17 Unity 6106

Though staying an extra day in Babel to see Cyprian cost Elise her berth on the Rephidim courier that brought her, the noble poodle was able to obtain passage home not long afterwards. After the capture of the Tower of Babel by Rephidim-friendly forces, diplomacy between the two nations seems to be more active, if still covert. She shares space on a small, fast vessel with a pair of secretive Eeee diplomats. The two treat her with a degree of deference, polite and friendly, without ever telling her their motives or mission in Rephidim. The whole experience makes her ask, tongue-in-cheek, if they are related to Mage Cyprian, but they don't get the joke.

On her return, late one evening, Elise receives the usual warm welcome from her sister and household staff. The next day, as she is preparing to see her Arch Inquisitor at the Temple, Katherine asks her to stop by the docks after her interview. "There's a shipment of zolks and spices that we have an investment in, just arrived from the Himaat. Would you look some of the crates over when they're unloaded, and make sure everything is in order? I'd go myself, but something has come up."

"All right, Katherine," agrees Elise as moves along the processes of donning her Temple armor. Thoughts of what she ought to tell her sister worry through her mind. Her decision to reapply for the Knights, her concern about her sister's condition after her kidnapping, and her curiosity at what Katherine has been up to in the world of business. As much as she'd like to chat away the day, Elise tries to keep her mind focused on what she needs to accomplish today. And the addition of another matter to check on leaves her with little time for speaking to her sibling. "But I must warn you I'll likely be out for much of the day. If I can't get back before midday, I'll send a word of the status of your shipment."

The younger poodle nods. "I understand, Elise. I hope your day goes well." On Elise's way out, her sister gives her the manifest of the ship's goods, and a quick hug in farewell at the door.

Arch Inquisitor Gaelan an Tsagairt hasn't changed, and her debriefing is, as usual, brusque and efficient. The wolf has a knack for asking uncomfortable questions, but he seems reasonably satisfied with her performance. After a half hour, she is on her way to the docks, carrying her list and a box of tea from Becky. "For your lovely sister," the secretary chirps blithely. "She seemed quite fond of it."

At the docks, she finds the captain of Bird of Paradise, a stocky, unkempt Gallah, arguing with a clipboard-carrying Kujaku. "I don't care who's been waiting for how long! If you'd let us start unloading earlier, we'd be done by sunset. But you didn't, so we're staying in berth overnight, and that's that," the captain is saying as Elise approaches.

During the time it took to reach the docks and locate the ship captain, Elise wonders at when Katherine had ever had Becky's tea. And further she wonders if her little sister had ever ventured by the office – and if having met Becky had inspired her sister to give her a hug, knowing what Elise was in for. But such thoughts are quickly dismissed when the poodle finally locates the captain. She shifts her focus to the moment and decides to leave her sister as a mystery for now.

"Excuse me," interrupts the Executor, holding her helmet under her left arm, and her cane in her right as she approaches the two, "but you are the captain of the Bird of Paradise correct?"

As Elise closes the distance, the Kujaku is twittering, agitated, "That the warehouse – " Whatever else he was going to say is interrupted by the poodle. Even without her helmet, both men look taken aback by the Executor's appearance.

After a moment, the Gallah captain clears his throat. "Yes," he says, with gruff wariness. He eyes her. "Yes, I am. Why d'ya ask?"

The lady poodle inclines her head to the captain. "I'm here to see about a shipment on behalf of Lady Katherine de Bellefeuille," the woman explains. She lifts her cane and gestures vaguely at the Bird of Paradise anchored nearby.

The Gallah makes a noise in his throat. "All right. I'll be happy to show you whatever her ladyship wants you to look at, as soon as this songbird quits pecking at me." He doesn't sound particularly happy about anything, despite his words, and directs a glare at the Kujaku.

The hackles on the peacock ruffle visibly, his crest flaring. "I will be happy to stop 'pecking' at you, sir. Since you do not intend to leave the berth, you may simply pay the fine. If you'll just sign here … "

"Fine? What the Dagh do you mean, fine? Look here, seed-breath – " The captain shakes his fist at the avian.

