Satisfied the coins have been ratified with an authentic treasurer’s glyph, Trask registers the commission as approved. “I’ll contact you again on the dawn of the Feast.” Gold clinks as she sets it on the table between them.
Wrapping it within a handkerchief, she places it into her satchel and removes a pouch. “Payment shall be upheld for a genuine attempt.” Finishing her tea, Voss plucks her earring out from the bottom of the cup. And if the artefact is found, the lore suggests it cannot be removed from the crypt.” “The Shadow Palace itself is but a rumour. “This commission may be impossible to fulfill,” Trask cautions her. “There are those who say this artefact does not exist.” The eyes are closed as if in sleep, and the figure’s brow bears the image of a winged lion with a man’s face. The arms are crossed one hand holds a sceptre, and in the other is a stick. It depicts a figurine, with the likeness of a standing sarcophagus engraved inscriptions cover the bulk of the body. The location is the Shadow Palace, hidden within Luxor Temple.” She slides the paper across the desk. “The job must be completed before the dawn of the Beautiful Feast. Voss sets down her cup and pulls a sheet of paper from her satchel. “Let us discuss when, where, and the objective.” Trask is familiar with the term, and indeed the implicated name left unspoken. Submitted with utmost discretion, of course.”Īfter a few moments of consideration, she nods. “We need a name, or alias,” Trask informs her. “He would prefer to remain anonymous in this.” “Regarding your associate,” he says, a leading statement. He retrieves the appropriate form for this manner of guild contract. “It will require an unconventional approach. Trask is far too experienced to show his astonishment at the generous sum – he merely raises an eyebrow. “Payment will be five hundred upfront, with a further five thousand upon resolution.”
“Person or artefact?”įrom one in Voss’s profession, this term is selective. Given the nature of the commission, I thought it best to relay the request myself.” “An associate of mine has need of your services. “What brings the proprietor of the casbah in Cairo to the mercenaries guild in Luxor?” “Good evening, Matron Voss.” Trask samples some tea himself – on this occasion, the brew hasn’t been poisoned. She’s been forewarned by someone familiar with the ancient lore. The stone will nullify any traces of poison within the liquid – an elegant precaution. The woman redeems herself to some extent when she removes one of her earrings, set with a piece of emerald, and drops it into the teacup she’s been presented with.
Trask sighs, setting his fountain pen to one side. The quiet tick-tick-tick-tick of the clock on his desk is interrupted by the bell announcing the arrival of a client. Accurate records are essential, especially when one controls the city’s guild of mercenaries. Guild Master Trask prefers to spend his time ensuring all the paperwork is in order. “This is the fable of The Dog, The Wolf, and The Sheep.”Įveryone honours the ambience of the Opet Festival in their own way. Irene leans back in the chair, folding her hands together. “I’m ready!” Ada whispers loudly once she’s resettled. “But just the one.” She pauses, waiting for the rustling of sheets being rearranged to subside. “I suppose so, if Buttons is insisting.” From the sound of it, Ada’s beloved cat is already comfortably asleep, curled up on the bed beside the girl. “Just one more fable, Miss Irene?” Ada pleads.
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