Evelyn woke slowly beneath the weight of layered blankets, her eyes opening to the muted grey of morning filtering through the curtains. For several moments, she remained still, listening to the quiet of the manor and the faint movement of servants somewhere beyond the bedroom walls. The occasional muffled footstep carried through the corridor, accompanied by the distant opening and closing of a door somewhere below. Whatever activity had already begun within the house remained subdued enough that the upper floor still felt half asleep.
Eventually, she pushed herself upright and slipped from the bed. The floor was cool beneath her feet as she crossed the room, washed, and dressed in a simple blouse and long skirt. She gathered her hair back with practiced care, smoothing away the last signs of sleep before leaving her room. Pale morning light followed her only as far as the doorway before the heavier shadows of the corridor swallowed it.
The corridor outside remained dim and hushed. Evelyn closed the door gently behind herself, then crossed the short distance to the neighboring bedroom that had been set aside for Sisyphus. She raised one hand and knocked lightly against the wood. Nothing immediately moved on the other side, though there was no reason to assume he remained asleep.
“Breakfast should be ready,” she said, keeping her voice low enough not to carry through the rest of the sleeping quarters. “You are welcome to join me downstairs.” She did not linger outside his door to demand an answer. After a brief pause, Evelyn turned and continued down the corridor, leaving the residential wing behind. The silence closed again after her footsteps passed.
The manor gradually became brighter as she approached the central staircase. Morning light spilled through the tall windows overlooking the lower floor, stretching pale bands across the carpet and polished banisters. Evelyn descended at an unhurried pace, one hand passing briefly along the railing as the distant scent of tea and warm bread grew stronger. The dining room doors stood open when she arrived. Servants moved quietly through the adjoining hall, careful not to disturb the calm that still clung to the house.
Mara was already seated at the long table, eating from a modest breakfast laid out before her. A cup of tea steamed beside one hand, accompanied by bread, preserves, eggs, and several covered serving dishes arranged for anyone else who chose to join her. Lucien’s usual place remained empty. There was no trace of him elsewhere in the room, nor any indication that he had already eaten and departed. Only Mara occupied the quiet dining room, appearing entirely untroubled by his absence.
The current time was around nine forty-five in the morning.
Sisyphus was already awake at the knock after turning in very early the previous day. But he was not quick to open the door. He had not undressed, having only doffed his robe, and had slept on top of the blankets. The joy of a comfortable night’s sleep was lost on him. The room had nevertheless done its job, offering privacy, quiet, and several uninterrupted hours in which no one attempted to kill him.
His current garment was made up of layers of rough cloth, with hidden pockets between them. He had bandages around his forearms and loosely around the base of his neck. They were not covering injuries, but were there for quick access. Small pieces of equipment remained where he had left them the night before, each positioned according to habit rather than comfort. Nothing appeared disturbed.
He donned his rough robe, oversized and armless, which covered his entire body and legs except for his boots. With a single word in Ancient Hermes, he recast the shadow spell that darkened his face beneath the hood. The familiar darkness gathered without resistance, leaving the opening beneath the hood black enough to conceal any recognizable feature. Only after checking that the effect had settled properly did he leave the room.
He then exited the room, following the same path Eve had taken, subconsciously walking around the beams of light coming through the windows when needed. The habit required no thought from him, his path bending around the brighter strips cast across the corridor even when stepping through one would have caused no real harm. Servants who passed him offered only brief looks before continuing with their work. By the time he reached the dining room, the smell of coffee had become almost as noticeable as the warm bread.
“Plain toast is plenty.” Sisyphus stopped near the edge of the table, taking in the food without approaching it immediately. After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “And a black coffee.” The roughness of his voice contrasted strangely with the otherwise ordinary request.
Mara glanced up from her plate as Sisyphus entered, pale eyes settling briefly on the shadowed hollow beneath his hood. Whatever curiosity the effect inspired, she kept it from showing beyond a slight pause. Her gaze moved from the darkness beneath his hood to the oversized robe and then back to her breakfast. Nothing in her posture suggested that his appearance had spoiled her appetite.
“Then help yourself.” She motioned casually toward the bread and the waiting coffee service with one hand before returning to her breakfast. “There should be more in the pot.” Steam continued curling from her own cup as she spoke, carrying the bitter smell of strong tea between them.
