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A Very New, Familiar Acquaintance

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The streets of the old Royal Park – an odd name, considering that Oslost was, as far as I had gathered, traditionally ruled by a duke or duchess, for some strange reason – were bustling with activity. It was a wide-open space, surrounded on all sides by the short, wide stone buildings that enclosed the courtyard, their facades heavily decorated and their windows long and vertical, some larger towers jetting out at each corner that were even-more-elaborately masoned. By contrast, the large courtyard itself was not so intricate.

Several brick walkways intersected each other diagonally in a sort of diamond-like pattern throughout the space, paving themselves over the brown, bleak grass of winter. Here and there, a dormant tree stood, its branches bare of leaves, its twigs bent and twisted against no canvass of green, as if they had been moving frantically and then were suddenly frozen in place that way. That was all of the decoration that was apparently needed to complete the courtyard, at least for the winter. Despite the pathways, and the trees, vendors and curators alike set up their shops, tents, and displays pretty much wherever they felt comfortable, and as a result all those who came to witness the opening festivities walked all about the courtyard: down the paths, upon the grass, and in no particular line or pattern.

As far as the stands, stalls, and tents went, they were everywhere, chaotically arranged, some of them falling into place in disorganized lines or make-shift rows. Physicians offered apothecaric cures for various ailments in one tent while a biologist next door gave a lecture on the exciting developments in study of the anatomy of sea sponges while his neighbor stood on a low wooden platform displaying and operating various mechanical and electric wonders for the crowd to awe at. I probably would have found it all more amusing, no doubt, had I not been there under such serious circumstances – the convention fairgrounds of the Royal Park composed most of the area that I had agreed to search, though in all honesty I had no idea where to start looking for information on the duke. I had asked one of the blue-uniformed guards when I first entered the courtyard, and she simply replied that the duke was unlikely to make an appearance until his speech the next day.

Thus, thrust into this peculiar world of scientific displays and oddities, with dark, overcast clouds that threatened to overwhelm the whole affair with sleet and cold rain, I began to explore, strolling casually around. I had spent most of the morning with Forticay, shopping for clothing that would make me look more like…Someone who had both the time and the interest to attend the annual Scientific Exposition. We had spent way too long in a fancy-looking department store with large glass display windows, as Forticay, rather over-enthusiastically, had me try on numerous outfits for me to simply opt for a nice black overcoat, black pants, and top hat (all of which, conveniently, went perfectly with my black leather boots). I didn't even purchase a new shirt – my grey one would do, for now.

Having arrived at the convention grounds on our own and gone our separate ways, I walked around more or less in awkward confusion, not entirely sure who to ask what or where to really start. I decided that the best way to gather information about a country and its leaders that I knew very little about was to do as I had done yesterday; namely, to partake in the commotion just like others were doing and to blend in as much as possible, just as I had done when the new prime minister had been ranting.

With this mindset, I casually walked up to a short wooden stand that had attracted a large gathering, people clustering around curiously listening to a woman in a large grey overcoat and fedora give a speech about…Something. She was a tall, wolf-like woman, covered in black fur with grey under the eyes and muzzle. Her expression was serious; serious and inspired. I stepped closer, immersing myself into the crowd.

“…And there has never been, in our history, a time so revolutionary as today," she continued, with a voice filled with awe and respect. “You today now stand in one of the most technologically-advanced countries in the whole of the known world. Within a decade, the streets of every major city, from Lester to Pazwood, will be illuminated with electric streetlights, and humming with the sound of motorized automobiles. The generous public investment offered by our noble leader, Duke Kimberland, as well as contributions from countless others, are what make this near future of ours possible." Someone somewhere else in the crowd began shouting annoyedly, not in blind rage, but cautiously and awkwardly, as if they knew that they shouldn't be doing it.

“Nope, nope," they stated. I could not see them from where I was standing, but I could almost picture their awkward, anxious expression.. “How can our leaders pour so much money into obscure technologies while every day refugees continue to pour in from the West? We should…Get off." I caught a glimpse of the blue uniform of a guard calmly leading the objector away from the crowd, the latter of whom, who I still couldn't really make out, seemed to oblige reluctantly. The woman on the platform, having been briefly taken aback, but not enough to stop speaking, continued with renewed vigor. It began to occur to me that this woman must be representing the state, and the contributions that they had made to science and technology. I continued to listen, my interest peaked now that I knew that I was at least in a relevant location.

“We are at a turning point in our history, ladies and gentlemen. With the war between the Northern Territories and the Federated states to our South, as well as the threats it poses to us, near a close, we can expect massive diversions of tax revenue from our military and defense services into our innovation sector. You, my friends, are living in the dawn of a new era: one in which Oslost will emerge as a pioneer among global havens of technological development. Already, we are experimenting with the application of rapidly-developing sciences in virtually every field. The current prototypes of these wonders can be seen just down that way," she pointed to her left, “in the mechanics hall. Meanwhile, through the use of this technology and our growing knowledge of mathematics, our biologists and paleontologists, who you will find over there, in the historical wing, are uncovering more and more about our fascinating past…" I looked behind me, to where the woman had proudly gestured, trying to make out its location.

It appeared that it was merely housed in one of the four long wings that enclosed the courtyard, which made sense – if it did begin to rain or hail, at least the ancient fossils and artifacts would be protected within its walls. I lingered among the present crowd a little bit longer, looking for an opportunity to break away without drawing any attention. I wasn't sure why I was so concerned about avoiding detection: I probably looked like any curious convention-goer who simply wanted to see every exhibit, as it was. Regardless, I broke off and slowly made my way further through the rows and clusters of booths and tents, carefully navigating around hundreds of other people who walked in every direction. Some were excited and eagerly chatting with one another as they swiftly made their way to some particular exhibit; some merely strolled absentmindedly, taking in the sights as they were presented; and some stood at the various exhibits for long periods of time to observe what curiosities were on display or to hear some lecturer talk.

As I came to cross one of the brick walkways on my way to the historical wing, I noticed that a large crowd had gathered to either side of the path. I made my way towards the front as a low rumbling approached us. Everyone smiled and looked with awe as the first of several polished, shiny blue automobiles motored their way slowly down the path. They were long, and had no roof or compartment, with merely slender, bicycle-like wheels. I had only seen an automobile once in my entire life, and it was when General Khomyelost had made a visit to the troops of my division on the North-Western Front to give us some morale-boosting speech or something – he didn't even step out of the tiny, sputtering little mechanism (that looked much worse than these) to talk with any of the soldiers as he and his driver puttered along – he had just nodded and waved absentmindedly.

The scene today was somewhat similar: the sleek, cobalt-blue color of the cars, combined with the elaborate uniforms and proper faces of those within them, indicated that this was a state procession. Each automobile had its own driver – a regular guard with their blue uniform and peaked cap – but besides them, the vehicles were filled with stern, high-ranking military officials in decorative uniforms with hanging ropes and dangling medals; government leaders in elaborate suits; heads of various federal departments sitting awkwardly and making an effort to appear amiable through smiles or waves. The government of Oslost, in fact, was surprisingly diverse, and despite the overwhelmingly-human population of the modestly-sized country, I spotted numerous non-human species among the officials, including a faint-green dragonborn who wore a smart white general's uniform. The crowd's amazement with the display of technological achievement seemed to grow as each automobile passed. I had counted three when a large, excited uproar suddenly sounded from further behind, where the vehicles were coming from. The commotion worked its way towards us, in cheers and excited gasps, and I soon found out the reason for all the vibrant energy.

“The duke," somebody shouted excitedly. I immediately focused my attention on the motorcar at the center of the cheers and excited exclamations. Directly behind the automobile that was just rumbling past me was one that, although exactly identical to all the others, carried a much more distinct passenger. Instead of the other officials in the vehicle who sat calmly, nodding or waving to their audience, there was one man among them who stood majestically, gripping the back of the seat in front of him as he proudly looked out over the crowd. He was an older man, as I expected, given his supposedly having grown up with Lord Hawthorne. Yet, he had still aged far better than the latter had – whereas Hawthorne had appeared almost seventy, here, Kimberland looked to be only in his early sixties. He even had streaks of jet black left in his greying hair, which was combed back over his head yet still puffed up so as to give him an even-more young appearance. In addition to this, he had a salt-and-pepper colored goatee that ended at a point upon his chin. Contrary to his companions, who wore the regal colors of Oslost, Kimberland was dressed simply in black, the only exception being the dark-red vest that was exposed beneath his unbuttoned overcoat.