The woman turns her head and raises an eyebrow. She watchesthe avian, considering. "And what fine would this be, Mister … ?" inquires Elise, prompting a name.

"I am Mr. Quincy. There is a charge of 250 shekels per day for every unscheduled day that an airship remains in dock," the Kujaku answers, primly.

Meanwhile, the captain is continuing his string of invective. "I'll give you a fine! It's your own Amenlichtli-taken people that've kept me from being out of here! I'm already paying for this in lost time, I ain't shelling out any more money over your pox-ridden dockspace!"

The lady inclines her head again when the avian gives his name. "I don't suppose you are willing to overlook this matter of a fine," Elise begins again interrupting and this time raising her voice so as speak above the others, "after all it is clear our good friend the Captain has been through a great deal of trouble. And his business is important, important to us, you understand. And we are all friends here, are we not, Mr. Quincy?"

The clerk darts his gaze to the poodle as she speaks. He adjust the spectacles on the bridge of his beak, and looks her up and down. The captain was drawing in breath to renew his rant when Elise started talking, but he doesn't resume yet, waiting to see how Mr. Quincy responds. The Kujaku clicks his beak. "We-ell. Yes. Of course, no insult is intended. But there are rules, here, procedures that must be followed … "

The lady gives a shake of her head. "But we do want the good Captain's continued business, do we not? I'm certain we can overlook this little matter of a fine in the interests of showing we are concerned about our importers. And I am quite certain the good Captain will learn his lesson well enough without having to pay for it," explains the poodle.

"'Course I will," the captain chimes in, with a grin that drips insincerity. "I'll learn my lesson real good."

The Kujaku looks between the two briefly, then heaves a sigh. "Oh, very well. But just ONE day, mind you. Here." He scratches a line through a few places on the sheet attached to his clipboard, then scribbles in new words and initials them. "Sign here, and initial here, and have your ship out of here by noon tomorrow."

The captain almost cackles as he takes the clipboard and makes his marks. "Nottaproblem," he says. "And g'dday to you, Mr. Quincy," he adds, handing back the board.

Elise inclines her head once more to Mr. Quincy. "Thank you, Mr. Quincy. You have been very helpful, and I appreciate that." She gives him a mirthless smile.

The avian clerk gives a sniff, and a stiff bow to each of them, then flounces off. The captain rubs his hands together gleefully. "Thank y' kindly for your help there, Miss – er, Executor," he amends, glancing at her. "You say Lady Katherine sent you? There's no problem, is there?" he asks, nervously.

"That wholly depends on the status of her cargo. I believe Lady Katherine has several crates of zolk and spices on board your ship and I am here to look them over," answers the Executor.

"'course. Actually, she's half owner of all my cargo. You can take a look at whatever you'd like, Executor, ma'am, though I'd be obliged if you'd start with the unloaded boxes, so's you can keep out of the way of my men. Can't be bo – er, messing up my deadlines any further, what with Quincy and all, you see." The captain has pulled his own hat off, and holds it in his hands while speaking.

"I think I'll start with these crates and then move to the cargo hold." The lady reaches up and brushes a stray lock of curly hair from her face. "Don't worry. I won't be in your way. I may even help you move a crate or two. Come along then and show me what you have."

Despite her assurance that she won't be in the way, the Gallah still looks concerned. But he offers no arguments, showing her to the warehouse and the stack of boxes that make up the so-far unloaded portion of his cargo. He helps her open the first one, and hovers while she flicks through the bolts of zolk inside. When it's clear that she's neither going to take off immediately after doing so, or do any accidental harm to the material, he excuses himself to see to the rest of his cargo.

After inspecting the material for a moment, Elise concludes the material is all well and good. She's hardly a merchant or a seamstress after all, and "looks good to me" will have to be the sum of her judgement of its condition. At least zolk is a material in which she happens to be interested. Spices on the other hand are quite beyond her. That the containers are unbroken is sufficient. With her brief inspection concluded, she resolves to make a brief look at the hold before venturing off to the Temple again.

As she emerges from the warehouse, the poodle notices a stir on the docks. Some of the workers and many of the passersby have stopped what they are doing to crane their necks, looking up. "Well, will you look at that?" a Templar guard nearby says to his companion, in a hushed undertone.