Sisyphus approached the table, procuring a plate of toast and a cup of black coffee. He took a seat away from Mara, still attempting to sit near Eve. He ate and drank quietly, his body language suggesting he was not planning to speak. The darkness beneath his hood made eating awkward to observe from the outside, though he managed without disturbing the spell concealing his face.
Evelyn made herself a small plate of eggs and bread, eating quickly so that she had time to drink the tea one of the servants had brought out only a moment ago and poured into a cup in front of her. The scent was recognizable to anyone who drank the popular breakfast tea often. Around them, cutlery clicked softly against porcelain while a servant replaced one of the covered dishes farther down the table. Mara remained content to let the meal pass without forcing conversation.
“We should depart soon so that we make it to both appointments,” Evelyn said moments after finishing half of her drink and the entire portion she had helped herself to. The comment drew Mara's attention away from her breakfast. Sisyphus continued eating, though the slight adjustment of his posture showed that he was listening.
“You have enough time, provided the first appointment does not become unnecessarily complicated.” Mara lifted her cup, watching Evelyn over its rim for a moment before taking a measured sip. Her tone held little concern, though the qualification remained obvious enough. The cup returned to its saucer with a quiet tap.
“I’m sure it will be fine, Mara,” Evelyn replied, though her tone was concise and calm. With some haste, she finished the tea, handing the cup and plate to a servant who walked by. The servant accepted both without interrupting the conversation and carried them toward the adjoining service room. Evelyn's chair shifted faintly against the floor as she prepared to leave.
“I’ll shadow, as instructed, and provide exact details as we approach.” Sisyphus matched her pace, making short work of his meager portion. He rose from his chair. He intentionally refrained from speaking of the meeting there, worried that he would anger the host if the other occupants of the manor discovered it. The words he chose were vague enough that Mara had little reason to question them.
The woman glanced at him, then stepped toward the door, a feeling of amusement twinging her mind as she recognized Sisyphus’ restraint. She made no motion of recognition and grabbed her hat from the coat rack by the door, then went out to the street to hail a carriage. Cold morning air met her as soon as the manor door opened, carrying the sound of wheels and distant conversation from farther along the road. Sisyphus followed close enough that his boots remained audible behind her for several steps.
Sisyphus took a few long strides, stepping uncomfortably close to Eve’s back. Then he collapsed downward, hitting the floor with a wet slap. All that was left was a thick pile of black blood in the shape of Eve’s shadow. It seemed to sink deeper into it and disappear, leaving only Eve’s shadow with duller-than-expected color. A servant near the entrance briefly turned at the noise, but by then there was nothing unusual left on the ground.
Eve blinked a couple of times, then turned back, looking behind her because of the noise. With a mildly confused expression, she faced the street again, donning her hat and waving a hand. It took little time before a carriage was hailed and she boarded. Giving the driver the address was simple, and no questions were asked. The vehicle pulled away from the manor with the steady clatter of wheels against stone.
The ride remained short enough that the neighborhood changed only gradually beyond the glass. Shops became more common, and pedestrian traffic thickened as they moved toward a busier part of the city. Sisyphus remained concealed within Evelyn's shadow throughout, his presence noticeable to her only through the familiar dullness where the light failed to behave quite naturally. Neither of them had reason to speak while the driver sat only a few feet away.
“We shouldn’t be too long. If you stick around, I’ll pay extra.” It was a short ride before they arrived at the location. The carriage rumbled to a halt, then the driver opened the door politely. Evelyn slipped him money to pay the fare, then spoke. Her voice was smooth and different from what Sisyphus had heard before.
Using her womanly charms, she convinced the driver to stay; he insisted that he did not need any extra payment and that she could simply pay the regular fee for the second trip. His shoulders relaxed as he answered, and the firmness of the refusal did not match the pleased expression that had already appeared on his face. He settled back toward his seat with every intention of remaining nearby. The horse stamped once against the street while another carriage passed behind them.
Flashing the man a kind smile, she stepped away from the carriage and toward the building labeled the Clockmaker’s Pub. The time read ten forty-five. The establishment occupied a broad storefront whose dark wood and brass fittings distinguished it from the businesses beside it. Even from outside, the faint mechanical ticking within could be heard whenever the street noise dipped.
