A matter of discussion inevitably came up while "Seeker-of-Balance" was staying with the Faestars – namely, where might she be going next? As it so turned out, Master Faestar intended to liquidate a number of resources and call in a number of favors as part of his plan to relocate his business from the disaster that Babel had become.
Toward this end, he had some goods being shipped out of the Free City of Zannara, which would be transferred to another ship, which in turn would be ferrying them all the way to a merchant in Abu Dhabi. If Seeker-of-Balance needed a ride to Abu Dhabi, he suggested, he could use a trustworthy agent to accompany these goods to make sure that they actually made it through the ship transfers to finally arrive in Abu Dhabi.
Since this job required no further obligation of Seeker-of-Balance once she reached Abu Dhabi, and it would afford her more secure quarters than the last two airship rides she had been on, she accepted the position … and a few days later, once arrangements were made, the Rainida set out from Zannara to the Gigi Coast.
Perhaps to Seeker-of-Balance's surprise … nothing unusual happens on the ride. She spends most of the trip in her cabin, keeping a low profile, sleeping around midnight when she absolutely has to, and generally not taking any more risks than need be. There is a tense moment when the craft is stopped by an airship along the way, and it looks as if there might be some sort of piracy in the works … but the captain must have paid a "toll" demanded by the brigands or otherwise negotiated passage, for the airship went on its way, and its cargo was unmolested.
The Rainida makes its rendezvous at Surf City, and Seeker-of-Balance accompanies the cargo as it was shifted over to the Sky Runner, a refitted Chronotopian double-hulled cargo zeppelin, capable of the trans-oceanic journey. The crew looks a bit less rag-tag, a bit less desperate than the all-Eeee crew of the Rainida, and the important thing is that nobody asks too many questions of Seeker-of-Balance, or looks in a mood to cause her any trouble regardless.
However, the transfer at Surf City still took some time, awaiting the arrival of the Sky Runner, and the trans-oceanic journey has taken some more time, what with the weather this time of year. Eventually, the Sky Runner makes it over the Sea of Himaat. It is night time when it comes to port in Abu Dhabi – about a couple of hours until Envoy's regularly scheduled nap.
"Madame," mrowls the voice on the other side of the door, "we are secure in port, and the merchant is already here with his paperwork."
"Thank you," Envoy replies in her throatier Seeker-of-Balance voice, and takes up her staff and backpack before leaving the small cabin to meet with the merchant. She also glances at the wall clock (if only all airships had them!) to see how late the hour is.
According to the clock, in the way Chronotopians measure time (and it has already adjusted itself to the change in time zone multiple times during the trip), it is twelve minutes past twenty-two o' clock.
On her way to meet the merchant, Envoy realizes she's never been out in Abu Dhabi this late before, and hopes there won't be any difficulties reaching the entrance to the gardens.
On the other side of the door is the black Khatta porter, who tips his hat when he sees "Seeker-of-Balance". He looks at the backpack and staff, and nods, then heads down the hall, to continue notifying the various passengers (for the ship took some for the trans-oceanic cruise) of arrival. Envoy apparently was the first down the hall to be notified, as there's not much activity in the hall just yet.
While the porter continues to wake people up, Envoy makes her way down the hallway towards the stairwell. From there she can go down to the boarding area.
As she walks down the hall, Envoy is filled with a sense of exuberance. This whole trip, and no one trying to stab her in the back (or anywhere else, for that matter), no hassle at all, really. Here she is, on the verge of entering Abu Dhabi, a place where she has friends. Finally, she's safe. It only dimly occurs to some part of Envoy's mind that maybe it's not the smartest thing to do, to start singing as she's going down the hallway, and there's a little tickle in another part of her mind, wondering if someone is casting a spell, or if that Eeee woman in the red mask that is in the stairwell is at all out of place, but something seems to be fogging Envoy's mind…
At the last moment, suddenly, the rational part of Envoy's mind manages to wrench her free from the numbing aura that has fallen upon her. The magic has a familiar feel to it, like a whiff of perfume. But more importantly, Envoy is able to get out of the way of a dagger that was nicely positioned to go right into her vitals, if she had stood there dumbly. (In fact, the magic was strong enough that her response might have been to actually like it for a moment.) Fortunately for Envoy, her attacker seems to lack any combat training of note – only murderous intent and some sort of magical assistance of no small potency.