He would nod or wave occasionally, but for the most part he merely stood there, gazing out over his people. As he drew nearer, I felt an uneasy feeling within me: something was…Off. This man did not look like the thieving, conniving man that Hawthorne seemed to imply was bound to drag the North-East Alliance into war with the Federation; rather, this man looked hopeful, and proud, and an air of satisfaction that came with seeing his people up close seemed to reflect in his eyes. He looked gracefully about him with an unchanging, proud but stern expression, smiling slightly, as if he wanted to show his strength, but his joy at seeing so many assembled for him overwhelmed his ability to keep a totally-serious complexion.

As he drove past me, the inevitable intrusive thought approached: I could just kill him now. I could easily have lunged forward, with the pistol that I still carried behind my belt, and discharged several shots into his chest point-blank before anyone could even comprehend what was going on. But I dismissed those thoughts immediately as the motorcar rolled by, the cheers that Kimberland carried along with him to either side being conveyed further down the crowd that had assembled. To act then, in front of all of those people, would surely resulted in my arrest, if I was not shot on the spot in the confusion – not a great idea if I was in this for the money. Not to mention that this appearance of the duke was unexpected and abrupt, and to make an attempt on his life now – which could very well fail – could also place the others in danger, as well. I doubted that Vage, Martin, Novka, or Forticay had any idea that the duke had even made this surprise appearance. There were just too many things that could go wrong. Not to mention, I was beginning to feel…Uneasy regarding our objective. The duke didn't seem like the person who Hawthorne had made him out to be, at all. Not that that should matter to me, but I wondered why he would have lied in the first place, if it was made abundantly clear to him by both Vage and Novka that we would carry out our job no matter what the circumstances were…The last of the seven or so automobiles passed by, and the crowd began to dissipate and resume their wanderings about the convention, yet I stood still, deep in my thoughts, for a few moments longer before pushing them out of my mind and pressing onwards.

Finally making it to the elongated building that had been my target, I stepped under the high ceiling – held up by many narrow composite stone columns – that covered the exterior walkway that appeared to run along the entire inner perimeter of the courtyard. Here, beyond the clusters of general convention stalls and by the more-specialized, indoor exhibits, the crowd was thinned out significantly, as was the noise. Looking for an entrance, I spotted two large, wooden double-doors that had been opened wide for people to enter, a small sign placed on the ground next to it reading, in decorative cursive, “Natural History, Biology, and Paleontology," indicating that this was the place I wanted to be. I walked inside and found myself in a massive corridor, with high, peaked ceilings, and large windows upon the tops of the walls, just below the ceiling, which allowed light to stream into the otherwise gas lamp-lit space.

There were even fewer people in here than under the awning, and nothing in particular seemed to be on display, save a few models of pre-historic skeletons and displays of large, old-looking boulders that appeared to have been hastily-constructed. In fact, half of those currently browsing around the largely-vacant space seemed to be working there, either as guards or curators and scientists. Perhaps the exhibit had not yet been completed? Either way, I decided to continue inward, figuring that the worst that would happen is that I should be told that I was not allowed to be there at that time, at which point I would merely tell the truth and say that I wasn't aware of that.

I made my way other to another entryway – also very large, but this one with no doors – which opened into a wide, columned room. This one looked less decorated than the hallway, with brick columns instead of polished stone interspersed throughout, the adhesive between each individual brick clearly distinguishable for anyone to see. The roof was lower here, and there were no windows, but a decent amount of gas-lighting running along the walls compensated for the lack of natural sunlight. It frankly had all the appearance of a munitions storage cellar or something. There were some worktables scattered about the place, many of which had pieces of stone or bones scattered upon them, as well as journals, tools, magnifying glasses, and other random utensils that would be stereotypic of a scientist in this particular trade to have. There were very few people in the room, and the few who were there were bustling to organize things or to literally dust and polish off their work. I awkwardly but calmly made my way over to a pile of large wooden boxes off to the side of the room.

“Help me with this, for a moment, will you?" I heard from the other side of one of the boxes, and saw that the opposite end started to lift up.

“Hm? Oh." I grabbed the other side of the rectangular box, which actually wasn't too heavy, and we began to shuffle it away from the stack and over towards the center of the room, navigating around one of the columns as we did so. “Where are we heading with this?"

“Just over there, to that table with the typewriter on it." I accidently tripped over my own feet, stumbling for a brief moment. The box jolted. “Careful!" The man holding up the other side cautioned. “These are invaluable artifacts, you know." We set the box down on the sturdy wooden table, next to the black typewriter, and I heard the man sigh with satisfaction and exhaustion as he stepped around from the other side. “Thanks for helping me with that, mate." My jaw dropped. There, standing before me, was a tall, slender dragonborn man in a grey suit with the same, light-blue scales as Larissa. He even had the same delicate green eyes and small horns jetting off the back of his head. I made the connection immediately...He was wearing a black tie and had a gold pocket watch chain dangling from one of the buttonholes of his vest. “Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were one of my assistants," he apologized.

“Uh…" I finally managed to pull myself together. “No worries. I'm happy to help. Is the exhibition open?" I frankly didn't care if it was open or not – I was still getting over the confusion of running into who I was growing increasingly sure was in fact Larissa's long-lost brother – there was no way that this dragonborn (a species rare enough on Vaymansphere), of this particularly-rare color, with eyes like his, could not be her relative.

“Ah, no, I'm afraid," he sighed with an apologetic smile. “Well, technically it is, but we're quite a bit behind schedule. Come back tomorrow and we'll have everything all set up." He paused, and awkwardly looked around, his hands falling to his side for a moment. “Unless, of course…You have an interest in paleontology?" He shrugged.

“Uh, yeah, yes," I lied, more absentmindedly than with any actual objective in mind. Could it really be? Was this actually Larissa's brother?

“Well, then, I'd be happy to show you around," he smiled, walking around the table and leading me to the opposite wall, where some models were on display. “We're still setting up, you see," he stated sheepishly. “We're slightly behind schedule."

“No worries," I grunted, still in a daze.

“Well, I'm always happy to give a tour," he shrugged.

“Ah," I nodded, still completely lacking enthusiasm, but he didn't seem to notice.

“These are from the Moravian Era, roughly twenty-five million years ago," he stated with admiration as he nodded to the models of the bones of some quadrupedal, cat-looking skeleton with large, extended claws. I was still too stunned to really register this, instead merely nodding slowly in mock fascination. The man before me looked around thirty, so he certainly fit within the age range that Ravnick would currently be in. “And these, over here…" He continued, leading me to a large rock that had been propped up and cut on two, the flatter side on display, boasting a large, fossilized crustacean of some sort, with the outline of tentacles protruding from a spiral shell clearly visible. “Date back over two-hundred million years," he finished excitedly and with a touch of fascinated emphasis.

“Hm…" I nodded again, stroking my chin. “I'm sorry, but who are you?" I finally asked."

“Ah, my apologies," he smiled. “I am the Head of Scientific Inquiry for His Grace, Duke Kimberland, although I specialize in mathematics. In fact," he began, excitedly grabbing a large chart with dates and lines form a nearby table. This felt too unreal. “We have been applying the latest mathematical techniques to more-accurately date these artifacts. Of course, it's not perfectly accurate, but-" I interrupted him before he could get too carried away with his lecture, though I felt bad for it immediately– I was just too stunned to process things correctly.

“Sorry," I apologized. “What I meat was…What's your name?"

“My name? Oh, Ravnick Rhinedale," he stated. “Are you one of my students?" I was shocked. I must have let it show as I stood there, unsure of what to do or say, because he soon asked if anything was the matter. “Are you all right?"

“Hm?"

“You seem…Dazed. Perhaps you'd like to come sit down?"

“No, no," I reassured, snapping myself back into focus. “I'm, I'm fine." I wasn't. I had no idea what I should do. Should I tell him that I knew Larissa – that she was planning on coming here, to Lester, if she wasn't here already? At the very least, I figured that I should tell him that I had seen her, and that she had crossed the Front on her way to find him…But then again, I wasn't sure that she had even made it out of Yestloblast, and if she was still stuck there, it meant that she was once again behind the line, assuming that nothing bad had happened to her…I had to stop thinking those kinds of thoughts. All I ended up saying was: “I…Actually…Was curious if you could show me more of what you're specializing in currently," I stated, hoping to buy myself more time to figure out what to say.