Instinctively the lady reaches her left hand beneath her helmet and makes certain she brought her flintlock pistol with her. Just in case. Not that anyone is panicking, she thinks, but best to be prepared. As she does so she steps towards the guards and inquires, "What's all the commotion about?"

Following the guard's gaze the poodle lady tilts her head and looks up as well.

The guardsman points skywards. A new airship is coming in to dock. Two great envelopes suspend a large hull above the platform. By size alone, it merits some attention, but not the level of interest being generated. From poles mounted on either sides, twin banners flap. On each banner, in a field of sable brown, bordered by pale pink, a stylized pala-blossom flower of the same pink nestles. "He's finally returned," the Templar says.

"Lord Pink?" exclaims Elise in disbelief. Without waiting for a confirmation, she pushes her way through the crowd and hobbles towards the docks to intercept the arriving airship.

Her limp slows her, but the growing crowd of Rephidimites parts to allow the Executor through. By the time the airship has dropped anchor and is dropping its gangplank, she has managed to make her way to the front of the crowd. She finds Knight Seline von Shanar is there, too, along with a handful of other important Temple officials, who have the look of having only recently arrived, and in some hurry. Von Shanar's tail is wagging, and she smiles as she watches the gangplank drop, though her reaction is otherwise controlled and restrained.

When Elise spots von Shanar, she halts with a disgusted grunt. The pause stirs something else, too, A feeling she had not expected. Looking out at the gathered group of important Temple officials and glorious knights, the lady feels daunted, even ashamed to step out amongst them. The desire to turn and abandon the event altogether tugs at her and for the moment she finds herself uncertain as to how to proceed – alone with a guilt that urges her to flee and a pride that pushes her forward.

While Elise struggles with her own desire, the wide landing of the ship touches the ground. A figure descends, clad in deep brown Temple armor and robes, trimmed in pink ribbon, with the same pala-blossom emblazoned on the breastplate as on the banners. A great cheer goes up from the crowd, and the poodle pauses halfway down, giving a little wave that inspires further cheering.

There amongst the crowd the gray dressed Executor does not wave, nor cheer. Her expression is all icy indifference. Below the surface she isn't sure what to do, and her thoughts make her bitter.

The man from the ship pulls off his helmet, revealing a white poodle's face, smiling. He tucks the helmet under one arm, finishing his descent. At the bottom, he exchanges words with the officials there to greet him, though Elise cannot make them out from her distance. He draws something from beneath his robes, and passes it to them: a large, thick, circular object. Everyone looks pleased and excited. Then he makes a gesture to the ship. A huge crate rolls to the edge of the landing, where everyone can see it. A hush falls over the crowd.

By now it's a bit too late to greet the lord, or so Elise thinks. Or wants to think. She struggles to decide what to do. Some course of action rather than standing here and having to watch like a poor man looking in through the window of a happy home.

Another gesture from the male poodle, and the sides of the crate drop away. A massive thing is thus unveiled, like a great, many-legged beast of steel and ceramic. Parts of it are rusted, and smashed, and wires and cables gleam through exposed openings. But for all its damaged state, its size and strange provenance alone makes it awe-inspiring. The hush lasts another moment, as the crowd draws in a collective breath, then the silence explodes into cheering, foot-stomping, and applause.

Elise closes her eyes and shakes her head. She considers giving him a cheer too like everyone else. But she just can't manage to. Too prideful, and too bitter. It was one thing to tell Lord Pink she made a mistake when he was dead, it's quite another to tell him now. And cheering him may as well spell it out for him. She thinks that after this a day in a tavern might be in order.

The cheering, with or without her, seems to go on and on. Pink converses genially with Seline, and another Knight that Elise recognizes as a young instructor from her academy days. She didn't even know he was testing for the orders, much less that he had succeeded. The other officials also seem to be offering their congratulations.

Finally having had her fill of the momen, Elise turns around and gives a harsh wave of her hand for the crowd to move. "Move! Get out of my way," she growls at the nearest living impediment to her departure.