“Hm… early as usual…” A small sigh escaped her lips.
Sisyphus continued his concealed state, staying attached to Eve. He moved only slightly to match the changing light as she moved and keep himself in shadow. The doors looked heavy and sturdy but swung open easily with the slightest push. Hidden gears clicked as this occurred. The sound was precise enough to suggest that even the entrance had been designed to advertise the establishment's mechanical character.
The bar-room was wide, with a central U-shaped table around where more pristine bottles of alcohol were kept. A large, four-faced clock was above the bar, its intricate gears exposed and mesmerizing as each visible second ticked by. A cocky-looking old barkeep stood behind the counter with a wide smile. He paid Evelyn no special attention beyond the glance given to any new arrival.
There were neat rows of circular tables, many of the chairs occupied. Along the left wall were many labeled portraits of drinks in glass cups above small cutouts in the wall. A customer placed his mug in a cutout and inserted a few pence into a small adjacent slot. After a moment’s rumble, the mug filled from the nozzle above it, the pipework hidden in the walls. The mechanism drew more attention from a nearby newcomer than the drink itself.
The bar was a marvel of engineering and was almost certainly famous among locals who believed in the God of Steam and Machinery. There were two other common gods in the Kingdom of Loen, the Goddess Evernight and the Lord of Storms. They mutually cooperated to the country’s benefit. Brass fixtures and visible gearwork appeared almost everywhere Evelyn looked, giving even the ordinary bottles and wooden tables an intentionally mechanical character.
One of the tables held a familiar face Eve quickly recognized. It was Nox, sitting with two other men and enjoying brunch while chatting and laughing. His attention remained with his companions, and nothing in his expression suggested that he had noticed her arrival. The noise of the room made it easy for people several tables apart to ignore one another.
“Hallway to the right of the bar counter, second door on the right.” A whisper came from behind Eve with no visible source aside from the duller color. The voice had an unnatural, raspy, coaxing quality… like what one would expect a demon luring someone into an alleyway to sound like. It disappeared beneath the surrounding conversation almost as soon as the instruction ended.
The woman wasted little time moving, though her gait was casual enough for her to go unnoticed, assuming her outfit did not stand out. She had dressed more lightly today, in something easier to move in than yesterday’s nice-looking dress. The crowd gave her room without appearing to think much of her, and she passed the bar with only a brief glance from the barkeep. The indicated hallway narrowed away from the brighter common room.
“Why is it that you sound like that? If you don’t mind me asking.” Her voice was quiet compared with the noise in the pub as she intentionally used the atmosphere to keep the conversation between herself and the one trailing her. Evelyn stepped into the indicated private room. It was small, barely large enough to fit a six-person table, except there was no table. All that was in the room was a body-length mirror and two wooden racks.
Each rack carried three sturdy animal masquerade masks. On the left rack was a wide elephant mask, a thin-snouted fox mask, and a feathered raven mask, each with a masculine design. The right rack contained a black, playful, smiling, furred cat mask, a red-feathered, serious cardinal mask, and a regal white-feather mask with the eye shadow of a swan. The closed door muffled the pub until only a dull mixture of voices and clinking glass remained.
“An unintentional filter, as words travel from shadow to reality.” Evelyn’s shadow rose upward, blackened liquid dripping from it, and took the shape of Sisyphus as its color returned. He spoke in a manner that seemed apologetic but strongly suggested he planned to do it again if needed, intending for Eve simply to get used to it. His robe settled around him as the last of the liquid darkness disappeared.
“Pick a mask, then return to the hallway; I’ll be right behind you.” He gestured to the racks with a hand. There was a slyness in his voice. Despite his mostly hidden face, he had the demeanor of someone setting up a friendly prank. The only thought that betrayed his words was, ‘I shouldn’t ruin her first experience here.’
“Is it truly necessary?” she asked as she lifted the black cat mask off the wall, her fingers tracing over the edge. “Something tells me it may not be.” Her head tilted slightly as she looked toward him.