The masked attacker is caught off guard when Envoy moves out of the way at the last moment, and utters a curse under her breath. The sight of the red mask strikes a chord of familiarity. It is the mask of a Ghaz-Kutsuk.
Envoy doesn't dwell on the motives of her attacker just yet. Instead, she swings her staff in an attempt to disarm the woman.
The staff swings, the dagger thrusts, and in the dimly lit confines of the corridor, it's hard to make out exactly what just went wrong … but the two combatants end up crashing down the stairwell in a tangle of wings and limbs!
Envoy's staff clatters down the stairs after the tumbling pair as they hit the bottom. The heavier Aeolun manages to land on top though, luckily.
The fall down the stairs resulted in quite a few bangs and bruises, and knocked the wind out of Envoy. Why, she might be aching for the next … oh … several seconds or so. (Regeneration is such a handy gift to have.) Envoy's attacker hasn't fared as well. She is down for the count, out cold.
Some shouts come from the top of the stairwell. Someone's heard the commotion. Here at the bottom of the stairs, a corridor slopes down at an angle, with a textured floor – a boarding tube that has dropped at an angle, leading down to the landing platform, and providing some shelter from what winds there may be. The dagger lies just down the slope a bit, having skidded to a stop just out of Envoy's immediate reach (but her attacker certainly looks to be in no condition to stop Envoy from disarming her, to be sure).
Recovering her staff, Envoy makes sure her headband is in place before trying to drag the comatose Eeee down the ramp with her free hand. "Inala's happy-happy-glamour… nice trick," she mutters.
Reaching the point where the dagger lay, the disguised Aeolun pauses to collect it, sticking it in her belt for the time being. She takes another moment to get a better grip on the Yodhinala, before continuing on down the tunnel. She'd rather not have to explain things to any of the crew.
Down the ramp, Envoy makes it out to the landing platform, to the night air of Abu Dhabi. She can see the spires of the city, and some airship drifting by lazily overhead. Correction – it's not an airship, but some sort of flying creature that Envoy doesn't recall seeing in Sinai skies before. Perhaps someone has been busy in the Emir's gardens. In any case, though, of more pressing concern would be the Khattan merchant waiting with his entourage, holding some papers, and looking up at the airship anxiously. According to the description Envoy was given, this would be the merchant, Hasaad, that she is supposed to meet, to sign some papers and formally end her obligation for the trip. (Everything has checked out. Aside from the assassination attempt, Envoy couldn't ask for an easier job.)
Hasaad hasn't noticed Envoy yet. Rather, he seems to be exchanging words with one of his servants about the engines on the zeppelin. The props are still, of course, not being activated this close to the surface, but are still quite conspicuous.
Envoy rearranges her burden, pulling her attacker up and slinging one of her arms around her shoulders. Her staff-arm hugs around the Eeee's back, beneath her wings, so that the staff can serve as a makeshift crutch. It's awkward, but might work if she says her companion had too much to drink at dinner. Envoy begins to walk towards the merchant, trying not to let the Eeee's feet drag too much.
As Envoy approaches, she can see that the "servant" Hasaad is talking with isn't really a servant at all. He's a Zerda – not unusual in and of itself – but there's a flicker of recognition in Envoy's mind, especially when she sees the decorative chain on his uniform and the glittering scarab pendant at his neck, even as obscured as they are by a voluminous cloak of Himaatian cut. He's a member of the Caroban Watch – Ra Shrikendune. He isn't a mage per se – a wash-out, really – but he has a very special role for the College Esoterica, one which isn't often discussed, and certainly not in polite company: he's an enforcer of the Mages' Guild – a "witch-hunter".
