Novka, who still sat with a straight-face. “There is a hierarchy, of sorts, in the North – people are not equals. The system is corrupt and oppressive. And we have been fighting valiantly to ensure that they can never force that system upon us, even as our own governments are still working to make our current structure more equal."

“Or so they say," Novka muttered.

“Regardless," Hawthorne continued, unaffected by her remark. “Our armies continue to attempt to put an end to their injustices on our territory." He cleared his throat again, holding his fist up to his mouth as he gripped the table with his right hand, forcing the dishes and silverware to clang and shake as the table moved. “We are currently doing everything in our power to stop our enemy. All across the Central and Southern regions of Vaymansphere, countries have set aside their differences, merged their armies under the Federation, and have contributed immense levels of their own weaponry, military, and virtually all other supplies to the war effort, in a unified defense of Central Vaymansphere and all who live within it." He stated these words with pride, evidently inspired by the unifying effect of the war.

“As a mere baron," he continued. “I have not been able to do much, but ever since I took power decades ago, I offered nearly every single member of my personal guard to the war effort, as well as my own son, who, I regret to say, was tragically killed on the Northern Front some eighteen years ago, back when the Northern Armies were still as far inland as Voeino." He paused for a moment, though I sensed no lingering sadness upon his face – he was a man with a job to do. I was still wondering what any of this little summary of recent events had to do with us, but in my experience, people like Hawthorne usually tended to favor dramatics to frankness, so it was best to simply let him find his own way to the main point at hand.

“Currently, however, the tides have turned," he continued. “Though we continue to be pounded on both the Western and Northern Fronts, we have pushed the Northern Armies back by considerable degrees, have invented new strategies and technologies for battle, and, in Central Henlot, I am aware that they are currently experimenting with the potentialities of electricity – seeing how it could be applied to warfare. Just think: communications that once took weeks to reach their destination could arrive in an instant; carriages would no longer be drawn by horses, but motorized; lights could burn on their own, without need for refueling-"

“Yes, Hawthorne, we're all familiar with the concept of electricity," Martin sighed, arousing a knowing look from Adrius. I actually only knew a little about electricity, only about something like charges that could be produced or exchanged or something like that; something that scientists in Henlot and elsewhere seemed to be making reasonable progress in but for the moment was entirely impractical.

“Right, anyway," Hawthorne continued, seemingly unaffected by Martin's remark. “My point is that after decades of fighting, and so many dead from all walks of life, the Northern Armies are almost worn out, and a dark future has been painted for them." He paused. “And I presume that you are all closely familiar with this recent history." I certainly was. “So this is all in the foreground of our political consciousness – no one has paid any attention to the territories of the North-East, who have maintained neutrality since the beginning of the war." This evidently aroused our collective interest. I sat in up my chair.

“There is a friend of mine," he continued. “Or, rather, a former friend, up in North-East Oslost, far beyond the Northern border of Ressex. I assume you are familiar with it, maybe? Oh well, most aren't – all talk seems to be of what is relevant to the war, now, anyway. As I was saying, Oslost is part of an alliance of sorts with its small but powerful neighbors. Most of the past few decades, as I assume you are vaguely aware, they have been building up their armies in anticipation that this war between us and the Northern Territories will eventually violate their long-held neutrality, but for the most part they are a confederation of small and relatively-prosperous states."

“The former friend whom I am referring to is none other the Duke of Oslost," he continued. “We used to be quite close, for some time, but recently – as in over the past few years – he has grown more and more isolated from the affairs of Central Vaymansphere, and has been missing entirely from any political activity south of Henlot ever since the border was closed along with the issuing of sanctions…After Henlot cut off all trade with the North-East, due to their failure to aid us in the war, their significance to us has entirely dissipated…For all except me, it would seem," Hawthorne stated, looking from one side of the table to the other with a stern expression upon his face.