“The masks are, yes.” He stepped forward, plucking the raven mask off the wall, fitting it on underneath his hood with familiarity. The black beak projected from the darkness while the eyeholes revealed nothing of the face behind them. Whatever amusement lingered in his posture had not disappeared.
“I may go through the door first if you’d like.” Sisyphus turned back, the black beak protruding from under his hood. The eyes of the mask led only to inky darkness. The surprise, whatever it was, did not seem related to the masks, judging by his words, but to the door itself. His body language suggested it was the most significant element of the room, despite it being the same door through which they had entered from the hallway.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The woman let out a small sigh, then put the mask upon her face, making sure to fit it properly so it did not slide off. It smelled odd, like it had been worn recently, though the scent was not entirely unpleasant. It reminded her briefly of a tea similar to the one she had drunk that morning. The fur along the edge brushed lightly against her cheeks whenever she moved her head.
“As long as you don't disappear, yes, I would like you to go first.”
“This is an anonymous meeting. Find the Raven. Bring up hiring a bodyguard at any time once the host begins; I’ll accept the job.” He reminded her of what he had said initially and informed her what to do during the meeting. His hand remained near the doorknob as he spoke. Nothing about the wood itself appeared unusual.
Sisyphus approached and reached for the doorknob. It pushed outward… and then he was gone. Eve blinked. The door was now shut; she had not seen anything move. But he was gone. No sound from the hallway followed his disappearance.
Eve stared at the door for only a moment, having to remind herself that she was in a public place. Without further hesitation, she stepped through. She had little expectation of what would be seen on the other side, other than perhaps a small masquerade gathering. For a moment, she wished she had worn something fancier. The thought lasted only until the doorway stopped behaving like a doorway.
There was a feeling of weightlessness, and dozens of colors flashed across Eve’s vision. Then her feet touched the floor of an unfamiliar circular room. The air felt different from the pub, lacking the accumulated smell of food, alcohol, and smoke that had filled the hallway behind her. No trace of that hallway remained when she looked back.
It was fifty feet across, with identical doors lining the entire length of the wall. The domed ceiling was dark blue, with pinholes of light dotted through it to illuminate the room. It was reminiscent of a beautiful night sky. The soft light left the edges of the chamber dim without making any of the occupants difficult to see.
In the center were sixteen fancy cloth-seated chairs. At one end was a large blackboard on a stand with wheels. On the opposite side was an armchair the same color as the night sky and decorated with gold trim. Ten animal-faced individuals stood around the room, chatting. There was a man in a beaver mask standing next to the blackboard, a woman in a pig mask chatting with a man wearing a dog mask, a man in a raven mask silently seated, and many others.
They all wore variations of suits, dresses, and warlock robes. The Raven man was in a black, soft-cloth robe. It was very different from how Eve had last seen him. None of the clothing looked accidental, even where it was plain, and the masks kept the small gathering from settling into anything resembling an ordinary social event.
She didn't bother glancing down at herself to see if her own clothing had changed. Instead, she walked across the room and sat next to the Raven after pulling up a chair. Instead of speaking to him, she sat there completely silent as her eyes wandered the room only briefly. For a moment, she considered prying, but then decided against it. An anonymous meeting was anonymous, after all.
Over the next few minutes, four more animal-masked strangers entered, each time through one of the many different doors. Some arrivals immediately found familiar seats while others paused long enough to survey the room. No one exchanged real names. Whatever relationships existed among them were hidden behind animal faces and practiced habits.
The fourth man, wearing an elephant mask, came a few minutes later than everyone else. His clothing was neat and his pace unhurried, though the timing drew immediate attention from one of the seated men. The dog mask turned before Elephant had completely reached the circle.
“You were nearly late again, Mr. Elephant.” The dog-masked man spoke with a small chuckle. The demeanor of the circle of now-seated individuals suggested such a comment often recurred, to the amusement of some of the animals. A few shoulders shifted with quiet laughter.
“I arrived precisely on time, Mr. Dog. You are the one who arrived unnecessarily early.” The Elephant took a seat in the circle. The regal armchair was still empty. He seemed upset at the light jest, oddly so. The Elephant scanned the chair occupants and locked eyes with Eve for a moment.
She held eye contact with him for a moment, then seemed disinterested as she looked away and began musing to herself, only loud enough for the Raven beside her to hear her recite poetry.