The angry tone catches the pedestrian's attention. Whatever reply the woman might have made is forestalled by Elise's executor armor, and the look on her face. The crowd parts before Elise again, to let her go – though it seems to the poodle that they are a little slower to react now, a little less deferential, than they had been before Lord Pink disembarked.

Or maybe that's just her imagination.

It's still early afternoon as Elise sits at a single table outside The Wooden Leg, a tankard in front of her and a scowl on her face. The sky is clear and the day warm and breezy, but no one else stops to sit or chat with the glowering Executor. Before she arrived, there had been another couple here, but they cleared off as soon as she sat down.

The lady half-sits, half sprawls back in her chair. She doesn't care what she looks like to anyone at the moment. Her only companion is a full tankard of the best ale they had on tap, a concoction she didn't catch the name of. Even if the bartender cheated her with the vilest swill this side of the Darkside, she doesn't care about that, either, so long as it's strong enough to numb her worries away. And with tankard in hand she stares off into the endless sea of clouds as airships make their way here and there. She wishes she was on one and curses the sky for being so cheery.

The day, not obliging, continues to be bright and pleasant. Finishing a tankard of ale makes her feel, if anything, worse and more surly. A barmaid wordlessly emerges from the interior of the tavern, and sets an identical tankard on the table. She hovers just long enough that Elise can catch her, if she's quick about it, to ask the barmaid for anything else, before the servant vanishes back inside.

Elise ignores the barmaid for the most part. She isn't in the mood for breakfast – or lunch if it has gotten that late. Something else she decides she doesn't care about at the moment. What she does care about are the thoughts on her mind and the emotions that poison her. A deep self-loathing lays siege at her mind along with regret, fear, and more nebulous feelings that ale makes blurry. She thinks out loud after the waitress has gone. "What do I get?" A sneer. "Not a cheer, I'll tell you that." Her free hand fumbles at a stray bit of wood and flings it off in to the void. "Stupidity. That's what I have. Curses. And bats." She gives a disgusted snort. "Bats. Hrmp."

The poodle catches a pedestrian glancing at her when she tosses the splinter, and the man quickly looks away and hurries off. Everyone seems to be giving her and her table a wide berth.

"Not that they thank me. 'Oh, no, you can't harm our precious, condescending, useless, half-wit worship mongers.'" Her free hand flexes, clawing at the empty air. "No we like them hurting us. Squeak squeak squeak, blah blah blah." The lady takes another sip.

Across the street, a couple of urchins are playing some obscure game involving sticks, small stones, and circles drawn in the dirt. Other passersby bustle along in their own way, on this errand or that. Occasionally, someone seems to be headed in her direction – maybe to go into the tavern – but no one actually does get near. The wooden leg that holds the tavern's sign waves, lonely, in the breeze.

"You'd think the whole world was obsessed with worshipping the useless. Holding them on high like some precious … ," she blinks, "… something." She lets her head fall back against the wall behind her chair. "Just like the Gallee. How half of us ever managed to keep our place in the world is beyond me." When she catches the eye of someone passing by she has the urge to lay into him on his stupidity of believing in the useless but decides to let it go. For now. "Why do I ever stay here, Cyprian? Why, oh why does it always seem to be this way … " She frowns, but manages to still look more surly than sad.

After finishing her second tankard the lady poodles decides she has had enough of the sky. So she gathers up her things and stands up to return indoor and get herself another drink.

Inside, the bar is mostly empty. A couple of Skreeks sit at a corner table. One young female Eeee sits at the bar, picking at a lunch of sliced melons. The barmaid is waiting on the Skreeks, who fall silent at the Executor's entrance. A man behind the bar looks inquisitively to the poodle when she enters.

The surly poodle stalks across the bar room and stops to stand right beside the bat at the counter. She puts her tankard down on the counter and gives a bark of "another". While she waits for her drink to be filled, her eyes wander to the Eeee nearby. She glares daggers at the woman.

The Eeee shifts uneasily on her stool. She has dark gray fur, free of any markings, and looks like a typical member of her species – meaning she'd be inches shorter than Elise, even if she were standing, and likely less than half the poodle's mass. The bartender responds with alacrity to the canine's demand, filling a fresh mug. The Eeee reaches for her purse, fumbling at the strings with trembling fingers.