“Now, you need to understand how serious this job will be: the Duke of Oslost is a very powerful individual, even if he has encountered political opposition in recent years. Of the members of the North-East Alliance, there are three states that are the most powerful: Oslost, Brooksberg, and Norsvonhelt. The queen of Brooksberg just died – she has been replaced by her weak and incompetent son. The Marques of Norsvonhelt is human, and old-fashioned – he is not necessarily sympathetic to the Northern Territories, but his general opinions put him at odds with the majority of the population of his country, significantly weakening his influence. My long-ago companion, the Duke of Oslost, Sir. Rothvir Kilmerland, is currently the most powerful individual in the alliance. He is a good leader, and has good wit, not to mention that he is in command of the state with the largest military in the entire North-East. If he were to go to war, for instance, on either side of this current conflict, I have no doubt that he would be able to convince the whole of the North-East Alliance to do so with him its smaller members being especially powerless to oppose his influence."

“We don't do state jobs," Novka suddenly spoke up with raised eyebrows, her arms crossed.

“This is not a state job," Hawthorne responded calmly, placing his palms upon the table and slowly rising himself. “I am just detailing the underlying significance of this operation so that you all know how serious and delicate a procedure this is to be," he explained as he paced over to the window, his hands behind his back as he stared through the curtains and out at the street for a few moments.

“We're not soldiers," Novka interrupted again. Hawthorne turned around. “And I don't care about the political implications of the mission – I never asked, and it won't influence my performance." Hawthorne swallowed, and then nodded quickly as if in satisfaction. Adrius, meanwhile, merely looked across the table at Novka with an amused expression.

“Good," Hawthorne finally stated, walking back over to his chair, which he stood behind, resting his hands upon its back to support himself. “Then I have no reason to continue on about these matters. Now, to the subject at hand." He began to pace again, back and forth, across the end of the room, in a slow fashion. “My qualms with the Duke of Oslost are much more personal," he continued. “We had been close acquaintances as children, growing up in the South of Vishryad, down by Veskayovaska, near the border with Tsvak. Both of our families were part of a small community out in the countryside, and we grew up together, studied together, and traveled together." He cleared his throat again, and then, turning to the table: “sorry, I have a chronic respiratory issue – been like that all my life – though these things get worse with age," he muttered, and continued to pace.

“Later on, when he was called to serve in the government of his homeland, and me in mine, though we parted ways, we kept in close contact," Hawthorne continued. “I have hundreds of letters from him, all about countless topics that we found interesting, but by far the most important was our interest in geology." That aroused some curiosity – this was certainly taking an unusual turn. “Ever since we were children, we collected rocks, fossils, and read countless books on prehistoric geography and paleontology. We've worked on many theories, and I'm happy to say that we've made more than a few contributions to the field of geological science over the years," he stated with pride as he ran a hand through his thick grey hair.

“But, some years ago, as the war intensified, my close friend had become increasingly…Off. He was jealous of my work, and he tried to compensate for it by investing himself in politics even more, which has only drawn him to dark places. He is a dangerous man as the Duke of Oslost, dangerous to more people than me. In the meantime, he continues to make breakthroughs on our research and pass it off as his own. I could never have expected how deep his anger would run. He made an attempt on my life – a hired assassin nearly stabbed me fatally some years ago just outside of Stall, but was thwarted by my escorts…If nothing is done about this evil man – with only the most hostile of intentions – I fear that both his meddling with my life, and in the affairs of the continent, will grow more extreme." He paused, looking slowly around as if he wanted this to sink in for all of us. This was certainly unexpected. I was amused, for sure, though I didn't let it show. I frankly didn't know very much about Oslost at all - I knew that, as a country, they were pretty isolationist, and not much that went on up there often leaked out to the rest of the continent, so being hired for a job that had anything to do with one of its political officials was certainly an unexpected twist.

“You can break the dramaticisms," Vage suddenly spoke up, clearly not as amused as I was. “It doesn't matter why you want us to go after this man. If you want him dead, he'll be dead, no questions asked." Hawthorne nodded.