“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said,
‘art sure no craven…’” Her voice trailed off as she became mildly distracted by the other animals that moved around.
Sisyphus sat back in his chair as he listened, trying to deduce whatever code Eve had just told him. But he could not make head or tail of why she had just recited unfamiliar poetry. It sounded like something Emperor Roselle would have written two hundred years ago. Nothing in Evelyn's posture suggested urgency or warning. He liked the poem, however.
“How lovely. I cannot continue the poem while we are in here. It would be in bad taste.” She smiled beneath her mask, leaning back in her chair while waiting for the meeting to commence or something else to happen. Raven's head turned slightly toward her before returning to the empty armchair. The surrounding conversations had begun fading on their own.
The door behind the regal armchair opened, and the meeting room went silent as individuals adjusted their posture. A man entered, walked around the armchair, and took a seat in it, his footsteps the only sound in the room. He wore a suit and an animal mask with the left half depicting a lion and the right half a snake. He wore a leather, wide-brimmed hat with a dozen different feathers stuck into a band that wrapped around it. They varied wildly in shape and size; the most recognizable feathers were from a great eagle and a peacock.
He sat with one ankle crossed over his other thigh. His elbow rested on the high arm of the chair so that his fist tucked against the side of his chin. He wore a dazzling, confident smile. Mr. Beaver remained near the blackboard, already positioned as if he knew exactly what would be required of him once the first transaction began. The rest of the gathering waited.
“You may begin.” He spoke with a patronizing tone, aware of the authority he had over the place and its current occupants. No one challenged it. The room remained quiet until one of the attendees chose to speak.
“Thank you, Mr. Chimera. I’m selling a small leather bag. Any seeds placed inside for a week will permanently enhance the durability, health, flavor, and beauty of the plants they become. The enhancement will last for two years. The price is 400 pounds.” There was a brief silence before the pig-masked woman spoke to the host and then to the circle. Her hands remained folded near the item as she waited for interest.
Those seated either considered the price carefully or outright dismissed it. A nod from a man in a frog mask signaled that he was the most interested, but he had not yet spoken. The woman sat there, her head tilting up as her eyes behind the mask glanced over whatever product might be displayed. Again, she grew bored, glancing between the patrons and showing much more interest in those who were present than in what was being sold or auctioned. Raven had been silent thus far, his body language suggesting he did not intend to speak at all.
The rest seemed much more attentive. Mr. Frog negotiated the price of the item down to 350 pounds, and it was agreed upon. With a nod from Mr. Chimera, they both stood and approached the blackboard. Mr. Beaver stood as they approached, unfurling a large scroll. He quickly wrote the details of the transaction and had them sign it using the name of their respective animal.
All three then took their seats again. More transactions followed, some failing and some succeeding. A bat-faced man wished to purchase the formula for Instigator to no avail; a 50-pound bounty was offered for the location of Mark Ellington; a fishman’s bladder was sold for a few hundred pounds by Mr. Clownfish; and Mr. Elephant attempted to buy the contact information of a psychiatrist for 200 pounds. When that failed, he offered to sell the main ingredient for the Psychiatrist potion for 1,200 pounds, which also failed.
Mr. Elephant did not seem surprised when the offers failed, as if he had made them before only to be declined. Each successful deal involved signing the scroll or stepping into one of the many side doors to hash out the terms before signing. Gradually, the rhythm of offers and negotiations slowed. The scratching of Mr. Beaver's pen became less frequent until the room settled into another lull.
The woman in the black cat mask straightened in her chair, then finally spoke. Her voice was oddly soothing as she took on a calmer demeanor.
“I am looking to hire a bodyguard.” She paused, glancing around the room. “Terms and payment negotiable.” Several masks turned in her direction. Mrs. Piggy and Mr. Bat both seemed interested but were hesitant with no price being given.
There were a few seconds of consideration or dismissal from the various figures in the room. They lost interest, however, when they saw Mr. Raven raise a hand. Mr. Elephant glanced toward him as well, his posture becoming subtly more attentive. The movement was small enough that someone simply watching for a buyer might have ignored it.