The lady grabs her tankard and lifts it only to set it down with a hard thump a bit closer to the woman. "What is it with your kind?" she prompts the bat in a demanding tone.

The Eeee almost drops her purse on the bar. Her ears flatten against her head. "Excuse me, ma'am?" she says, in unaccented Standard. Her ears flatten against her scalp.She doesn't look at Elise, concentrating on getting her purse-strings untied.

The canine snarls, then barks, "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

The Eeee's whole body shakes. She presses her wings against her back, and forces her eyes up to Elise. "Ma'am, please. I don't want any trouble," she says, pleadingly. The poodle is suddenly aware that no one else in the room is making any sound at all.

Elise's sword hand flexes around the handle of her tankard. The skin beneath her facial fur is flush red, and her ears lay back. Murder shines in her eyes. A few seconds trickle by in that uneasy silence until the poodle become aware of just how quite it is. She blinks unsteadily and glances around the room.

As she pans the room, she sees the Skreeks and the barmaid conspicuously looking away from her, staring at their drinks, or the fireplace. The bartender, a big Gallah, stands nearby. He leans against the counter behind him, his eyes on the tankard he is wiping off with a cloth. The Eeee finally manages to get her purse open. A scatter of ceramic coins clink to the bar top. Her plate of melons lies, half eaten, before her.

The poodle scans the room one more time and gives a ragged sigh. "Sit," she barks at the woman beside her. "Eat." With a bit of her own fumbling Elise digs out copper piece and presses it in to the woman's hand – if she lets Elise do it or not. "I'm leaving."

The Eeee's hand shakes so badly when Elise seizes it to put the coin into it, that the bat drops the copper into her lap as soon as the poodle releases her. Shivering, the bat turns to the bar and shoves a piece of melon into her mouth.

A few more coins are dug out from Elise's coin purse to pay for her drink. She takes on last long drought of her final tankard and turns to hobble out of the bar without any further harassment of the Eeee of the bartender. As she reaches the door she can be heard to mutter, "S-someone I need see."

The bartender picks up the coins on the counter and inserts them into his cashbox, calmly. As Elise walks out into the street, she just catches, behind her, the sound of the young Eeee woman retching, chokingly, onto the bar.

After her little scene in The Wooden Leg, Elise returns home, to be drunk and miserable in the privacy of her own estate. The next day, she sends her calling card to Lord Pink. In the wake of his return, Rephidim is abuzz with the news of him, his discoveries, and his impending ascension to knighthood, which appears assured. Elise learns that the rumor of his death she had heard while in the Golden Realm was, in fact, based on a report of his squire's death, and had been discounted holidays ago by the people of Rephidim proper.

Elise receives an invitation to the Temple-sponsored party, to be held in honor of his return, in ten day's time. But in response to her card, Pink himself invites her to his estate, for a private talk.

When she arrives, fully recovered from her indiscretion two days prior, a servant shows the poodle into the drawing room, where Lord Pink waits.

Lord Pink is standing next to the globe, a book open in one hand, when Elise enters. He looks up from the globe and smiles, snapping the volume shut. "My dear Lady de Bellefeuille," he says, warmly. "It is wonderful to see you again."

Elise winces at the snap but does her best to recover by inclining her head in deep respect to the lord. "Lord Pink," she greets him neutrally, "I am glad to see you alive and well."

The lord smiles, setting the book back on a shelf to approach her, reaching out to take her hand. "It is good to be alive and well, let me assure you, though the dangers of my journey have been, I think, somewhat exaggerated in my long absence."

She allows him to take her hand. "Yes," she says with a nod, "I can understand how that can be. I've been there myself. Are you free to talk? No interruptions? I need to get something off my mind and I fear if I wait it shall never leave me."

Pink leans over her hand, brushing a kiss through the air above her knuckles, then straightens. At her seriousness, he nods, his smile vanishing. "Yes, my lady," he answers, releasing her hand. "I have no pressing engagements beyond this one."