“Good," he stated again, with the same reassured expression. He liked using that word a lot. He began to pace around again, placing his hands in the pockets of his pelt-like robe, which was light brown below the chest. “I hate that it has come to this, of course," he swallowed, taking a moment to gaze again out the window. “But I have expended all other means necessary to try to resolve this matter calmly." He paced once more over to his seat and slowly lowered himself back down into it, with evident difficulty. “Trying to get a word from the Duke is hard, even for me – the action on the front lines has intensified tremendously over the past decade, and as I said, Henlot and Ressex have long since closed their borders to the North. I would send a diplomat, but I know that that individual would probably be detained by Rothvir – besides, that's too conspicuous." Once again, he paused to aggressively clear his throat.

“A few months ago, I sent a woman by the name of Maya Golovna – an assistant of mine in my scientific pursuits, and a very-trusted individual – on a mission up to Oslost to retrieve what work of mine remained with Rothvir. I had her take the same route that I will shortly be assigning to you. She was supposed to infiltrate Rothvir's scientific offices secretly, steal what was mine, and then return it to me. But, I am afraid that I have not heard from her since then, and I am fearing the worst…Rothvir has many ways he could ruin me, and I fear that my own time is running out. He has likely already claimed the life of my assistant, and I simply can't risk any more wrongdoing – you are going to have to kill him." No one reacted. Frankly, it was pretty much what we all expected to hear. Adrius was the only one who seemed to react to that, and he merely looked around at everyone's blank expressions with a quick chuckle – not the most remorseful response.

“To do that, you'll need to travel far North," he continued, pausing as the door opened, and a waiter and the butlers from earlier entered the room carrying trays of food – each plate upon the trays was identical. The waiter – or chef: he was wearing all white – was a young, fiery-red fox, who had a devoted expression upon his face as he helped to unload the trays that the butlers held, exchanging them with the decorative plates already on the table before us. When Novka was served, I saw that her plate was full of what looked like sliced meat, bread dumplings, and boiled potato chunks, all occupying a different section of the place. I found that my meal was the exact same thing – everyone's was. I supposed that vegetarians were out of options, assuming that they wouldn't eat anything that touched meat. That was, however, until one of the butlers left and returned with seven small cylindrical bowls of dark-red beet and onion borscht. Or did borscht have meat? I couldn't remember. Nevertheless, everybody eventually ate. I was ravenous for the food, not having eaten anything particularly delectable in weeks, though when I ate I did so with the most cautious politeness that I could manage without appearing stubborn. The waiter came around a moment later with a large glass bottle of water, filling our wine glasses as one of the butlers set bread upon the table.

“I'm sorry that we must eat lunch in such haste," Hawthorne stated as the clang of silverware began to sound throughout the room. “But time is of the essence." He cleared his throat again, taking a large drink of water before once more settling himself in for his monologue. As he spoke, I looked around at the others – one could sometimes manage tell a lot about someone's upbringing from the way they ate, in some cases. Adrius didn't seem to care how he was perceived: he stuffed his white napkin into his shirt as if he were a child and ate swiftly, clearly hungry. Martin, next to him, placed the napkin on his lap and ate in very proper, small bites, maintaining his table manners and use of the correct utensils in the proper fashion expertly. Vage did not even use the napkin, and merely kept it resting upon the table as he ate with his elbows upon the cloth. Forticay was similarly well-mannered to Martin, but in a more-relaxed way, and clearly did not care for making a flawless appearance, though he was still obviously concerned about how others were perceiving him, almost anxious-looking, even. Novka ate frankly; not formally, though not too casually, either. She just ate, the napkin on her lap, and that was all. I chose to take that approach.

“Now, everything I am going to detail to you Adrius and Martin already know," Hawthorne continued. “So if any of what I say is forgotten, turn to them."