Hopefully he's after the Yodhinala, and not me, Envoy thinks as she approaches the pair. "Merchant Hasaad?" she addresses the Khatta, using her Seeker-of-Balance voice.
"Ah! Yes! You must be Seeker-of-Balance, the trusted servant of my good friend, Master Faestar," the Khatta mrowls, looking pleased.
The Zerda was turning to interrogate another member of the Khatta's entourage … but his ears twitch … and he turns to look back at Envoy. There's a predatory look in his eyes.
"The same," Envoy replies. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting, but I ran into some difficulty upon disembarking." She hefts the limp Eeee by way of hinting at what that difficulty might be. "Once our business is concluded, I will need to find a member of the City Guard."
The Khatta merchant seems to only now register that Envoy is actually carrying a person along with her. His face struggles through several expressions, but at last he falls back on the typical Khattan "smile in the face of everything" response. "Well, let us conclude our business quickly, then! I have met with the cargo master, and I have everything in order except that I need your signature here, here and here… "
Using her free hand, Envoy signs the name of Seeker-of-Balance in all of the indicated places.
Once all that is done with, the Khatta seems quite pleased to be done with it. He doesn't give Envoy all of the traditional Khattan pleasantries that she's come to expect from Abu Dhabians … but that could be because she is here in the guise of a mere steward of a merchant on the rocks who's trying to quickly liquidate cargoes for much-needed shekels … not an honored Earth Mage here on the business of the Emir, or any such thing.
Envoy bids the merchant goodnight, and starts carrying her prisoner towards the city proper.
"Here," Ra says in Khattan, with a distinct aura of false civility. "It seems you could use a hand with your friend. Allow me to assist."
"This person assaulted me," Envoy says to the Zerda. "I will see her turned over to the authorities, and not sold into slavery if that is your intention."
This seems to give the Zerda pause. His eyes narrow. "Yes. We will see her turned over to the authorities." True to his word, at least, he does lend a hand with carrying the bat. She's not terribly heavy, but it's getting very late in the day for Envoy, and she's feeling fatigue begin to set in (especially as regenerating all those bruises did take a little extra out of her).
At the Magistrate's office, the Ghaz-Kutsuk has been turned over. To cut through a bit of the "red tape", the Zerda showed his Watch chain.
A muscular, sandy-furred Khatta questions Envoy about the nature of the incident. "If you could tell me, in your own words," he says – in Khattan, and without floral politeness.
"I was leaving the Sky Runner to meet Merchant Hasaad, when a strange sensation came over me as I reached the stairwell to the boarding ramp," Seeker-of-Balance explains, in artificially accented Khattan. "It made me … giddy. I then saw the masked Eeee poised to strike with her dagger. This broke the spell or drug she was using, and I attempted to disarm her with my staff when she lunged at me. We both missed and ended up falling down the stairs, where she was knocked unconscious."
The sandy-furred Khatta nods at this, and turns to the Zerda. "This sounds pretty clear-cut to me – obviously some sort of magical business at work. I'd say this would be your jurisdiction, certainly."
"Thank you," the Zerda says. "It is good to know that the Emir recognizes the authority of the Mages' Guild, and that all his servants cooperate with us in our efforts to protect Sinai from rogue magic." This is said with a pressing of hands together, and a short bow of gratitude.
"If that is all you require of me, I really must seek out lodging for the night," Seeker-of-Balance states.
The Zerda nods, and turns cold eyes on Envoy. "Certainly, madam. You needn't worry yourself about this sorceress. I will see that she is dealt with according to the strictest requirements of our laws. And do not be concerned for your safety while in Abu Dhabi. I will be keeping a very close eye on you."
You didn't even notice a Yodhinala in a Ghaz-Kutsuk mask performing sorcery not a hundred paces from your position, Shrikendune, Envoy thinks as she ponders the implied threat. "I appreciate your concern, sir. I will not be staying long in this great city, however, so do not worry for my safety over-much."