“Oh, of course," Ravnick obliged, leading me over to a table covered in charts, drawings, and sketches of prehistoric creatures, along with what looked like samples of soil and rocks in little glass bowls. “Now, this is technically not supposed to be announce until tomorrow," he began, moving one of the glass bowls to the side gently with his clawed hand. I stared down absentmindedly at the chart he had just cleared – it looked like a sketch of some sort of small, bird-mammal-reptile combination, as it had a beak but also scales and fur. “But our top scientists, as well as Duke Kimberland himself, have currently been working out decades of research to determine verification of an evolutionary link between all known intelligent species," he explained with fascination.

“Hm," I nodded, still lost in thought, but something that Ravnick had said suddenly hit me. “Wait, you said that the duke works on this personally?" I shot back into focus, my mind once again on my true objective.

“Well, of course," Ravnick stated as if it should be obvious. “He founded the Office of Scientific Inquiry, and he's quite the geologist himself, although I'll admit that he hasn't been too involved in our project recently given the mounting political situation that's been growing over the past few years."

“But this is his project," I confirmed.

“Yes: all of this was started by him. In fact, at first this was all his personal research, from his younger years. But…" Ravnick continued, walking over to another table and grabbing another, more-detailed sketch of the creature that I had just witnessed. “We have come a long way since then, and now, we've finally found it: the organism that proves a traceable evolutionary link between almost all of today's current intelligent species." I was silent. “Just think, with this kind of information," Ravnick continued, his eyes glowing with fascination. “We could end the unequal systems that still abound across Vaymansphere…Some people are opposed to this, of course, but they don't realize that this matter is so much bigger than them – this could put an end to not only the war, but to all species-based injustices as we know it." I nodded, thinking about something that Ravnick had said about the duke.

“You said he complied his research in his younger years; the duke, I mean."

“Yes? How come you ask?" Ravnick returned, confused.

“Did he learn all of this alone, or was he part of uhhhh…Team or crew?" At this point, a woman who had been leaning against another table by the wall, her arms crossed as she listened to our conversation, suddenly unfolded them and walked towards us.

“I see you've enjoyed offering another behind-the-scenes look to another curious convention-goer," she stated. She was a younger woman, human, with short, blond hair and a dark-red vest with black pants.

“Oh, so you've overheard," Ravnick chuckled. “I, for one, am frankly remarkably pleased how at many people have shown interest." She smiled, and turned to me.

“And you are?"

“Oh," I began. “Tovef Halfe," I replied, immediately regretting not having used one of the fake names Hawthorne had provided us with, now that we were on the opposite side of the Front.

“Well, to answer your question," she began, picking up one of the charts from the table and examining it against the light as she spoke, much more calmly and with a tone of far greater seriousness than Ravnick, who was far too excited with his work to remain so steady. “He did work with several others, all of whom he could not have come this far without…But that was a long time ago – he's since either lost contact or broken off relations with all of them." I nodded.

“Ah, forgive me," Ravnick suddenly spoke up during the awkward silence that followed. “Tovef, this is my assistant, Maya Golovna." My mind froze. I had heard that name before…Hawthorne's assistant, supposedly, the one whom he had sent to secure his work from Kimberland and then never heard from again. She was here, alive – not dead – and working for Kimberland. I suddenly worried that I might even be in danger. What if she knew that Hawthorne had sent me? What were her motives for apparently betraying him? “She's relatively new, but she's proven an invaluable asset – bringing in all sorts of research we didn't have before that's finally filling in the gaps on this matter." What was going on? For a few moments, I merely stood there, confused, before I finally realized how odd my behavior was likely being perceived and forced myself to nod in Maya's direction with a rushed smile. Everything I thought I knew about our job was unraveling, and the loose ends just kept growing and growing. I had to start somewhere to gradually untangle the mess of information that had been rapidly accumulating over the last few moments. I started with a continuation of my previous question.

“Was there anyone the duke worked with in particular," I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. Maya eyed me.

“Why do you ask?" Dammit.

“I'm just curious; I know of many individuals in the field, although I come from Henlot, and I'm not too familiar with the work that Kimberland has been doing recently – it sounds like he would be an individual who I should have been aware of," I shrugged. I must have been convincing, because Maya didn't bat an eye following my little explanation.

“I just arrived here a few weeks prior, but I of knew him from…Associates," she explained. “Although, as far as I can tell, he's been trying to keep things as secret as possible for the past few decades or so."

“Yes: he's been terrified that his work will be leaked before it can properly be compiled to produce a convincing case for our divergent evolution from a central point," Ravnick added. "You'd be surprised at how many people want to discredit such a notion."

“There are…Some people who would rather indulge their own interests rather than provide for those of others," Maya elaborated.

“Like who," I asked without thinking. I worried that I had crossed a line or exposed myself by mistake, but neither of them seemed to notice. Maya sighed.

“Someone who contributed to this project more than anyone else, at least earlier in the day – aside from Kimberland himself, of course – was a man by the name of Hawthorne." I swallowed. “But, since then, he's turned his gaze to his estate, and making a profit. You wouldn't believe how much money he's invested in the weapons industry."

“Sorry?"

“You know: firearms, ammunition, uniforms, medical supplies…" I swallowed. I was not entirely sure where this was going, but I could see the pieces starting to come together. “People such as him, who profit off the war, don't want anything like this being leaked," Maya stated, in reference to their little biology project. Oh shit. Ravnick cleared his throat.

“Our discoveries here completely invalidate the lie upon which unequal regimes such as those of the Northern Territories build their governments," he stated with a sideways nod of the head. “If we can publish that – which we plan to, after the duke's speech tomorrow – then we can, well, potentially end the war early." I swallowed again. I didn't like any of what I was hearing. Well, actually, I loved what I was hearing, though I was growing increasingly less fond of my future role in it. But I had to keep pressing on with questions, trying my hardest to appear as nothing more than a curious convention-goer.

“The duke's speech?"

“Oh, yes," Ravnick nodded excitedly. “Every year, to open the official first day of the convention, Duke Kimberland will give a speech commemorating how far we've come as a community. And tomorrow, thankfully, he'll finally be able to unveil decades of work that have been accumulating down here."

“Where is his speech?"

“Just up the road," Ravnick stated, pointing in the general direction of where the event would be held. “At the Grand Palace."

“Oh, what time is it," I asked with mock curiosity – of course, I really did want to know when it was, but my unease and anxiety was building rapidly. “I'd like to see it, if I can make it."

“It's right at noon," Ravnick replied. “Although it's supposed to be a bit warmer tomorrow, so it may rain." I nodded, lost in thought.

“Ravnick, I need to go grab the papers from Marko," Maya stated, judging her place in the conversation to be over. I frankly wanted to ask more questions, but I figured that I should count my earnings and let her go before I somehow revealed myself. Ravnick wished her goodbye and she walked off, her footsteps echoing through the now-empty room, – everyone else had apparently left on some business, aside from me and Ravnick.

“Well, if you have any more questions about the exhibit or our study, I'd be happy to answer them," Ravnick said with a smile. “I need to help construct some of the models soon, but I have some spare time." I turned to him, snapping back to reality again.

“The duke, why does he do this?" Ravnick's expression took on a confused essence. I worried that he was beginning to find my apparent obsession with Kimberland's scientific interests a bit odd.

“Um…" He began. “Well, quite frankly, it interests him," Ravnick shrugged. “But aside from his passion for the subject, he wants to do this because, well, it's the right thing to do, I suppose. That's why I'm here."

“You said you taught at the university," I asked.

“Uh, yes," he nodded. “I teach advanced algebra and calculus." I pursed my lips and exhaled heavily through my nostrils. “Is everything ok? Are you in one of my classes?"

“Uh, no," I shook my head, not sure how to proceed. “I, uh…I need to tell you something." I could tell that Ravnick was confused, and even slightly concerned at my clearly extremely-smooth leeway. “I just arrived up North, from South of the Front." His eyes widened.

“By God, that's incredible," he exclaimed. “Are you a diplomat?"

“Oh no, no," I assured, wondering why I was telling him all of this – he was in a high position of power, and clearly was on close terms with the duke. If he suspected anything of me, it would not be difficult for him to shut down any chances we had at the duke's assassination…Only, I wasn't so sure how I was feeling about that, anymore. “I, uh…Listen, you can't tell anybody this…" Ravnick looked even more confused, and raised his head slightly, giving me a quizzical, and mildly concerned, expression. “…But I crossed illegally." He merely stood there, a pondering expression upon his face, clearly not alarmed – many people probably cross the Front, when they can, and evidently, wealthy people with stakes up North like Mr. Temlot cross multiple times, so it made sense that Ravnick was not so off-put.

“Ok," he finally stated, confused. “So why does this concern me?"