“Um, I beg your pardon," Martin interrupted, holding up a finger. “But I was under the impression that I would be remaining at the estate, Adrius," he stated with concern, and a touch of frustration, putting particular emphasis on the word “estate."

“Ah, well," Adrius nodded with a sheepish smile, in a way that made it clear that he hadn't told Martin everything. “You see, as my personal valet, I would only expect you to accompany me wherever I happen to be."

“But, sir," he scoffed in disbelief. “It's the front lines! I was never informed of this. How can you expect me to be adequately prepar-"

“Oh, he's all about detail, this one," Adrius chuckled as he slapped Martin on the back, rather hard, as the latter lurched forward slightly, nearly spilling his glass, which he set back down on the table as he gave Adrius an annoyed look. “You're already the most-informed person here," he chuckled, turning to Martin again.

“And on the subject," Novka began. “Why are these two coming with us," she asked skeptically. “I was under the impression that me and my associates were to be the only members of this operation."

“Yes, and for the most part, you are," Hawthorne nodded. “I apologize that I have kept so many things secret, but for sixty thousand salir each, I assumed that you would make the conclusion that this is an assignment that is going to be full of risks and surprises."

“To the contrary, we assumed that it was merely difficult," Novka countered.

“Well," Hawthorne sighed. “Welcome to my troubles: where surprises and difficulty meet." He cleared his throat again. The more I listened to him, the more and more I was convinced that his life was hanging on by a thread, despite his surprisingly-well-aged physical appearance, even if a bit haggardly. “You need Adrius to cross up North," Hawthorne explained. “But I am about to describe this in more detail from the beginning, so just bear with me – you can voice all the objections you want when I am done." Novka looked annoyed, though she said nothing more.

“Besides, you'll learn to love us," Adrius bellowed merrily. “Especially Martin – he's been serving me for almost ten years – and he's been my most-loyal valet to date." Martin merely ate with an annoyedly-amused expression upon his face. “Not to mention, if I give him an order, he follows it to perfection. Seriously, I mean it! Martin, show everybody your face." That was unexpected. It seemed wrong, even, for Adrius to even request that he do such a thing. But, true to his superior, Martin took one last bite of food, put down his fork, and with a blank, unchanging expression, scooted his chair back and gingerly stood, placing both palms upon the table as he did so. Now standing, he reached his right hand around his head, gripped the top, flexible strap of his mask, and pulled it over so that only the lower strap was still attached, revealing the distorted, twisted, and strained right side of his face. He said nothing, merely allowing us all to take in the sight, maintaining his same, blank, obedient expression. Admittedly, my mouth actually hung open for a few seconds as I looked at his fairly-unpleasant features, but I soon realized the rudeness of that and quickly closed it. I couldn't see Novka or Forticay's reaction, but Vage looked completely disinterested out of the corner of my eye.

“You should ask him how he got it," Adrius chuckled as Martin replaced the strap around his head and sat back down, his expression still completely unchanged.

“Right, well, I'm glad to see that your…Associate is loyal to you, but that doesn't mean anything to us," Novka stated with frankness.

“I remind you that you've already accepted the job," Hawthorne affirmed. “But I am prepared to negotiate your reward for its successful completion if-"

“Seventy thousand," Novka blurted plainly. What? I thought. Was she serious?

“What?"

“I want seventy thousand," she repeated with the same stern frankness.

“Wha-" Hawthorne seemed to sit there a moment in confusion – I could tell that he was torn. His next words surprised me; it was clear that he really wanted us to complete this job. “Fine," he conceded with surprising composure. It always somewhat sickened me how some people could simply decide to give away that sort of money on a whim, but I suppose he was purchasing an expensive commodity. “Seventy thousand for you, and sixty tho-"

“Not for me, for everybody," Novka asserted. I was shocked. I had never seen this happen before. It almost came across as entitled, elitist, even.

“What? No! You cannot honestly expect me to be able to spare an extra sixty thousand salir for a job that you all were already clearly attracted to enough to-"

“Then sixty-five thousand."