“Ms. Cat, I’d be willing to negotiate.” He played his part well, hiding that this deal was prearranged. Mr. Elephant glanced between the two of them and adjusted his posture confidently. He had confirmed something. Raven lowered his hand once the offer had been acknowledged.
With a nod from Mr. Chimera, Mr. Beaver rose from his seat, the large scroll tucked under one arm. He walked to the edge of the room to open a door, revealing a small private space with a table and three chairs. He stepped to the side, politely gesturing for them to enter. Somehow, the movement of Mr. Elephant confirmed something for her as well, and she barely suppressed a small laugh.
She smiled, then stood and looked to Mr. Raven, expecting him to offer his arm like a gentleman.
“Your arm, Mister Raven?” she whispered to him politely.
This woman… I was trying to avoid seeming familiar, he thought. Unless she is trying to do the opposite? A dangerous game she plays. His mask hid whatever expression followed, though a faint hesitation showed in the delay before he moved.
“This will cost you extra.” He extended his arm to her. After she accepted and they took a few steps, he whispered. He jested. Such an action could be considered ‘a friend,’ an option he had given in the deal that had yet to be signed.
“Of course… maybe a new coat for you as well?” she said, sounding almost affectionate. The last sentence was spoken in a manner that could only be heard by them as they both walked toward the open door. Mr. Beaver waited without reacting to the familiarity. The private room beyond remained empty except for its table and three chairs.
The trio entered the room, with Mr. Raven pulling the chair out for Mrs. Cat before taking his own seat. Mr. Beaver laid the scroll on the table, bending the paper in a way that prevented any previous contract from being seen. He was to copy down anything agreed upon. Sisyphus’ posture was open; it seemed to suggest that the facade need not continue and that the scribe could be told directly.
The woman sat down, getting comfortable in the chair, almost as a cat would, though in human fashion. She immediately began.
“We came up with the contract beforehand so that no time need be wasted. My terms are as follows… Firstly, actions that I perform… I ask that such decisions not be questioned unless they threaten the Raven’s own life. Secondly… who I work with or for is not to be questioned, nor are they to be spoken of outside the arrangement; if any of them command action, the Raven will not follow it. The Raven will serve me without betrayal, and in return I will agree to keep our secrets to ourselves unless consent to share said secrets is given. Living space, as well as amenities, will be provided to Mister Raven. I grant the Raven the right to state his opinions and decide on matters relating to combat. He will retain full autonomy in that regard as long as he fulfills his duty.” Mr. Beaver's pen moved steadily across the scroll as she spoke, occasionally slowing when the wording became more precise.
“Change ‘unless consent of said secret is given’ to ‘unless consent to share said secret is given.’” Mr. Raven agreed to the terms with a minor tweak. Sisyphus seemed intent on this point, then offered an example to clarify. Mr. Beaver paused long enough to amend the line before continuing.
“Knowledge of my combat abilities is to increase our survival, not to be sold.” He continued to speak, finalizing all edits he had to recommend. The correction earned no visible objection from the woman opposite him. His attention remained on the scribe until the changed wording had been recorded.
“We also require a clause for the division of battle spoils not directly a part of the objective of the job. Custom dictates an even split or one based on combat strength.” He left the option open to Eve, even though one implied a heavier reward for himself. Mr. Beaver lifted his pen and waited for the decision. The room was quiet enough that the faint scratching from the larger gathering outside could be heard through the door.
A small chuckle escaped her then she turned to look at the Raven.
“Even spoils. I have to make money as well, you know.” She casually agreed to that half of the terms. Evelyn seemed unbothered and entirely unfazed by his edit to her wording. Mr. Beaver finished writing down the information, then offered the scroll and pen for both recipients to sign. He also asked for a 5-pound note for the fee.
Afterward, the trio rejoined the main room, Mr. Raven walking arm in arm with Mrs. Cat to her seat. Several attendees were still speaking quietly among themselves, but the number of active transactions had noticeably fallen. The blackboard remained mostly unused except for the accumulating remnants of offers that had not found buyers. Mr. Chimera watched without appearing impatient.
After a couple more uninteresting, last-minute failed transactions, there was a long moment of silence. Mr. Beaver stood and, in chalk, listed all the failed transactions from the meeting onto the blackboard. When no one offered to accept those transactions, Mr. Chimera raised a hand. The small scrape of chalk stopped.
