Inks
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Word Count - [2,048]
« I Ars
When Tuvius Acer left his house, a little after daybreak, he was on a mission.
Gone was the man who had turned up on the doorstep of Perseus Artifex some two nights prior, shaking and out of breath. The Acer of today was calm, collected, and the very picture of class.
His dark, oak-brown hair had been thoroughly-combed, bangs swept up and off to one side – a style perfect for a businessman (or, say, a steward). His suit, tailored to sit cleanly on his shoulders and break just-so on his dress shoes, had been checked and re-checked. It was pristine. His shoes were polished, and gleamed in the early-morning light streaming down the street. His round spectacles were spotless, glinting as he turned to lock his door behind him.
As he turned back, something caught his eye. Across the lane, someone sat crouched before the rows of lush, vibrant plants lining the property. Acer recognized the plumage right away.
“Ave!” he called out, setting off down the cobble steps that led from his modest apartment down to the street. “Good morning, Laurea!”
“...Acer,” acknowledged Laurea Valor – Acer’s neighbor, a young enlil whose rose-colored feathers, soft features, and pale, sky-blue eyes, Acer found, belied a personality far too standoffish for a lady.
Not that he would ever say that to her face.
“You’re looking well,” Laurea said, noncommittally. She bent back over her flowers, where she was apparently in the middle of picking weeds. As she tore some leafy green specimen out of the ground, roots and all, Acer tried not to frown too openly at the thought of the dirt surely getting caught on her talons. “Off on business?”
“As always.” Acer hovered in the lane between his and Laurea’s properties, straightening his already-straight suit sleeves. “After all the fuss of the last few days, I imagine my employer will be rather expecting my word. I’m just relieved that I have some good news to bear, after yesterday.
“I still can’t quite believe there was an attempt on the magister’s life. It seems a true miracle that he survived the ordeal.”
“Hm.” Laurea gave him a cursory once-over, head angled sharply to one side. She smiled – a stiff, wry expression. “...You weren’t there for the Nocte Nils ceremony, were you?”
Acer blinked. “Ah, well, no. I was unable to attend the event. Work, of course, waits for no man. Why do you ask?”
“I can tell,” the young woman said. Her eyes returned to her flowers.
“Y-yes, well.” Acer wasn’t sure how to take that. It most certainly hadn’t sounded like a compliment. “I heard all about it afterward. I mean, who didn’t. From what I understand, though, most of the terrorists have already been apprehended. Even that...that Orator fellow. I imagine it won’t be long before this whole Astra Non Obligant nonsense is dust in the wind.”
The enlil glanced up again, sharply. There was a flash of something dark– fear? – in her expression. Then she looked back down. She seized some prickly plant and with a single, vicious tug, uprooted it from the ground. She tossed it over her shoulder. “You believe so?” she asked, and her voice was as bland as ever.
“Of course,” Acer reassured. “These sorts of groups always collapse without some sort of leader figure to rally behind. I’d say – oh. Actually, perhaps we could continue our conversation later? I’m on a bit of a tight schedule today. Right now, I need to-” he gestured at his coat, where a folded square of paper sat in his breast pocket.
“Sure. Work comes first,” said Laurea, somewhat pointedly. “You know where I’ll be.” She sidled to one side and set to work on a new patch of flowers.
After an awkward moment of wondering whether he should bid her a proper goodbye, Acer simply left the enlil to her...work. She seemed like she’d already dismissed him, anyway.
As he struck off down the street at a brisk pace, Acer thought to himself – perhaps a mite uncharitably – that young Miss Valor reminded him of Vanitas. They suffered from a similar lack of proper social graces.
The day was young, however, and the skies bright. He wasn’t about to let a bit of stiff dialogue distract him from business.
Once upon a time, what felt like ages past, Acer had elected to skip attending the Nocte Nils award ceremony in favor of balancing his books...and trying to find a way to inform Olivia Artifex that her son had yet to make a single profit since arriving in Terminus without getting himself fired. In a manner of speaking, the events of the last couple days had resolved that issue for him.
The articulate message folded at his breast might be somewhat...condemning for young Vanitas, but it was nothing the boy hadn’t brought upon himself. It had been bad enough when he’d been whiling away his time and family resources on menial pursuits and profitless endeavors, handing out weapons and armor and strange engineering knickknacks to anyone who happened by.
Replicating dangerous, volatile terrorist weapons in the black of the night...
Well. Acer doubted Lady Artifex would let that stand.
.
In hindsight, Acer wished he’d grabbed his coat. Despite the bright, cloudless skies and the warm, early-morning sunshine on his face, the air was brisk. The wind had a distinct bite to it, and by the time he’d reached his first destination of the day, his face was red and chapped, his fingers unpleasantly numbed. The shop greeted him with a simple sign hanging out over the street, three metal letters set in heavy, polished and veneered wood: S.S.A.
The Scryer’s Service of Araevis. Or one of their (many, many) offices, at least. Acer let himself in, sweeping the reception area as he pushed the door shut behind him.
Natural sunlight streamed in through two broad, bay windows bracketing the door, warm and bright at the height of the day. White and pastel flower arrangements and deep green ferns sat in the window bays, flourishing in the sun. A door to the left led to the office’s customer lounge, where the more wealthy patrons waited to send their messages in-person or for replies to their express messages.