“Ms. Stylus, this is not a negotia-"

“Sixty-five thousand," she repeated even more frankly.

“Ms. Stylus."

“I have never taken on a job with such low transparency," she affirmed sternly. “I have never worked with so many others whom I did not before know, and I have never conducted business this close to state-level affairs, let alone those involving a war zone. The new fee, is sixty-five thousand per person." Hawthorne looked dumbstruck. I feared that his stunned expression would be one of the last faces I would ever see before he had us all shot on the spot and replaced immediately with some other hired crew that would be less picky. What was Novka thinking? But instead, once again to my surprise (and this time relief), Hawthorne finally reacted with a meagre, grumbly “maybe," though it was clear in his face that the deal had been sealed. Nevertheless, even this wasn't good enough for Novka.

“No. Sixty-five thousand definitely," she stated defiantly, though still with a stern calmness. Hawthorne seemed to stutter silently, a coughing fit finally overtaking him just as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Fine," he coughed, his throat clearly full of mucus, and continued to clear his throat. “Sixty-five thousand for each of you," he grumbled with his arm on the table, hunched over from his coughing, his face red and eyes watering. “But only if you complete the mission and only if you're still alive! No payments to families." I doubted that anyone here really had a family to retreat to, except for perhaps Forticay. In the meantime, my respect for Novka shot up immensely. Here she had judged that our assignment was too dangerous or too uncertain for our level of compensation, and even when she could have taken ten-thousand extra salir for herself, she settled for a lower amount so that we all could receive a larger allotment. I supposed that there could have been some more-deceptive reason for why she had bargained for us – there often was, in these sorts of groups – but I frankly could find none. It seemed like an act of pure consideration to me, at least at the moment.

“Now, if there are no further complaints or disruptions…I should like to get back to the task at hand." No one said anything. “In your invitations, which I presume all of you received no later than a week and a half ago from either me or one of the others here, a detail was included that resembled nothing other than a mention of your crossing near the front lines." He took in a breath. “This should not be necessary." I heard a quiet exhale from my right as Forticay, who had apparently been holding his breath, sighed with relief that he did not have to trudge through a war zone, though he quickly recomposed himself.

“Yet, the Front extends all the way to central-Ressex," Hawthorne continued. “In order to transport you to the land directly South of the Western-most portions of the North-East Alliance, in East-Ressex, you will have to journey for several days. As I stated, time is of the essence, so to make it to Tepa, East-Ressex, where the front is not as active, I have booked you all passage on a train that will take you from Khestolovska, in Agranda, through Blime, and across most of Ressex. The whole journey should take around four days, with stops, given the delays caused by the war. Now listen carefully: this is a one-way trip that will stop at several stations in multiple countries. The ticket's I've booked you do not permit you to leave the stations at any time, unless you want to have to deal with passport control: that should only be an issue in Ressex. Speaking of which, I have your papers and documents ready – it wasn't easy: I gathered it all last-minute just last week as soon as I knew exactly who was going to be a part of this." That made me feel uneasy – I hoped that those documents were accurate.

“Northern border of Ressex is closed off to all travel," Vage suddenly stated. “You said it yourself: Henlot's been pressuring them with sanctions if they decide to open it, even if there's no fighting in the East."

“Ah, not quite," Hawthorne reassured, evidently pleased that someone had brought this up. “You see, the Northern borders of both Henlot and Ressex may be closed, but only to non-diplomatic officials."

“Your point being?"

“Well, my friends, I am proud to appoint you all as the official diplomatic mission to Brooksberg from Lestbanhoff. It won't matter that you're really going to Oslost – you simply need to fool the border control in Ressex that you're headed there. Once you're inside the territories of the North-East Alliance, you can pass freely across any border."