“Do you have a sister," I asked. Now he seemed more concerned than confused. His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, but overall, his composure was relatively unaffected. Though he had grown much more steady, and serious.

“Why do you ask," he questioned cautiously.

“I crossed the Front with someone named Larissa Rhinedale," I finally stated, slowly and in a steady manner, anticipating any sort of response from Ravnick. Thankfully, he seemed to approach the matter with a sense of confusion and shock rather than hysteria.

“Wha- Larissa? That's my sister," he muttered as he gazed around the room and then looked back at me. “Are you sure? What did she look like?"

“Just like you," I shrugged. “Only, you know, more feminine." I didn't know how else to put it.

“My gosh…" Ravnick trailed off, putting a hand to his head as he continued to mutter something. Suddenly, he lunged at me, startling me and following me across the room as I took a few steps back, the hysteria I had been expecting finally kicking in.

“Is she here? Well, go on, tell me: is she here?"

“Yea- I mean, n- I mean, I- Uh-"

“What? Is she here or not," Ravnick demanded.

“I don't know!" I finally blurted out. He paused.

“But…You said you came here with her."

“I was with her when we crossed the front line," I corrected in as calming and explanatory of a voice as possible – I didn't need to attract any unneeded attention. In fact, why was I even telling him any of this? If Larissa had made it to Lester, she would easily be able to seek him out – as the Head of Scientific Inquiry, Ravnick surely wouldn't be hard to find. Yet I continued on, anyway. “But we were separated at…North of there." I didn't tell him that we were at Yestloblast, in case he had heard of the new offensive – I didn't want him to freak out.

“But, the advance, how did you-"

“We crossed before the advance," I stated plainly. “Just a few days ago, right before it happened." Ravnick looked both concerned and stunned – a sense of sadness and worry draped itself over his face.

“Bu- How- If- If- Wa-" He stammered a few syllables more and then forced himself to pause, sighing. When he spoke, he did so calmly and with a noticeable degree of concern: “Why did she feel the need to come here?" That was an odd way to word the sentence.

“She told me she was looking for you," I stated calmly, with a gentle point and a nod for emphasis. “She hasn't heard from you in a year – she's starting to doubt that you're even still alive."

“That- That's impossible," Ravnick started to stammer nervously, “I've been writing her each week, and sending money, and…Has none of it made it past the front line?" I just shrugged and sighed with a look of regret. “My God…" He muttered. “All this time I thought…But now she won't understand that…"

“What?"

“Do you know where she is now?" He asked suddenly, turning to me with a frantic gaze.

“Look, I told you, I don't know," I replied. He sighed, looking down and putting his hands in his pockets as he tried to calm himself (surprisingly well, in fact). “I, uh," I began again, not sure if I should say what I wanted to say next or not. He looked up at me with anticipating eyes, as if every second my words remained unspoken was pure torment for him. “Meet me tonight," I finally blurted. “At the student village."

“What? Is she there?" I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything as I continued to slowly lift my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, slowly raising my hands, as well.

“I think so," I finally blurted out, completely unsure whether Larissa would be there or not. At the very least, I could perhaps get some more information out of Ravnick regarding the duke, if he decided to show. “Ten o'clock," I added.

“What, but- I-" Ravnick continued to stammer, but I was getting more and more nervous. I had to get out of there, before my cover was blown somehow. I worried that I was giving away too much information.

“I have to go," I stated. “Thank you for the tour." I began to walk off, but he shouted out and forced me to stop:

“How can I trust you?" I sighed and turned around, now mildly annoyed as a result of my high anxiety, staring him dead in the face.

“Your sister," I began, speaking swiftly and sternly. “Larissa, the son of a baker and an ironsmith, the latter of whom died in the war, and your village in Agranda was raided, and they sent you to the university to study and eventually bring them here, is that correct?" He swallowed, looking both nervous and hopeful. “Ten o'clock," I repeated. “At the student village." He remained silent as I strode out of the room. I imagined him supporting himself by placing a hand on one of the little tables with his paleontology drawings and sketches as I left.

---

I ended up pacing through the exposition for only a few hours more, gathering information, before leaving. From those I spoke with, playing the role of a curious out-of-towner who had very little idea of what the itinerary was, I confirmed that the duke would be giving a speech the following day at noon, further down the street, at the Grand Palace. He was supposedly to give the speech on a large balcony that overlooked Lester Square. How I managed to gather so much information given my troubled state of mind was a mystery to me.

Yet, satisfied at what I had gathered at the convention, and also because I had no desire to remain there any longer, I left the large courtyard and emerged back onto the busy city streets of central Lester, now more crowded as late afternoon began to turn to evening, many people probably headed home after a day of work before dinner. The temperature had dropped, and a mild, persistent wind had again picked up, the sky dark with heavy overcast clouds – if it did rain now, it would probably freeze.

I was heading to Lester Square – I wanted to see the place where the duke would be delivering his speech, myself, although I felt more and more unsteady in my devotion to our task with every passing moment. Of course, we had all suspected that we may be responsible for the death of a decent individual, even if we (or at least I) had made the rather rash assumption that Kimberland was probably a questionable character at best (although, given his noble title and the reputations of most of the other political leaders in half of the countries in Vaymansphere, my reasoning was not baseless). In fact, I had even felt a little bit of distain for him myself, despite having never actually seen him, upon hearing that he was the leader of one of the countries of the North-East, who of course refused to aid the Federation on the grounds that it was not their war. I really wasn't too informed on politics, in general – especially that of any country outside of Henlot, or those of the North-West, where I served for so long – yet I had still felt confident in making assumptions about what was going on in Oslost. But hearing what I had heard over only the past two days, I was beginning to feel more and more guilty about potentially murdering this seemingly-benevolent – if a bit misguided on some accounts – leader of a relatively-prosperous country.

Not the least of my concerns involved meeting Maya, an individual who, despite supposedly having Hawthorne's complete trust, not only appeared to be actively working with Kimberland and his staff on his scientific projects, but also clearly delivered some of Hawthorne's research to him, as well. At the very least, if Hawthorne had wanted her to hinder the duke's efforts in any way, she could have easily done so already, if she were to truly mess up his little project. To do anything now would be far too late, and would have significantly less effect than doing something earlier. Her presence here was…Worrying, to say the least.

Not to mention that Ravnick seemed to have poured a lot into that project, and as much as I hated to admit it, that actually affected me on a personal level. But then again, would killing the duke actually prevent all of that scientific research from getting out? Already there were probably thousands of charts, sculptures, drawings, and essays compiled and stored away on their paleontology project, not to mention that clearly quite a few people here were already aware of it: ultimately, no matter how much of that research, much of which Maya admitted was Hawthorne's, we returned to him or even destroyed, it would never actually be erased – the details of the project, and what it sought to uncover, would still likely be released by the authorities of Oslost, even if delayed slightly, as there would still be a whole government department devoted to it, after all. So why did Hawthorne want Kimberland dead, then? What else could he accomplish that would work in tandem with hindering his scientific announcement that could benefit him so much? Taking into account my experiences in Oslost alone, it would appear that almost everything he had stressed about the duke and our mission was either misguided or a flat-out lie. Perhaps he wanted to seem vindicated in the face of paying for the murder of a former friend? That would make sense, but why even hide it unless his true motives were something really, truly nefarious? I shuddered. I had to stop thinking so deeply about this.

Surely there was some misunderstanding, some break of communication, or some slip of the tongue at some point that, when taken into consideration with everything else, merely gave the illusion that things were not lining up and, if I could just locate it and determine what was actually supposed to be, would remedy the entire dilemma in a simple and understandable way...I was in a similar state of mind as I was all those days ago in Ervef, as I approached the tavern in whose backrooms I first met Vage, Forticay, and Novka, and began my journey on this strange, endlessly-twisting voyage that was seemingly full of surprises – I was trying to convince myself that I was merely overthinking things, and that it was already too late for me to change course. I continued to tell myself that things would work out better if I continued with the plan as it was set now, or that everything would simply all work out in the end; that disrupting things because of recent, unexplored thoughts would be rash and potentially even dangerous, hindering our current objective.

But what would happen if Kimberland died? By this time, I had arrived at the square. It was a large square, more wide than long, a large, heavily-decorated facade spanning the width of the place on one side, its brown rectangular columns half-submerged in the sides of the walls; large, vertical windows between them; and carvings of flowers and vines intertwined with symmetrical geometric designs everywhere else. In the center of the large wing – which was only a few stories in height, but sprawled out, giving it the illusion that it dwarfed the other buildings – the building outcropped into a large rectangle, at the head of which there was a large, square balcony. To pace down the entire distance of the wing would probably have taken at least one or two minutes. On all other sides, decorated, but more-civilian looking, regular buildings surrounded the plaza, which itself was made up of many small stone bricks, three roads intersecting with the square in the middle of each of its sides, and one on either side of the palace.