"Good, good," whispers Elise as she gathers her thoughts. "Shall we be seated then? I could very much use being seated."

"By all means." Lord Pink helps her to a chair, then sits on one opposite. He waits, listening without pressing her.

"I have come to understand that I would like to reapply for knighthood," explains Elise in slow and deliberate words, as if speaking them was difficult for her. Similarly her expression is strained and she watches Lord Pink with an air of apprehension.

As she speaks, a hesitant smile creeps back onto Pink's face. He looks pleased by the words, but her apparent apprehension restrains him from any exclamation. He nods, encouraging her to continue, listening attentively.

"Several days ago I spent a very enlightening hour in a bar on the docks," the lady continues. And at this point she glances away as if to study the woodwork of his room. "To which I learned I distinctly regret my choice to become an Executor." A pause as she further collects her thoughts and then she continues, saying, "Go on. Say something. Yes, you were right. Curse you. I almost wish you were dead," she glances at him, "almost. It would have made this easier."

Lord Pink blinks a few times at her. "My lady," he starts, at a loss. "I don't know what to say. I sorrow that your choice to become an Executor has not worked out to your satisfaction … even if I cannot say that I am surprised by such news." He sounds sincere, on both counts.

The lady glances at the lord again. This time she looks surprised, and slowly she turns to face him. "Yes you are," she agrees, "of course you are." The woman gives a shake of her head and looks heavenward. "First Ones know how I forgot you. Truthfully I did expect something. Or maybe I wanted to believe I would be punished for it. Or, perhaps I would have done so myself if I were in your shoes, Lord Pink. I have been very bitter lately."

He reaches out a hand to her, but hesitates to touch her. "My lady? Are you well?"

"No, not really," Elise concedes. "But that is why I am here."

"Then, is there aught I may do to help, Lady de Bellefeuille?" the lord asks. "You must know that I approved of you as a candidate for knighthood a half-year ago. I know of nothing which has happened in these intervening holidays that could change that opinion. My lady is a courageous and resourceful woman of impeccable heritage. I have long felt that you are exactly the sort that the Temple needs among its knights."

He stops himself, his ears going back as if he was afraid he's overstepped himself, or spoke too long.

"Kind of you to say." The lady smiles faintly. "But I ambitter, vengeful, and cruel as well. I suppose that is an inevitable result when one turns down a chance at greatness to pursue a murderous vendetta. My time as an Executor has prepared me for the journey but it has also shown me the extent of my own malice. And I suppose, too, I feel unnoticed. Ever since I graduated I have served Rephidim and for what I have accomplished neither my sister nor my country have recognized my name. I know it's selfish. But it's the truth."

For a long moment, there is silence. Then Lord Pink says, quietly, "I have recognized your name."

"Yes," says the lady with a nod, "that is also why I am here. Because I trust you at heart even if I forget your way." She smiles a bit longer this time.

He smiles, too, then repeats, "Is there aught I may do to help, Lady de Bellefeuille?"

"Can you help me remember what I have forgotten?" asks the lady. "Can I ask of you to help me, now, when I would reapply?" She raises a hand to forestall him. "Before you answer I must warn you that I have not been kind as an Executor and that you may someday hear rumors to my name that seek to discredit me."

"For the latter," Lord Pink begins, and then stops as she speaks. He looks serious at her later words. "Have you done aught, my lady, that you believe dishonors you?"

"I have heard that Star worshippers sometimes practice a form of confession. Well, I shall trust you with mine and you can help decide if I am merely being hard on myself or if I have truly shamed myself. But let me start by explaining my greater concern. You see, I have been cursed by a priestess of Barada. The Curse of Barada, she called it. You can see my concern," explains Elise.

Lord Pink starts to smile, but bites down on it. He frowns a little, and nods. "I am not familiar with the objects of Eeee worship, I fear."

The lady's smile turns wry. "I am unfortunately exceedingly familiar with the Seven. It is sufficient to say Barada of the Goddess of Secrets and her priestess was aware of my identity before I slew her as per my duty to Rephidim. I'll explain my relation to the Seven as well, then you will understand my position. You may wish to make yourself comfortable, Lord Pink. This will be a bit of a story … "