“Why Lestbanhoff," Forticay asked, speaking during the meeting for the first time. “I mean, uh," he stumbled along awkwardly, sometimes shortening and sometimes lengthening words. This was odd for him. “Just from my, um, geographical knowledge, I'm aware that it resides in North-Henlot, but it's not particularly large, and no one is going to believe that all of us are from there."

“Why not?" Hawthorne shrugged. “Many of Henlot's leaders are currently trying to diversify their cabinets, including the Count of Lestbanhoff himself, who is sitting here with us." It me a few moments to realize that the only person it could be was Adrius, who now sat with a wide, knowing grin. Lestbanhoff, I thought. I had heard of that city, but even for a city in my own home country, I really didn't know much about it, other than that it was pretty small, had milder winters because of its lower altitude in the Northern Flatlands, and had donated copious amounts of coal to the Henlite soldiers opposing the guerrilla fighters of the Highland independence movement some decades ago (at least I thought it was coal).

“And he'll be able to convince the Ressex border officials that we're on a diplomatic mission, from Lestbanhoff?" Vage stated doubtfully.

“Adrius will take care of all of those details when the time arrives," Hawthorne assured with an understanding nod.

“I'd rather he tell us now," Novka stated. Hawthorne opened his mouth, as if to object, and then closed it and sighed. Adrius merely smiled, admiring Hawthorne's seeming inability to control his own meeting, before turning back to Novka.

“Lestbanhoff used to maintain a solid trade partnership with Kelton, in Southern Brooksberg," he explained politely, though in a way that made it appear almost as if he were humoring Novka. Adrius really didn't seem to possess much of a filter. “We once offered them coal, in exchange for their timber, long before I ever acquired the lordship of Lestbanhoff. But ever since the war, and particularly the closing of the border, this relationship has been completely severed." So it was coal, I thought, somewhat proud of myself for remembering that little fact from my history lessons. “With the Northern Armies almost completely worn down and the end of the war in sight, albeit still a long ways off, it would be completely reasonable to enter negotiations about the reestablishment of such a relationship. There are already similar talks occurring that are involving delegates from Ausley, Tepa, and even Estlovan. It should be no problem." I could tell that Novka clearly had other concerns to share, but Hawthorne resumed his lecture before she could speak.

“But, that is assuming that all goes well," he explained. “In the worst-case scenario, you will be delayed on your way to Tepa," he folded his hands and continued. “Your journey from here to Khestolovska, by carriage, will take little more than a day, passing through Voeino before you cross into Argranda, where you'll have to show your papers. You'll find Khestolovska a vibrant and prosperous city, even if the rest of the country is deep in economic crisis. There, you will board the train, and make your way to Tepa. All of that, should take no more than just over four days." He paused, clearing his throat again, which long ago had become annoying, but I supposed that poor health was not something that one could control in many cases. “But…there is a chance that you will never arrive at the station in Tepa." He paused to allow this sink in before explaining.

“The train you will be taking, because it is traversing the entirety of the Eastern front line, will likely be filled with soldiers and supplies," he explained. “There is thus a good chance that if our forces on the Northern Front begin to experience significant losses, or decide to stage some sort of offensive, the train will be diverted. Now, this is most-likely to occur in Timberly, where you'll past nearest to the Front. If that is the case," he stressed, placing particular emphasis on the word “if." “And because time is not on our side, I have a trusted contact in nearby Austlotz who makes a living ferrying people across the Front. It is expensive; but, given the likelihood that this may be your way over the border, I have it pre-paid for. You will no longer be diplomats, but merely regular people – refugees, if you would like. Although you will have to play the part of soldiers as you cross the Front – I have papers for that, too." I glanced over at Forticay, who looked nervous again at hearing that we may be crossing the front line, after all.

“Finding this place should be no difficult matter," Hawthorne continued with a philosophic motion of the hand. “They always display a purple lantern in their window at night, but to get there, you'll have to walk a few kilometers West, from Timberlay to Austlotz, which is even closer to the front line, but unfortunately without a train station. Anyway, more on this later." He cleared his throat, and paused.