“Excuse me," I began, putting on my gloves due to the cold as I walked up to a blue-coated guard who was chatting with two of his fellow guard friends, all of them human. Each one had bolt-action rifles slung over their shoulders and cobalt-blue ushankas that matched their uniforms. They stopped talking as I approached, and the young man I had been addressing gave me an annoyed look. I stated my question anyway: “Is this the Grand Palace?"

“No," the man stated, not even laughing at his own joke. What an ass.

“He's lying, it is," the woman to his right corrected, and he shot her an annoyed look, though significantly more friendly and playful than the one he had given me.

“Thanks," I muttered with an awkward nod, and made my way off to the side of the square, walking along the perimeter as I once again submerged myself in thought. It then occurred to me: perhaps I shouldn't be hanging around there too much if the next day's speech was, so far, seeming to be the most-likely candidate for the moment we would assassinate – uh, murder – the duke. I looked around and saw a large, tall hotel, made of a mixture of stone with intersecting wooden beams embedded in the facade, with a decent-looking tavern on the first floor.

I strode up to it and walked inside, pushing through the large wooden double-doors. It was fairly crowded, but there was still plenty of space available throughout the large lobby, where the bar was located. Being on the largest square in the city, it of course made sense that this place was decorated a bit nicer, with large, horizontal, paned windows along the walls to either side of the entrance and polished wooden tables with cushioned brown chairs surrounding them. Red carpet covered the floor, and rich cigar smoke filled the room – most of the people in there looked to have just gotten off from work and were talking or enjoying a drink before they would presumably return to their homes. To my surprise, there was a fairly-even even mix of humans and wolves, as well as a considerable number of cat-like species, most of them standard dark colors, but a few of vibrant oranges and yellows with spots or stripes, all of everybody nevertheless essentially forming part of the same ocean of grey and black from the suits and overcoats that seemed to be the fashion norm here – Lester was a considerably-prosperous city, after all.

I made my way up a few steps to a raised portion of the bar, just as decorated as the rest, but separated from it by a polished indoor fence, and found a seat at the mildly-occupied bar counter, removing my top hat and setting it in front of me. I fumbled for my cigarette case as I sat down and felt my pistol pressing up against my stomach behind my belt, which I had transferred there in lieu of having access to my regular trench coat. I froze for a moment, having forgotten that it was there, but then calmly extracted the cigarette case from my pocket as if it didn't bother me – in all truth, it really didn't. Were firearms even legal in Lester? Probably not, as with most cities, but if I had made it this far with one on me, I figured that I had nothing to worry about. I ordered a glass of cognac. I looked behind me as I wrapped my hands around the round glass that the bartender set in front of me and saw that we were either getting snow or large pieces of freezing rain, as large, thick flurries came down fast, though not as thickly as compared to a regular snowfall. Some of the people outside held up umbrellas as the wind thrashed it about, but most proceeded on their way undisturbed, indifferent to the icy downpour.

I placed the end of the cigarette between my lips and reached for my lighter. That was odd – I couldn't find it. Where was it? I started searching my overcoat, patting around my pockets until I remembered that I had left it in my other coat. The bartender – a tan, cat-like man with large ears and whiskers and white fur along the front of his neck and under his muzzle – saw me and apparently guessed at what I was doing, as he put down the glasses he had been closeting away and walked up to the counter, gripping a small silver lighter in his outstretched hand. I nodded as I leaned over the counter so that he could light it. He pushed a glass ashtray in my direction after it was ignited. I then simply stared off into the distance: my thoughts had turned back to my conversation with Ravnick.

I started to regret the abrupt, forward way that I told him I had met Larissa, and I probably left him with a thousand questions before my sudden exit. Why had I said that he should meet me in the student village? I didn't even know if Larissa was there or not, or if she had even made it to Lester. I began to worry, as well, that the time I had chosen might be a bit too impromptu – I wasn't trying to sneak behind everyone's backs, of course, but I worried that my plans to meet Ravnick later that day, if in fact he did show up, would interfere with our planning for tomorrow's events. Now that I had thought of it, I also began to worry that they might be angry at me for leaving so late and so close to when we were to put our plan into action, as well. Shit, what was I thinking? But I had made the plans, and if Ravnick actually went through the trouble of trying to meet up with someone who for all he knew was some deranged lunatic with an alarming degree of information about his family, in one of the poorer areas of the city late at night, then I at least owed it to him to be there. Some people entered the bar and noisily arrived at the counter a few seats down from me, talking loudly and breaking me from my thoughts. I glanced in their direction: two men, one of them a light-green lizardfolk man, and a woman, all dressed in black with long coats, placed their hats on the table as they sat down for drinks. They were continuing their conversation from the street, loudly, so I couldn't help but listen in.

“It's just bloody ridiculous," the lizardfolk man was ranting as he waved the bartender over. “The motion is already projected to have the support it needs in parliament to pass as soon as it goes to the first round of voting. Whisky, please."

“So what," the woman replied with a chuckle. “I still fail to see why you're so opposed to defending out interests as a country in the face of near-total economic isolation from the South." Evidently, these people were friends, as their political argument was not particularly heated. Still, though, there was a sense of tension that lingered between them. The lizardfolk man sighed, loosening his tie before continuing. I looked back down at my drink, tapping my fingers upon the table.

“Regardless of whether you support it or not, no decision of this nature should be made so hastily – we're talking about full-scale war."

“And it's something that's been debated for years, now," the woman retorted exasperatedly, as if she had made this point several times before. “Every possible outcome and scenario has been well thought out – there is no corner of this problem that has been left untouched."

“Oh, come on – you can't tell me that you think war is totally predictable."

“It is mostly predictable," the woman maintained with an air of satisfaction. “Of course, not perfectly, but we can look at the situation and make an educated judgement about what consequences will follow."

“Please," the tall, grey-haired man in between them, who had not spoken until now, interjected with a raise of his hands, evidently bothered by the rising noise level that the pair were speaking with to either side of him.

“Sorry," the woman apologized with genuine feeling.

“Anyway," the man sighed, preparing to enter the debate. He was a thin, moustahced man with longer hair, flattened around the top of his head, where his billycock had been resting. “Regardless of our reasons for intervention, the Northern Armies are hopelessly outnumbered. Their morale may be high now due to their recent victories in the North-West, but it's only a matter of time before they crumble – Ranscore's troops will probably the first to surrender, anyway."

“Yes, that's exactly my point," the other man stated excitedly, pivoting his argument. “The Northern Armies have been bled out this entire war – there's nobody left to do the fighting." Now that I disagreed with, at least slightly. Sure, the Northern Armies' numbers were dwindling, but they were still able to pound the Front hard when they wanted to, and they would continue to do that until the very last moment.

“The Northern Armies can be sustained by the combined forces of the North-East Alliance," the woman retorted.

“Oh, the bloody political controversies and infighting that would ensue," the lizardfolk man moaned with exaggeration. “Besides, look at our own country: in two years our entire political system's become deadlocked. Our own government nearly fell into chaos when Kimberland almost died last month." That piqued my interest. I sat up in my chair, turning to the trio, hoping to catch their gaze, but, not finding success in that, I cleared my throat and spoke up.

“Sorry, did you say that Kimberland almost died?" They all looked at me, slightly confused. “I'm not from around here," I clarified.

“Oh," the younger, lizardfolk man nodded. “He did almost pass, yes?"

“What caused it?" I pressed further.

“Well, he was ill for about a week leading up to that – infulenza, I think? Anyway, he's fine now."

“And thank goodness for that," the older man muttered. “Or Mr. Wilmfort would be in charge." I swallowed, overcome with a sudden sense of foreboding.

“Sorry? I- I'm not familiar with how…" I trailed off.

“Mr. Wilmfort? The new prime minister," the lizardfolk man elaborated.

“Yes, I understand that, but you said he'd be in charge?" I raised my eyebrows, involuntarily swallowing with concern. The older man nodded his head in understanding, and when he spoke he punctuated his speech with noticeable pauses, careful to ensure that I understood.

“If the reigning duke or duchess, dies without an heir, then it falls upon the prime minister to select a new one. It's a long process, and technically there needs to be a vote and everything…But he'd easily be able to get someone who wouldn't contradict him on the seat."