This prompts another nod from the Zerda. "A good evening to you, then, Seeker-of-Balance."
The sandy-furred Khatta looks between the two, and then to Envoy and nods. "I have no further questions for you. I think this is settled well enough."
Envoy stands and bows to the Khatta and Zerda in turn, before making her way out of the station. I need someplace to sleep and retouch my disguise, she thinks. She had hoped to finally shed Seeker-of-Balance, but with the nosy Watchman around she decides that she will have to keep up the pretense at least until she arrives at the gardens.
For a hundred shekels, Envoy is able to get a room at a fairly nice (but not luxurious) hotel, even at this very late hour. She could have gotten a much more cheaper room at some filthy dive, with only a slight chance at catching some horrible disease, but what with the condition of the places she might get this time of night, that might be only slightly more tolerable than finding an alleyway to try to sleep in.
As it turns out, though, Envoy finds that her money has been fairly well spent. The "hotel" wasn't originally built as one; rather, it's an old "townhouse" built by some prince or another for his private use, and then, in later years, partitioned off into small apartments for rent by long-term tenants, or else by the night for travelers. One of the nice features is that she has her very own bath – and it even has the extravagance of plumbing (though, alas, the "hot water" at this hour is merely lukewarm).
The sheets are clean, there are no vermites crawling about, the doors have secure bolts, and the windows have very pretty-looking barred shutters that are only easily opened from the inside (and only with a great amount of squeaking and creaking).
Someone's even topped off the oil lanterns and the towels are fairly fresh-smelling by surface standards. And best of all, there are no assassins lurking in the closet or under the bed!
After so many spartan airship cabins (or cargo holds), Envoy is more than willing to sleep in the bed, as unusual as it is for her. She removes her coat and sets out food and water for Knick and Knack before burrowing into the sheets for a few hours of sleep, planning to leave before sunrise.
As Envoy drifts off to sleep, she hears music outside in the streets. She has a vague recollection that the airship had a nice little mechanical calendar, and that it actually showed the Caroban date on it. 7 Life. On Rephidim's calendar, that would be … Landing Eve. With the sounds of distant Landing Eve music ringing in her ears, for a moment she has the odd sensation that she is not alone in the room, even though the door was securely locked, and the shutters were tightly bolted, that there was a winged shadow cast over her bed. But then she slips irretrievably into slumber…
The next morning, Envoy wakes up to find that she's managed to sleep longer than her usual quick nap she generally requires for regeneration. Perhaps it's the change in the time zone, the stress of the situation, or something along those lines. In any case, as she's getting up, she notices something out of place about the room: there is a box on the bed stand, wrapped in ivory-colored paper, bound by a silky golden bow.
Envoy frowns at the box, and checks it as best she can for any magic aura without resorting to a cantrip.
She doesn't feel anything magical about it. Nothing strong. No, wait … there's some sort of a lingering aura. It's not an active enchantment, per se, but quite probably, whatever is inside the box was formed with magic … and perhaps the very box itself. There's a tag on the box, attached with a string to the bow. The side facing up on the tag reads, "Happy Landing Day."
It must be Ra, playing some sort of game, Envoy thinks, since the white paper and gold ribbon must mean that the giver knows who she is. "Well, if you were going to kill me, you would have done so already," she says to the box, and starts to unwrap it.
As Envoy tears at the paper and ribbon, she feels a magical surge and then a collapse – accompanied by the package disappearing in a burst of magical "dust" that fades into nothingness, accompanied by the sound of musical chimes. In place of the box is a small, glittering, crystalline rose, which glows faintly, casting soft shadows in the dimness of the room.
Envoy blinks in surprise, and actually smiles as she holds the rose. "Morpheus, is this from you? But you've never appeared on a holiday before."
No answer. If Morpheus has materialized on Landing Day, he hasn't stayed around.