“If you have to cross the front, after you do, you will be in the Northern Territories of our enemy," he cautioned. “Simply blend in as civilians – try to find passage East, to the border with an Alliance country – most passenger trains will probably be heading there, anyway, because they are so accommodating to refugees…In either scenario – whether you cross into the North-Eastern territories through East Ressex, as planned, or via the front line – assuming that you get there in four days' time, you will have three days remaining until the National Scientific Convention, hosted every year around this time in Lester, the capitol of Oslost, where Duke Kimberland will make an appearance, and undoubtedly try to take credit for our combined work. I am afraid that I know nothing of this event, however – things have changed many times over the years, and I have no contacts North of Henlot from which to hear from." He paused. “Well, perhaps I should leave you all to what food you have left." He probably sensed that the amount of information he was giving us was a lot to remember all at once. “I have some things to take care of, unfortunately, but I will be back shortly. Enjoy your meals." As he spoke, he stood, striding over to the door when he finished.

“Well, that was…Interesting," Forticay muttered as soon as the door had closed, poking at what was left on his plate – most of us had already finished eating.

“I honestly couldn't have made this up if I tried to," Adrius laughed. “A bloody scientist who wants his revenge on a foreign leader." He shrugged. “Makes perfect sense, to me." I should have stayed, of course, and conversed with the others – it could have benefited my standing with them greatly. But, suddenly, my insides were upset again. I placed a hand to my stomach. I felt like I would throw up.

“I'm…Afraid I have to use the restroom," I muttered as I stood to my feet, thankfully not arousing any suspicion from anybody, though Novka gave me a puzzled look. I walked through the door, closing it gently behind me. One of the butlers – an older, brown wolf with patches of lighter-brown fur around his neck and at the tips of his ears – was standing in the hallway, hands collapsed behind his back in a proper fashion. “Um…" I began, but he figured out what I wanted immediately.

“Restroom? Down the hall, to the left," he pointed.

“Thanks." I walked down the hallway, my boots clomping against the polished hardwood floor. Here and there would be a cabinet or a table with some black and white photographs or some other decorative piece of furniture against the green-wallpaper. I walked faster and faster, turning the corner at the end of the hallway, where it opened up into a room that I did not take time to inspect. I raced over to the next door, throwing it open and slamming it shut as I fell to my knees upon the hexagonal black and white tile, my hands at the edges of the toilet – thankfully, Hawthorne had plumbing.

I stayed like that for a few moments, my hands clenching the sides of the white toilet-bowl, my arms trembling, breathing swiftly. No, I would not vomit. I finally managed to calm myself down – I stood up and, my hands still shaking, gripped the sides of the sink. I gazed at myself in the clean mirror, surrounded by a decorative gilded frame. A single oil lamp embedded into the wall illuminated the restroom brightly. I gazed at my face, strained, trying to control my breathing. I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths.

“Not again, not again," I muttered. I fumbled inside my pocket for my pill bottle. “Fuck," I shouted in a whisper. I had left it in my coat pocket. I couldn't run back downstairs to retrieve it, but I did remember that I should have a spare pill in the front pocket of my military jacket. I wrestled with the button, yanking the green flap open and grabbing the little white pill from inside. But my hands were shaking, and I dropped it: it clattered around in the sink a few times before falling stoutly down the drain. I failed to grab it, and leaned against the sink with my arms hopelessly as it tumbled down. “Dammit!" I let out a heave and remained in that pathetic, hunched-over position for some time until my breathing had calmed. After a while longer, my heart rate slowed, and I began to relax. I stood up straight, placing two of my fingers under my neck – my pulse once again felt normal. I looked at myself in the mirror again and sighed.