“No, he wouldn't," the woman stated with evident annoyance. “He would choose someone reasonable who would simply happen to agree with his stance on this particular matter, but not some totally-obsequious sycophant."

“So if Kimberland dies…Oslost goes to war," I confirmed. The older man shrugged.

“Kimberland's half of what's standing between the whole of the North-East Alliance going to war. Without him, there's no large enough faction in parliament to oppose Wilmfort's, not to mention that the other Alliance members who could be easily swayed into it under the threat of sanctions."

“Which is what got us into this bloody mess, I'll remind you," the lizardfolk man muttered, criticizing both the Federation's firm economic policies and Wilmfort's supposedly ironic thinking. I turned back around in my chair, facing the bar counter again and staring down at my drink with a burdened mind. “Are you all right, lad?"

“Yes, I'm fine," I assured without looking up. What had Maya said? That Hawthorne had investments in the weapons industry? Was she referring to him? She had to be. It all came flooding over me in an instant – not in the sense that I suddenly fully realized what was going on, but in the sense that my mind had shifted its position from trying to convince myself that my doubts about our mission were baseless and trivial to accepting that my doubts were legitimate and wondering what I should do from there. Whereas before it had seemed to me that it was pointless to question our objective, and that there was no reason for my worry, now it seemed that the only logical conclusion could be to reject this mission altogether. I suddenly felt like I couldn't partake in anything that would lead to the murder of the duke the next day. I cleared my throat quietly, pulling myself close to the counter and slowly raising the glass of cognac again to my lips, forgetting for a moment that a cigarette still hung out of my mouth.

“When are you going to quit with that habit?" I felt a hand firmly slap me on the back as the chair next to me was pulled out, Forticay settling himself down in the seat as he removed his wide-brimmed hat, running his clawed hand against the side of his head. He proceeded to immediately and ironically order two shots of whisky.

“Really mate, before tomorrow?" I stated with a slight tone of disgust. Despite my revelation, I tried to keep the conversation as normal as possible – I didn't want to act too rashly. Though I was far from at ease.

“What? It's a nerve relaxant," Forticay stated defensively with an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, I consider this just as relaxing," I stated, taking one last, long inhale of the cigarette before snuffing out the stub in the ashtray.

“To each his own, I suppose," Forticay shrugged. “Whatever puts you at ease…Speaking of which," he added, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “You've missed quite a bit."

“What?" I exclaimed, also in a quiet voice. “But I thought we were to meet back at the hotel at eight or nine."

“Yes, but the rest of us ran into each other before then, at the exhibition, except Martin," he explained. “We confirmed that the duke is giving his speech tomorrow, at noon, right out there," he turned in his chair and pointed to the Grand Palace, which was visible through the window.

“I heard that, too," I nodded blankly, my anxiety growing.

“So…" Forticay continued, leaning in even closer, and speaking in an even lower tone. “What Novka figured is that she would get Martin to find you a good rifle, which she's sure he can easily do-"

“Are firearms legal here?"

“Uh-" Forticay cut himself off, and nodded his head quickly to the side with a conflicted expression. “Technically, not, but," he rushed to add, sensing my worry. “He will find one."

“Forticay, there's too many people," I stated with heavy emphasis as I nodded out to the square. “No matter where I am, I'll be seen."

“Not if you're up there," Forticay smiled as he pointed to the floors above our heads.

“Who's going to get away with that? I've already seen guards all around – they're clearly increasing security."

“Ah, me and Vage went into the hotel just over there," he pointed to a building across the street that intersected with the square, still on the opposite side from the palace. “We spoke with the innkeeper, and told him that I was very sick, and needed a room. The cheapest one was one of the old, rickety attic rooms at the top, of course, so…Tomorrow, when you arrive with a large case, you'll simply tell them that you're a doctor on your way to see me. Then you'll take the 'medicine' to our little room on the top floor, and…You know. The roof hangs over the windows just a little – no one should see you.

“And what if they do?"

“Just try not to be spotted: look, you knew the risks. You can't expect to do any of this without a significant chance of failure." I glanced around briefly, to make sure that our conversation was not being overheard. The people who had been arguing politics were once again enveloped in their conversation as they drank their whisky, and the bartender merely leaned against the wall in the corner as he thoroughly cleaned a brandy glass with a white rag. Everyone else who was around seemed to be minding their own business, so I continued.

“How will I get away," I whispered nervously, leaning in again.

“You'll shoot from another room, on the same floor as the original – Novka or Martin will rent it," Forticay explained. “Once it's done, successful or not, go back into the room we rented and just wait there: pretend to be the concerned bystander. I will act as sick as possible. Leave the rifle in the other room and be sure to wipe off the fingerprints. By the time anyone thinks to detain us for questioning, we'll have slipped away."

“That sounds like a pretty-shitty plan," I nodded with mock agreement, allowing my frustration to leak out.

“Ok, so we're not done planning it," Forticay conceded. “But we'll figure all of that out tonight."

“This seems awfully last minute," I noted with a raise of the eyebrows.

“Well that's why it pays so much, mate," he stated as if I should have already taken this into consideration – I had, of course, but that didn't make hearing it all being planned out any less stressful. “It's vague, its dangerous, and its last-minute. Besides, Hawthorne had no real data on Kimberland's daily itinerary – he hasn't even heard from him in years, by the sound of it…Did you expect to have a fully-flushed plan any sooner?"

“Well…Yeah," I admitted, running a hand down the back of my head and neck, smoothing my hair awkwardly.

“Well then, what's your input," he asked as he suddenly sat upright, in a position ready to listen.

“Why are you doing that?"

“Doing what?"

“Come on, be serious."

“Sorry, I didn't mean for it to seem rude," Forticay apologized, with genuine feeling in his voice. I sighed, turning to the windows at the front of the bar, noticing that the snow, or whatever it was, had stopped, the street appearing clear and dry, no lingering indication that the ice had even fallen in the first place.

“I don't know that acting during the speech is the best idea," I admitted.

“What? Why? You'll have a perfectly-clear line of sight, from a concealed position," Forticay urged. “It's perfect."

“But all those people," I repeated my earlier concern. “Besides, too many things could go wrong."

“Maybe for anyone else," Forticay stated exaggeratedly. “But you…" He shoved his clawed finger onto my chest with a firm poke. “Never miss."

“Forticay, I am perfectly capable of making mistakes: I do miss," I stated frankly, with slight exasperation.

“Ok, but not often. Besides, we'll get you a scope." We were silent for a moment. I sighed. I couldn't believe that I was going to say what I was about to say. Could I really be honest with Forticay? In all truth, he was probably the one who would offer me the most sympathy out of the group. I hoped that Larissa and Novka were right about his feelings towards me – I needed him to be as understanding as possible.

“Forticay, when I worked for Tiko," I began, and he could see from his expression that he had picked up on my seriousness. He sat back and listened closely, aware that something was possibly off, or at least that I was concerned. “I did perform well," I conceded with a large, satisfied nod. “But that was just luck – the convoy guards were horrible shots, and were at close range. Anyone could have hit them."

“Ok, but you were the one who did," Forticay stated, placing emphasis on the word 'you.'"

“Fine," I admitted. “But that doesn't guarantee anything."

“It means you're a better shot than Vage, or Novka," Forticay stated with wide, consoling eyes as he leaned forward. “Tovef, I've seen your military record – over fifty confirmed kills, and most of them at long-distance. That's bloody impressive."

“I…Don't think of it that way," I muttered.

“Either way, it means you're the most-qualified among us to carry out this task," Forticay ended in a kind, reassuring tone. “You'll have a clear line of sight, your position is covered, no one else will be looking in your direction…" He lowered his voice even more. “Just do it from inside the room. If you miss, you miss, and all that happens is we try again…Without you or me, though – we should probably stay low for a while if things fail." I swallowed. By that that point, I had toyed with the idea of taking the shot and intentionally missing, if that is in fact what the plan ended up being, merely as a last resort, assuming that I was right in my reasoning for not wanting to murder the duke, but now it seemed that even that action would only prolong his life at best. “The job goes on until three of us are compromised," he paused, and suddenly chuckled. “Sorry, I mean if three of us are compromised. That's what we just agreed upon." I swallowed again.

"You really think we can pull this off?" I really wasn't sure what to say, so I just muttered what seemed natural.

Forticay could see that I was nervous. He placed a hand on my knee with an understanding smile. I tensed up. Clearly, he was horribly misreading the situation, but I decided to indulge in the opportunity while it lingered.