On the other side of the reception area stood the thickset door to the scrying centers; this office had three, less than half the number of the northern Terminus office. From what Acer understood, though, the SSA’s smaller offices tended to only keep one scryer and one courier on-duty per shift, so perhaps three wasn’t quite so bad.
The nondescript door behind the reception’s front desks most likely led to the office’s upstairs; the second-story windows were visible from the street, but Acer had never been there. Most likely, the upstairs was reserved for logging and record-keeping. A young enlil man dressed in light brown leathers sat on a bench against the reception room’s right wall, a messenger’s bag slung over his shoulder – one of two couriers Acer often saw around the office.
Acer preferred the aristocratic accoutrements of the Service’s north Terminus office, a beautiful structure couched amongst Terminus’s governmental Dioecesis district, but this office was far closer to home, and, honestly, just as efficient. He could hardly justify spending time and money making the longer trip each time he needed the SSA’s services.
“Salvē,” came a feminine voice from his side. Acer jumped – he’d been studying the flowers, lost in thought, and hadn’t noticed anyone approaching. He turned and came face to face with a short, young woman with deep, dark skin, dark hair pulled into a bun, and...were those scales on her face? “Good morning!” she said, seemingly indifferent to his blank response. “Would you care for a drink for the lounge, sir?”
“I, ah...” A spurii woman? Had she been here the last time he visited? Acer didn’t believe so. “No, no,” he waved the attendant away. “I won’t be here long. I’m just dropping off, thank you.”
“Of course, sir,” The young spurii sketched a bow, and vanished through the left-side doorway, leaving Acer to approach the reception desk in peace.
A counter of dark mahogany stretched across the breadth of the office, with a tall divider down the middle splitting the desk into two service stations. The right-side receptionist was speaking in hushed tones to some broad-shouldered velen fellow; Acer frowned at them a moment, then stepped up to the left-side counter.
The laicar behind the desk was at least twenty years Acer’s senior, but his clothes spoke of either a lower-class budget or lower-class tastes. The man wore a black flat cap over his shaved head, and his trimmed goatee was streaked with silver. Several tidy stacks of paper and two stacks of folders – empty and full – covered his desk space. The papers were clearly messages, written in any number of different hands – some far more legible than others. Presumably, the laicar was organizing scrying messages for the office records.
A pair of reading glasses sat low on the man’s nose, and he looked up past them as Acer approached. “Salvē,” he said, his voice low, curt but not unfriendly. “Welcome to the Scryer’s Service. My name is Adamus. If this is your first time, I can provide you with a thorough explanation of our available services and costs.”
“No, thank you...Adamus.” Another unfamiliar face? Acer repressed a frown. “This is hardly my first time using the Service. I just need to drop off a message,” he reached into his suit, extracting a crisply-folded piece of parchment, “express delivery, if you will, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll just need your personal information, scrying message recipient and location.” Adamus reached for a pad of paper and a pen.
Acer rattled off the appropriate details, and Adamus copied it all down in neat, clear handwriting. “Where’s, ah, Pavel?” Acer asked, once that was finished. “He’s usually here, isn’t he? He’s always handled my correspondences in the past.”
“My apologies. Pavel isn’t here.” Adamus put his hand out. Acer stared at it, confused. Then, with a quiet ‘oh,’ handed over the message for Lady Artifex. “He went missing when the Magister... Ah, that is, on the day of the Nocte Nils award ceremony,” Adamus added.
“W-what?” Acer blinked. “Missing? How? I mean, when did this happen? Where was he last seen? I assume someone is looking into it? Are you certain he isn’t out...uh, sick? Do demvir get sick?”
“Pavel is currently under investigation for possible connections to the terrorist group known as Astra Non Obligant,” Adamus said, something like an apology in his voice. “If or when he is found, and if he is cleared of the charges against him, I am sure he’ll return to his post soon after. ...Will you be paying for an express reply, Mister...Acer?”
“I – what? No,” said Acer, mind reeling. “No. If the Lady Artifex often decides whether or not to make an express reply, once...once she’s read the message. She’ll know where to find me. Ah, here.” He plucked a handful of golden aurits from the coin pouch at his belt and deposited them without ceremony into Adamus’s hand.
Pavel? Associated with ANO? He’d always seemed so friendly, so polite; surely it was against his...his programing, or whatever demvir had, to join forces with a terrorist cell.
“Of course, sir.” Adamus tipped the payment into a drawer, made two more notes on his paper, and said, “thank you, sir. Your message will be delivered posthaste. Will that be all?”
Acer smoothed his hands down his suit blazer, and nodded. “Yes, I thi...I think that will do it. Thank you, Adamus.”
“Good day, Acer, sir,” the receptionist said.
First the young Miss Valor, and now Pavel. Just what about these Astra Non Obligant people had everyone so...affected?
As he saw himself out of the SSA office, Acer resolved to put the troubling business from his mind. There was a wonderful bakery just around the corner, and Acer was in dire need of some lunch. This was only the first stop of at least four that needed to be made today – and six that he’d like to make, if at all possible.
He’d need his strength with the day he had ahead of him.
.