“Get a grip, mate," I muttered, forcing myself to breathe deeply and steadily. I finally felt confident enough to leave the restroom, straightening my hair and walking out into the adjoining room. I had not taken note of anything as I raced through it before, but to my surprise, I now saw that it was full of artifacts. A decorative green carpet, large, vertical windows that allowed white light to stream through, and some polished wooden furniture along the sides of the room were where the expected decorations ended; all throughout the space were shelves cluttered with rocks, fossils, skeletons, and models of creatures to the point that every little inch of space upon a shelf, desk, or cabinet was nearly overflowing – a single shake of the earth would have sent it all crashing to the floot. The walls were nearly hidden behind the charts, topographical maps, bulletin boards, geological displays, and so forth that hung from the wall. Even the skeleton of some large sea creature hung from the ceiling.

“Impressive, is it not?" I suddenly heard, and turned: Hawthorne was standing in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, pushing back his robe-like cape, his other hand rested upon the door handle. I worried that I had somehow imposed by being here – that must have reflected on my expression. “You're not in any trouble, lad," he assured, walking over to one of the shelves and carefully selecting a small seashell. “Besides, the bathroom's through here, anyway." He examined the seashell carefully before delicately placing it back down upon the shelf. “So you've seen my collection?" I decided to try and make some conversation, in spite of my recent incident.

“It is…Very impressive," I managed to reply. I could have done better, but Hawthorne didn't seem to mind. Instead, he merely smiled.

“Did you know, that the land upon which Ervef currently sits was once completely submerged under water?" He said this with an amused expression, clearly fascinated with the fact.

“Honestly, it doesn't look like it's had too much time to dry," I replied with a shrug. Hawthorne chuckled.

“Millions of years ago, large sea creatures like the one above your head would have roamed this great ocean." he continued. I looked up, as if admiring the skeleton. “Unfortunately, there's just not enough people in the profession to compile enough fossil data to come to anything conclusive…"

“Well, I suppose it has to start somewhere," I said with a sideways nod. Hawthorne could tell that I was losing interest.

“It's not an interest that everyone can come to appreciate, but you can see why it means so much to me that my work not be stolen by Kimberland," he stated, speaking of the duke who we were to, well, kill.

“You certainly seem to have devoted much of your time to it," I acknowledged with a nod. Hawthorne thought for a moment, nodding.

“Yes…I suppose. It's a shame, really – half of this was his work, too. But, at least I have the will to admit that." He cleared his throat again, less violently than before, though still placing a hand to his upper chest. “But you know what, Tovef?" I was silent. “You can never trust even those who work closest with you, can you?" His tone had turned dark – I felt uneasy.

“Sir?"

“Listen, Tovef," he suddenly began quickly and firmly, striding up close to me. I took a few steps back, surprised, but he placed a hand on my shoulder and drew me in close, speaking swiftly and in a low voice. “All of you I chose for this task personally," he stated. “I made sure that your records would turn up in their search for a marksman. But know this," he took in a breath. “Do not think trust any of them!" I broke away and took a step back, stunned. “Believe me, I know all of them and their work very well, regardless of whether they are aware of it or not. They are good workers – good comrades, I'm sure – but don't let them distract you from what I am assigning you to do, you understand?"

“What? I- Uh-" I was frankly too stunned to react. What was going on? Hawthorne was clearly a capable individual, and he was obviously willing to spend a lot of money to get what he wanted, even dropping thirty five thousand extra salir on a whim to see his plan through, but this made it seem that he had done everything in spite of who he was hiring. I didn't have time to contemplate it, however, because immediately his expression changed, and he stood back, gazing at me with the same friendly smile as before.

“Come now – we best get back to the dining room – I have dessert on the way. Besides, we have more to go over about my little job for you all." He strode out of the room before I had finished gathering my thoughts. I swallowed, trying to keep myself calm so as not to induce my panic again. He was probably just a dramatic client – Tiko had honestly behaved rather similarly. But this just felt…Different. My mind was uneasy as I straightened my jacket, once-more fixed my hair, and, with a quick, confident huff, strode out of the room.