The rose is solid, a construct of Sifran crystal, of the same sort of make as any of the little dream pendants, or the crown Envoy has.
"It must be from you, somehow," she mutters, recalling the sense of shadowy wings before she fell asleep. Nobody else that she knows could mold Sifran crystal, after all. Envoy begins to tuck the rose behind her ear … then stops. "You'd definitely draw unwanted attention if I wore you," she tells the artifact, and places it into her backpack.
Envoy also retrieves the jar of brown dye, and goes into the bathroom to see where her wings, fur or mane need to be touched-up.
A bit of touch-up work, and then some cleaning up after herself, and "Seeker-of-Balance" is once again presentable as something that might pass for a Half-Vartan with heavy Rhian leanings.
After coaxing Knick and Knack out from under the bed, and cleaning up any lingering traces that she was there, Envoy picks up her room key and goes to return it.
The lobby is a spacious lounge, appointed with a pleasantly burbling fountain in its center, and several couches and chairs about it to accommodate those used to furniture rather than sitting on cushions on the floor. (The fabric of the furniture is mismatched, but the pieces are in good condition, and some cloths of maroon have been dropped over the backs, with matching throw-cushions, in an attempt at some appearance of color-coordination.)
The lady innkeeper graciously takes the key back, offering Envoy the sort of stereotypically Khattan polite thanks that she's probably more accustomed to, but the pleasantness of the exchange is somewhat tainted by the presence of a Zerda witch-hunter seated in the lounge.
"Good Landing Day to you, Master … Shrikendune, was it?" Envoy says to the Watchman.
The Zerda nods. "Good Landing Day, Miss Seeker-of-Balance. I hope you slept well, and that nothing unusual transpired over the night."
"The beds here are very comfortable," the Aeolun replies. "Much more so than I'm used to, in fact. Did you wish to see me about anything? I was on my way to view the Emir's gardens."
The Zerda slowly stands. "Miss Seeker-of-Balance," he says, "when I was in the port, I sensed a disturbance, which drew my attention to the airship upon which you arrived."
Meanwhile, the Khatta innkeeper hangs the key on its hook.
"Of course, the Eeee spell no doubt," Envoy replies. "Would it be alright if we continue this en route to the gardens? I would like to see the Landing Day celebrations."
"That was fairly well accounted for by that sorceress, yes, and I would be glad to accompany you." He gestures toward the door. "Oh, and rest assured, she will not be bothering you any more," the Zerda adds. "It seems her name was Gariazadze once – a priestess of Inala, but she suffered a disfiguring blow to her face. They are very unforgiving of such deficiency."
Envoy pauses in mid-step at the name, but quickly recovers. "Was she trying to flee them here in Abu-Dhabi? I did not think this city would even have a temple to one of the Babelite goddesses." Well, I didn't kill her after all. That's something of a comfort, at least.
"Quite possibly, yes," the Zerda says. "However, she would lead me to believe that she was guided by her goddess herself to find a certain Envoy of Lothrhyn on that airship, and to have the pleasure of striking her down. She seems to have mistaken you for this 'Envoy'." The level of irony and staging in his voice is enough to make a certain fop-fox seem a talented stage-actor by comparison.
Outside, the sun is shining, and the air is actually pleasantly cool, quite unlike the chill of Babel, but also unlike the blistering heat that most people associate with Abu Dhabi. Give it some time toward noon, though, and it should warm up a bit.
Once outside, Envoy sighs and goes back to using her normal voice. "Enough pretense, Ra. Was she alone then? I don't like the thought that Inala somehow survived the closing of that insane ritual."
The Zerda bows his head. "No pretense, then. And I do not think that there was any Babelite 'goddess' to guide her. I have studied enough about the Babelites, what with the grief they have caused us: a Ghaz-Kutsuk does not leave the Temple of Inala. No doubt, she used what knowledge she had as a former High-Priestess, and whatever resources – perhaps secret escape routes, hidden caches, blackmail, whatever – to leave. Whether she happened to be on the same airship as you by chance, or whether she was deliberately hunting down, who knows? Everyone knows that strange coincidences happen around Exiles."