“Forticay…" I began slowly, and with a sigh. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, and I definitely wasn't entirely comfortable with where things were heading, but I went on regardless. “I, uh…" I paused. “I need to be honest with you," I finally blurted. Forticay was looking back at me with understanding eyes. Oh shit, maybe I should stop leading him on. I decided against that, and continued while I still had his sympathy. “I, uh…There are some things, that I have come to realize, about our job, and…I just need you to listen. Ok, don't interrupt – just listen."

“Of course," he smiled back kindly. Oh jeez. I felt like an ass, and worried that what I was doing was horribly manipulative. Nevertheless, I cleared my throat to continue. Though, to be honest, for a generally-shy, socially-awkward man, he was damn good at being sympathetic when he felt like it. I looked around, suddenly worried that we were attracting attention.

“Let's go over here." Despite all the idiocy behind my next move, I led him to the restroom, making sure that no one was watching as we ducked behind the door into the white-tiled, brightly-lit room with a single sink and a toilet with plumbing, the wooden flushing handle hanging from a long thin chain from the water tank near the ceiling, a long, silver pipe connecting it to the toilet. Immediately after I had closed the door, I turned, seeing Forticy standing awkwardly in the center of the little room. Suddenly, presumably mustering a great deal of courage, he stepped towards me, running his clawed hand along the side of my head. I swallowed, and for a brief moment thought about indulging him to increase his sympathies with me, before finally acknowledging how horribly manipulative I was being and putting an end to it as he cautiously leaned in to kiss me.

“Oh, no, that's not what I was…I'm sorry, I think I've misled you." No shit. I felt like a complete ass.

“I'm sorry, I- I just assumed-" Forticay seemed remarkably embarrassed.

“No, you're not wrong, I was leading you on," I admitted. “But…I shouldn't have, I'm sorry." Forticay swallowed. “Look, I…" I suddenly decided to change course entirely. Sure, Forticay was both eccentric and understanding, but so was everyone else in our little group, in their own weird ways, completely independent from their motivations…What difference would it make if I told him versus Vage versus Novka? I decided that it was too risky. But then again, Forticay was still the most open, trustworthy, and generous individual in the whole party. I could at least expect something from him, if I had to. “I…Need you to trust me."

“What?"

“There are some things that have just appeared that…Render some other things difficult," I stated. “And…Can you trust me?"

“Tovef, what are you talking about," Forticay asked, confused and evidently concerned.

“...I just need you to know that you can trust me," I stated with slightly more firmness. Although given Forticay's calm response to everything that had just happened, I had to admit that he was taking this remarkably well.

“Tovef, our plan goes into action tomorrow," he stressed, taking a step towards me and staring me dead in the eyes with a look of genuine concern. “If something is the matter, it would be better to tell me now." I thought for a moment, for a brief second wanting to tell him so badly that I even inhaled in anticipation of the words that I would say. But I merely just exhaled heavily and shook my head.

“It's fine," I ended. “Please, don't worry about it. I just wanted to let you know that you can count on me for tomorrow." That seemed to have done the trick, but I could tell that Forticay was still evidently unsatisfied with my response. Nevertheless, I recomposed myself and reached for the door, but Forticay stopped me before I could open it.

“Tovef." I turned around, my hand still on the door handle.

“Yes?" He was once again standing awkwardly in the center of the little restroom.

“So what about allllllll…This?" He gestured generally around him.

“I'm sorry, Forticay, I was being an idiot," I apologized. “It would be best if you just forget about all of this." He nodded, swallowing.

“Sure thing," he suddenly snapped back into focus, sighing, and straightening his black coat, flipping the collar up so that it shielded the back of his neck as we prepared to go out again into the cold. “We best be heading back."

“I agree." We paid, finished our drinks, and made our way down the cold, windy streets. It was darkening fast, and the deep-blue, overcast clouds above threatened to open up with an intense snowfall – it seemed the weather had been debating between pelting us with snow and rain or remaining calm for all of the previous week. We made our way silently along the roads as the gas lamps were being ignited, illuminating the roads in yellow light. Fewer people were milling about, at the moment, but as soon as dinner time arrived – which wouldn't be too long, now – the streets would be full and bustling again, assuming that there was no storm.

Yet the entire time, I was lost in thought, walking in a daze with my hands in my pockets, scarcely even taking in the physical world around me yet still managing to keep pace with Forticay somehow. I didn't know what I was going to do for the next day. Hawthorne, it seemed, from what I could gather, merely wanted to destabilize Oslost, tossing it and the Alliance into the war which he profited off of…And he lost his own son to it! But what could be done? There was nothing I could do, at least, to stop what was to come. I could try and put an end to this myself, though I didn't want to possibly hurt anyone in the group – but they couldn't be convinced out of this, could they? I mean, given how much money they had at stake, and all we had gone through, they surely would object to any concerns I had. But then again, I was in the same boat, and was probably in the worst position out of any of them. I thought of all the horrible things I had seen and done. I thought of others, too, and their experiences, and deaths, deaths that I had witnessed. I thought of ruin that had come to Larissa's entire family, and many more like theirs…I couldn't kill the duke. I figured that I should at least try and explain that to them. Besides, they said that they never took state jobs – I could just make this out to them in a way that made it seem like this was all a state job, which is what it almost actually was, really. But who knew what would happen? I didn't think they would give me too much trouble, at least – not at all. For some reason, I felt confident that they wouldn't. After all, I was their sniper. But no doubt they would try to talk me out of it, so I had to be prepared to defend myself and my position.

My mind was heavily burdened as we made our way up the dark stairway to our room, the old, stiff boards creaking under our feet. Coming to our floor, we stopped at the door, light streaming through the gap between its base and the floor. I tried the handle: it was open. Pushing the door in gently, overcome with anxiety that made me feel weak and uneasy, I stepped into the room, with Forticay right behind me. Immediately, I saw Novka, Martin, and Vage standing at one end, as well as a cobalt-blue guard's overcoat thrown upon one of the chairs that one of them must have gotten their hands on somehow – perhaps the plan had been altered. I decided to jump right into it and get things over with.

“Hey, about our job tomorrow, I've learned somethings which make me question whether we should proceed as…" I trailed off, noticing that they all had turned to stare at me, Martin with a look of unease, Vage with a frightening, dark look, and Novka with a gaze of harsh sternness. I looked around me, and at Forticay – he just seemed confused. I threw up my arms slightly, allowing them to slap back down against my legs. “What?"

“How long did you think you could go without telling us," Novka asked with sternness, almost as if she felt betrayed. I felt a sudden sense of dread wash over me as she turned a little and I saw that she was holding both my military papers and my coat.

“What are you doing with my things?" Was how I chose to reply, stepping forward into the room. Forticay, confused, stood awkwardly directly behind me. I apparently gave the wrong answer.

“You're a bloody liar," Novka seethed, throwing my coat down and giving my papers a shake for me to see.

“What do you mean?" I was genuinely confused, growing more concerned by the second, not at all sure what could be going on, but then it hit me. No, I thought. There is no way they could have found out. Novka stated it plainly as soon as I had the realization:

“You're not Tovef Halfe." I swallowed, and opened my mouth to speak, but she continued, swiftly, striding towards me. “You've been lying to us this whole time. Who are you?"

“What are you talking about?" I exclaimed as I took a few steps back and held up my hands defensively. It was still cold, but the nervousness I felt right then in that situation was making it unbearably hot for me, the dim glow of the lantern light swelling within the room and giving it a sense of artificial warmth.

“I'm talking about this," Novka shouted as she shoved my papers to my chest. I stepped back and pocketed them. “About how that document says that Tofev Halfe is from Asterlay, and you've made it more than known that you're from Henlot. Not to mention all of the other little discrepancies-"

“What are you going on about," I questioned defensively, taking a step forward. “What motivation do I possibly have to lie?"

“You tell us," Novka shot back. I scoffed, breaking out into a wide smile – I couldn't help it, the stress of the situation was just too frustrating for me.

“Novka, I'm a total nobody," I stated with a bewildered shake of the head and an uncontrollable grin of anxiety. “I have absolutely no reason to conceal who I am from any of you. I have been nothing but cooperative up until now."

“To the contrary," Novka began, pointing at me accusingly in little jerking motions as she spoke to create emphasis, walking towards me again as she did so. “You nearly jeopardized our crossing of the front line, you were trying to talk us out of our mission just now…" I attempted to interject, but was immediately cut off. “And you were the odd one out from the very start." I had backed against the wall, but I pushed her arm away and stepped forward; she stepped back.