“I declare the transaction phase over. Mr. Beaver, if you would kindly.” Mr. Chimera remained seated while the scribe approached. Several attendees shifted in their chairs, their attention sharpening toward the scroll. Whatever casual atmosphere had survived the transactions disappeared.
Mr. Beaver walked to the regal armchair and knelt. He held the thick-paper scroll above his head. Mr. Chimera abandoned his relaxed posture and, with his right hand, began to sign the bottom of the scroll. He extended his left hand, palm up. With a gentle flash of multicolored light, a thick book appeared in his left hand.
The pages flipped open on their own until they settled on a page with the symbol of a sun. The words beneath it were unreadable from Eve’s angle. Warm light from the page touched the lower half of Chimera's mask and the fingers supporting the book. No one else moved while the ritual proceeded.
“Authenticate.” Mr. Chimera spoke in Ancient Hermes. There was a palpable tension in the room for a moment. Then the ink on the scroll and in the book glowed with a warm, holy light. There was a collective sigh of relief as Chimera nodded.
Oddly, the Sun symbol in the book, with the text beneath it, had disappeared, leaving only a blank page. The ink of the scroll remained, however. Mr. Beaver lowered the document only after the light had completely faded. The book remained open in Chimera's hand for another moment.
“All transactions today have been notarized, and the descriptions of all items sold have been true.” Mr. Chimera looked among all the members of the meeting, offering a smile to the new mask, Mrs. Cat. The tension that had briefly gathered around the room eased. Several members were already preparing to leave.
“You all may leave, through any door you’d like.” He resumed his patronizing posture in his armchair, like a king upon a throne. Mr. Beaver rose beside him with the scroll once again gathered beneath one arm. Conversations restarted almost immediately around the circle.
The woman nodded politely to Mr. Chimera in a gesture of thanks for allowing her presence, then turned, waiting for Mister Raven.
“That was much easier and much more delightful than I originally thought.”
“Mr. Chimera’s meetings are quite different from the average. Most take place in rather mundane locations, though all are civilized.” Mr. Raven offered an arm. Around them, several masked figures had already begun choosing doors while others remained to finish private conversations. The ceiling continued shining like a false night sky above them.
“I see. I will have to keep that in mind for the future.” She seemed pleased even behind the mask. “Do you think we'll be coming back here?”
There were a few conversations among the other members as individuals slowly filtered out of the room. There seemed to be no rush as Mr. Chimera quietly watched with Mr. Beaver at his side. Mr. Raven shook his head. One of the distant doors opened onto the same gentle distortion of color through which Evelyn had entered.
“It may be a week or more until the next meeting, which will be after our current contract ends. I have shared with you how to arrive, however, so we may both attend in the future.” His answer remained practical, though nothing in his tone suggested he objected to returning. They continued toward one of the available doors together. Their pace remained slow enough that several other attendees left before them.
“Hm, I see. Are you happy with our agreement, Mister Raven?”
“Yes, I am. Are you happy with it, Ms. Cat?” He turned the black beak of his mask slightly toward her as he answered. Their signed agreement was already somewhere behind them with Mr. Beaver's records, its terms notarized along with every other successful transaction.
“Quite.” It almost sounded like she purred the word, the woman obviously finding open enjoyment in the little ball.
“Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’”
She finished the poem as they approached the door. Sisyphus took a step in front of Eve, without disengaging his arm from hers, to open the door. It opened to a view of gentle, multicolored light with no visible floor. The strange threshold gave no indication of what waited beyond it.
He nodded at her to signal that they would step into it together. However, his head was tilted, a question forming on his lips beneath the raven mask.
“A beautiful poem. I’ve never heard anything like it. Was it one of Roselle’s?” Sisyphus asked, having no idea of the significance of the question he had just posed. The surrounding room had nearly emptied behind them. Mr. Chimera remained seated in the distance.
“That, my friend, is a secret. I shall share the whole poem with you eventually. That was only a small fraction of it and the stanza that felt most right for the situation.” She smiled at him, answering in a horrifically professional manner. She motioned with her head to him, then they stepped through the door.