"Just as anyone who knows me well would assume I'd eventually return to Abu Dhabi," Envoy says, "that is, if I didn't perish in Babel after being turned out from the Guild Hall."
"Of course," Ra says. "And I have already caught word about the little incident with those men found halfway through wooden planks being displayed at the Temple of Rephath – signs of how those who oppose the will of Rephath will be treated. It is all good and well that the Yodhrephath claim responsibility – If it had been, say, an ex-member of the Guild that had done that, immediately after being warned not to use magic, the punishment would be severe. But it seems someone in the High Council ruled that as long as the Yodhrephath claim responsibility, there is no need to investigate the incident further. But, of course, that would be out of my jurisdiction regardless. Be that as it may, Abu Dhabi is my concern. We do not deal lightly with violators here; thieves may only get a slap on the wrist here, but it is with a sharpened scimitar. We have similarly final treatments for rogue mages. You would do well to remember that while you are here."
"As I said, I'll be out of your ears soon enough," Envoy replies. "I just need to pick up some tools and the rest of my funds, and I'll be off to Moltpaa."
"To Moltpaa?" The Zerda frowns, and his eyes narrow.
"Care to join me?" Envoy asks with a grin. "It should be interesting. I'm on a sort of scavenger hunt, you see."
"And just what, pray tell, are you hunting for?" the Zerda asks, as he waves down a litter. He pulls out some shekels. "My treat."
Envoy boards the litter gratefully. "A power source, I think, or else analogues for eyes and ears."
The Zerda counts over some shekels to the diminutive Khattan master of the four muscular spotted felines that support the poles. He climbs inside, while the midget turban-wearing Khatta hops back onto his seat on the front. The litter is lifted up again, and begins working its way down the street – only slightly faster for the fact that what traffic there is, is inclined to get out of the way.
"That sounds very cryptic … very mystical. You had best not be looking to perform witchery," the Zerda warns.
Envoy laughs. "Far from it! I'm just hoping to prove a theory of mine about an ancient mechanism left in place by the Sifras – namely, whether it exists or not. Would you like to hear it?"
The Zerda sits back, splaying his hands. "I am all ears."
"Very good ears, too, I think," Envoy says. "My theory is that any sufficiently complex device that is capable of mimicking the workings of a living brain will be given sapience. I so far have evidence of this occurring at least three times on three different worlds."
"And could you elaborate?" the Zerda prompts.
Envoy holds up three fingers, and counts down. "The first and most obvious example is myself, here on Sinai. I arrived here as a golem with no mind of my own or means to survive in this environment, yet something took control of my body to reshape it into one that could survive, and then gave me a mind based on the memories of my creator."
The Zerda nods, though his expression so far looks impassive rather than genuinely curious.
"The second case would be the being now known as Morpheus," the ex-Mage continues, "on the world Morpheus, of course. In that situation it was an actual Sifras artifact that gained sapience when connected to the crystal network of that world."
"Yes, I have heard something of that," the Zerda comments, frowning slightly.
Pulling down the third finger, Envoy says, "The last one, which is ironically the first one in terms of age, is the artificial intelligence of the Imperial starship Sutaranakh, currently stranded at the bottom of the ocean on Ashtoreth."
"Oh, really?" the Zerda comments. "So, let me get this straight – You are on a quest to awaken another self-aware, independent, magically-motivated construct."
"'Awaken' isn't quite the correct term," Envoy says. "There is nothing to awaken, until the effect has been triggered. Nor is there magic involved in the process at all – at least none that we would recognize as such. It is a function of Sifras technology – if the effect truly exists at all."
"If the effect is real, and can be triggered by the creation of a suitably complex construct, then my hope is that being there when it happens will repair the damage my own mind has suffered," Envoy adds.