“Listen," I began, my stress and frustration starting to boil into anger. The first nauseating stabs began to pang in my stomach, and I briefly held a hand to my abdomen. “I did not fake my shock. I, went, through, hell out there in the lines, just-"

“Did you?" Novka exclaimed. I was shocked. I looked from Vage to Martin for some form of support, but the expressions of both of them had turned stern and questioning, like Novka's, yet a glance back at Forticay revealed that at least he appeared to be growing more and more concerned. Nevertheless, it was clear that I was in the disadvantaged position here - that made me angry. “Or was that just a ploy to make it less suspicious when you turned our operation on its head?" For a few moments I stood there, stammering, overwhelmed with anger, and furious that no one else had stepped up to support me.

“What, on, earth! Do you really think, that I, who has no money, would try to sabotage this operation, for…I don't even know what reason?!" Novka eyed me.

“Then why were you trying to talk us out of it just now?" That was true. I swallowed, hesitating. Again, that was the wrong move. Within seconds, she was shouting me out again. “You have been nothing but disrespectful, you have betrayed this operation, you have destroyed our trust…" All the while I was stammering, trying to get a word in. I finally managed to break through.

“I am just finding out that there are major political consequences to what we are about to endeavor, and I-"

“I don't give a shit," Novka shouted. “Tell us who you are!" I stood silent.

“I, am Tovef Halfe," I stated firmly with an angry chuckle as I tore off my hat, as if revealing myself, standing my ground. Novka turned to Vage, nodding in my direction. I looked to see that I had been right about him – he would turn on you in an instant. None of our conversations mattered now as his imposing figure strode towards me, ready to do some damage. “Ok, ok! Fine, fine, fine," I shouted rapidly, shrinking away slightly. He stopped, standing down. “Holy fucking shit! What in the fucking hell is wrong with you fuckheads? I'm a fucking nobody, you goons," I lit into them, completely losing it, making exaggerated arm motions with my hand as I tried to plead my case. I swallowed, pausing, and I saw that all gazes upon me were completely unsympathetic, aside from that of Forticay, who merely stared at me with an uneasy nervousness, as if he was more concerned for me than angry.

“And don't you fucking question that I fought the Northern Armies in the thirty-second, because I assure you: I, saw, shit!...Do you know how fucking desperate you have to be to volunteer?" I continued to shout at them, receiving the same, unchanging, unsympathetic stares. I didn't care – this was my moment to give them hell for everything I went through, as if they deserved it somehow. My eyes began to tear, and I started to lose control of my breath. “You either join the infantry because you're stupid, or because you're desperate," I seethed. “And I, Adrik Poletyev, was among the latter bunch…" I spoke with a seething voice, emphasizing every other word as I slowly shook my head. “I hadn't eaten food in four days before I enlisted. And you know what I got after joining? Food, a uniform, and a fucking bed for the first time in forever." I paused, holding letting in a breath and trying not to lose a grip on my emotions. The room had fallen silent – Novka remained steady in her gaze – a weeks-long siege could not tear her façade down. I decided to continue, the pain in my stomach having really intensified by then.

“Not that any of you people ever gave a shit about what others go through," I muttered, seething. “You all complain about your pathetic problems as if they actually mean something – try watching your friend's life literally slip through your fingers in streaks of blood!...I had no degree, no money, no future…And Tovef Halfe, had all of those things." I swallowed, recomposing myself, and standing up straighter. “An education, money, good shooting skills – he was bloody perfect compared to me…And a few years ago, during the summer offensive, he was shot, and I was the only one who saw it." I swallowed. “I acted rashly, ok," I threw up my arms, as if I felt the need to vindicate myself. “But he had everything – not much, but more than I'd ever had. He even looked like me: same height, similar age…But we barely even knew each other…Those papers were his…Adrik Polotyev died there in the mud…" I caught my breath again, my breathing slowing as I gradually calmed myself some more. My stomach, however, was wrenching with pain and nausea that threatened to completely ruin my composure.

“And you know what? Later that day, I was shot," I stated heavily. “They treated me, patched me up, and gave me medals and a promotion…Almost no one in my company survived through that summer," I seethed. “No one suspected anything." In my delirium, I even let out another small, gruff chuckle. “They retired me, sad and broken, and I immediately spent all of his money on alcohol and damn prostitutes. I gambled away everything, and when I was broke and a total nobody again, I was still suffering the consequences of serving in that disgusting war." I swallowed. “…So there, that's all. I never gave a shit about Tovef Halfe – I barely even knew him…And I'm pretty sure he was speciesist." I threw up my arms. “And these jobs are all I've been able to do: people see my record – Tovef's record – and they hire me…And I _can_shoot," I assured, holding my hands up defensively. “Maybe not as well as Tovef could, but I can sure as well shoot a fucking rifle…So just shut the fuck up and stop forcing me to spill secrets about my fucked-up life." I ended rather arrogantly, breathing slowly, but heavily, my fists clenched at my sides, in a total sweat. I could feel that my face was probably beet red. Novka approached me slowly – I tried my best to cautiously stare her down. She cleared her throat, jerking her head up and looking me dead in the eyes with a calm expression.

“That doesn't matter," she stated calmly as she shook her head. I swallowed as a wave of fear swept over me. “You've kept secrets from us-"

“I don't know who any of you fucking people really are," I shook my head, but she continued without skipping a beat.

“And now you threaten to derail our entire operation with your finding political sympathies with this country's leadership…Besides, the plan has changed." I opened my mouth to object, and explain myself, but she had already turned to look behind her. “Vage?"

“Oh, shit," I muttered. “Ok, wait, wait," I began desperately as I put out my hands and crouched down a littlein anticipation of an attack, taking a step backwards. Forticay seemed extremely surprised. Vage, after taking a few threatening steps forward, trying to anticipate what my reaction would be, barreled for me, and I turned and sprinted for the door before he could flatten me – no doubt he would kill me, and I was not nearly strong enough to resist him. He grabbed by shoulder as I threw the door open, trying to throw me against the wall, but instead sent me tumbling into the stairway. I rolled down the stairs, my heavy overcoat thankfully cushioning most of the blows, though I hit my elbow and knee pretty hard, and the pistol behind my belt – which I had until then forgotten about – pressed painfully against my abdomen, sending me cursing and grunting as I tumbled down seemingly every step. Despite the pain, I hastily brought myself to my feet when I had reached the corner, where the stairs turned, using the wall to drag myself up as swiftly as I could. Vage was charging down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time, racing towards me. I tried to fumble the pistol from my pants, but was too slow.

“Vage, wait!" I threw myself out of the way, dodging a hard punch that would probably have knocked me instantly unconscious as he landed on the little corner platform. I took the opportunity and slammed him against the wall, surprised at how well my adrenaline suited me to do so. I tried to hold his arms there, as I shouted for him to hear me out, but he was far stronger, pushing himself off the wall and shoving me from the platform. I began to stumble backwards down the stairs, but before I could properly tumble again, he grabbed me by the front of my coat, throwing me against the wall, where there was a square window, its brittle frame and poorly-installed window panes instantly popping out and crashing to the ground below me. He pressed me against the windowsill, leaning over me and pushing me halfway out of the window while still putting pressure on my legs, so that I felt that my spine would snap in two. I stared into his terrifying, fiery eyes.

“Vage, listen, I never intended to betray you," I shouted frantically, hoping that somebody else would hear the commotion and come running. But if I had been a tenant who heard the sounds of crashing and shouting coming from outside my door, I probably wouldn't have come out to investigate. He grunted as he grabbed my arms, which I had raised to defend myself, and pushed me harder against the windowsill. He leaned in, seething:

“Don't make me fucking regret this." I hadn't even comprehended what he said when he suddenly withdrew and swiftly wrapped his arms under my legs, tossing me by the boots over the base of the window and into the cold, dark night. I didn't even have time to shout before I landed painfully, stomach-down, on a pile of rotting compost and garbage at the base of the building, tucked away in some secondary alley. My arms and knees dug into the pile first, hurting though thankfully striking nothing particularly obstructive, and the coat protected me from most of the broken glass. My head, however, slammed into something cumbersome as pain shot along the side of my skull.

I groaned as I dragged myself from the pile as fast as I possibly could, rolling off and falling onto the cold stone street. I swiftly dragged myself to my feet, hunched over with my hands over my stomach, which was still burning with pain and nausea, hobbling away with a limp, not trusting that Vage would actually let me go free, and not wanting to be seen alive by any of the others. I found the street and, despite the few brief looks and glances that I received by the growing number who mingled about, made my way swiftly between the rows and rows of buildings. I knew exactly where I would go, and I fully intended to make it there.