"You are dealing in unknown quantities, Ex-Mage Envoy," the Zerda says. "You have been blatantly allying yourself with rogue spirits, and, bidden to do so no more, you toy with sapient artificial constructs. You really try the patience of the Guild. I hope you realize, I have the authority to take matters into my own hands, if I deem it appropriate. I could, in the interests of acting to preserve the safety of Abu Dhabi, act on the basis of the magical disturbance I sensed in your room last night. For all I know, you have been consorting with magical spirits even in the face of the House Master's prohibition."
Envoy blinks at this. "What disturbance in my room last night?" she asks.
"I am not required to disclose to you my methods, but there were signs that might be interpreted as those of a corporeal manifestation occurring in your room last night," Ra says, his voice edged.
"I don't care about your methods," Envoy says, an edge creeping into her voice, "but if something happened that I'm not aware of, I think you should tell me."
"And I am required to disclose nothing to you," Ra says. "You have no authority here. You have no privileges. I don't even have to be civil with you. If I am given reason to think that there is a sorceress or hedge wizard or rogue mage present in Abu Dhabi that presents a threat, I am authorized to use any means necessary to neutralize that threat."
Envoy forces herself to calm down. "I apologize for snapping at you. I am understandably on edge after an assassination attempt which reportedly was arranged by Inala. If said spirit is targeting me, then this event you say might be interpreted as a manifestation could mean she's located me again, now couldn't it?"
"Yes," the Zerda says, "you are quite correct. But it could also be that you have thrown in your lot with another one of the 'Kindly Ones' – say, Rephath, for instance – and had her over to chat last night … and that the attack on you was merely part of the typical Babelite infighting that characterizes their unique charm."
"I seriously doubt Rephath will show herself to me after using me like she did," Envoy replies sullenly. "I wouldn't mind a little vengeance for that myself."
The Zerda shrugs. "All good and well, I suppose, but something happened. As I have been hinting, I am not in the least bit obliged to inform you of so many things as I have. It certainly is more than I would do for the average suspected hedge wizard or sorcerer. And why am I doing it? Perhaps it is because I do not want to fill out the paperwork. Perhaps I am just a weak-willed man who is moved by a pretty face. Whatever the reason, if I were you, I wouldn't count on any continued benevolence. Stay away from even the appearance of impropriety.
"I don't like you. If I had my way, you wouldn't exist. The only reason such a creature as yourself is allowed to exist is because the Temple has stamped you as an Exile … and thus subject to special rules governing the definition of a 'living being' as opposed to being called an 'artificial construct'. And all the time, you seem to delight nonetheless in reminding people of your true nature."
"I am what I am, and hiding my nature would be rather suspicious," Envoy says. "I'm only trying to fix myself, so I won't keep making foolish mistakes."
"Well, let us hope that your attempts to 'fix' yourself work, then, for all our sakes," the Zerda says.
Envoy nods. "On that point we are agreed."
An uncomfortable silence dominates the rest of the litter ride to the above-ground facilities that hide the Royal Gardens of the Emir. When it stops to let Envoy off, the Zerda stays on, and rides it to some other, undisclosed destination. As Envoy surveys the stone edifice of the aboveground support buildings, and the guarded outer gates, something tickles at her consciousness – not magic, but rather a sense of deja vu.
The feeling soon passes, though. Whatever it is, Envoy's mind can't quite make the connection. Gone are the days, perhaps, when she had computer-like precision in pinning down such things inside her own head.
Envoy tries not to let the sensation spoil her mood further, lest she snap at a guard or some other innocent bystander. Once she feels that she's gotten a sufficient rein on her emotions, she approaches the gates and introduces herself, removing the bandana that was hiding her horn.
"Mage Envoy!" one of the guards says, surprised. "The Emir will be pleased to see you! May the sun shine brightly and the wind blow cool upon you during your stay in Abu Dhabi!" And with that, they make every haste in opening the gate to allow Envoy in.
"Thank you," Envoy says, bowing to the guards. "You don't know how much I needed to hear that."
