A Private Audience

Leon found the others where he had left them, several doors down from the tavern.

Miuki saw him first.

Her eyes moved over him once, quick and clinical, checking for blood, torn clothing, anything that suggested the conversation had gone badly.

Leon decided not to volunteer all the details.

Sandore stepped away from the wall. “Well?”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck. “I found her, or rather - she found us. She’s inside the tavern I just left. She'll talk to you.”

Miuki's gaze sharpened.

“To him?” she asked.

“Only him.” Leon pointed at Sandore. “And she was very clear about the only part. Nobody else goes near the place. Not you, not Kame, not me. We stay a few doors down so she doesn't think we're setting up some trick to grab her.”

Sandore looked toward the tavern.

Leon caught the calculation beginning behind his eyes and cut in before the captain could turn it into a plan.

“I need you to understand something first.”

That got Sandore's attention.

“Pixal is eccentric,” Leon said. “And dangerous.”

He paused.

“Deadly, even.”

Kameutsu's eyes widened a bit.

Even Miuki could not fully suppress her surprise, raising an eyebrow.

Sandore simply asked, “Do you believe she has useful information?”

Leon nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

Not because Pixal had confessed anything useful.

Because Leon had watched her.

“She already knew something was going on when I brought up the attacks. And when I mentioned the recovered evidence, she stopped playing around for about half a second.”

That was not quite true.

She had never stopped playing around.

But the game had changed.

“She was interested in the evidence,” Leon continued. “Especially the ampoule you mentioned. I think she knows something.”

Sandore looked again toward the tavern.

Leon sighed.

“I wouldn't send most soldiers in there.”

Miuki folded her arms.

“That is not reassuring.”

“It isn't supposed to be.”

Leon pointed at Sandore.

“But him? Maybe.”

Sandore raised an eyebrow.

Leon shrugged.

“You've spent the last two hours wandering around the Lanterns without threatening anybody. No warrants. No commands. No arresting people because they wouldn't answer. You paid me instead of telling me I belonged to your mission because you outranked me. These are the sorts of things she'll have noticed.”

Sandore seemed uncertain whether he had just been complimented.

Leon continued.

“Take the same approach with her. Talk. Don't threaten her. Don't order her around. Don't try to arrest her. If she tells you to do something harmless, do it.”

Miuki stepped forward.

“Captain, I strongly recommend against this.”

Her tone was professional.

The force behind it was not.

Sandore looked to her.

“She demanded that you enter alone, without support, into a place she controls,” Miuki continued. “Leon has just described her as deadly. We do not know her capabilities, her allies, or how many exits the building has.”

Leon considered mentioning the knives.

He did not.

Sandore turned back to him.

“You really believe she has information?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe she'll talk if I go in alone?”

Leon hesitated only a moment.

“Yes.”

That was enough.

Sandore faced Miuki.

“It will be fine, Lieutenant. I am not going in there to fight.”

Miuki's jaw tightened.

“If I feel threatened, even a little, I'm blowing the doors off the place and running for you all.” He gestured toward the road. “I can cede all ground here. We're not trying to conquer the tavern.”

For several seconds Miuki said nothing.

Sandore waited.

Leon thought this was perhaps the hardest part of the entire plan.

Finally Miuki gave one restrained nod.

“I object to the arrangement.”

“Noted.”

Miuki stepped back.

She did not look satisfied.

Leon doubted satisfaction had ever been one of the possible outcomes.

Sandore adjusted his coat, glanced once toward the others, and walked toward the tavern alone.

• • •

The tavern had been brighter when Leon entered it.

Sandore knew that immediately.

The door opened into dimness.

Every candle had been extinguished. The lamps were dark. Late-afternoon sunlight pushed weakly through two dirty windows near the entrance, turning the common room into overlapping strips of gray and amber.

Tables existed mostly as silhouettes.

The back of the room disappeared into shadow.

Sandore remained at the threshold for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust.

A young woman's voice came from somewhere inside, ahead of him.

“Weapon on the table by the door.”

No greeting.

No introduction.

Sandore looked down.

A narrow side table stood just inside the entrance.

He removed his wand and placed it on the table without speaking.

Then stepped into the room.

One pace.

Two.

Three.

He saw no one.

Nothing moved.

Sandore listened.

Wood settling.

A muffled cart outside.

Voices from farther down the street.

No footsteps behind him.

Then a voice said, close enough to his ear to feel intimate:

“Abracadabra.”

Sandore reflexively flinched away and turned.

Pixal stood at the door.

His wand was in her hand.

She pointed it toward him with a theatrical flourish as if casting a spell. Nothing happened.

Her smile widened.

Sandore stared at her.

She was young.

That was his first coherent thought as he recovered from his surprise.

Far younger than Leon's warnings would have ever suggested she’d be.

Pink hair caught the thin window light. Pale wings folded close behind her. Her short stature and thin frame, coupled with a ruffled dress in blacks and pinks gave her a doll-like air. Her expression was bright, amused, and almost aggressively harmless.

None of that matched the fact that a seasoned adventurer like Leon Aster had treated her like she needed a warning label.

Sandore's mind rejected the picture.

The girl did not add up.

Pixal lowered the wand, laughing.

“You should have seen your face.”

Sandore recovered his posture.

“You asked me to come alone.”

“And you did.”

“You asked me to leave my weapon.”

“And you did that too.”

She inspected the wand as though judging a piece of jewelry.

“Very obedient.”

Sandore ignored the remark.

That seemed to entertain her more.

He reached carefully with his senses.

Not outwardly. Not enough to cast.

Just enough to feel for the shape of magic.

Arcane residue.

Illusion.

Disguise.

Some glamour hiding an older face beneath the one in front of him.

Nothing.

No false shell.

No transformation.

No spell giving an assassin the mask of a seventeen-year-old girl.

Pixal was exactly what she appeared to be.

Sandore found that more troubling.

He gave no sign of it, or at least he thought he hadn’t.

Pixal tilted her head quizzically.

“Checking something?”

“No.”

Her smile said she did not believe him.

“Liar.”

She walked past him into the dim room, close enough that her wing gently brushed against his arm, carrying his wand with her as she went.

Sandore followed.

There were no other patrons and no one stood behind the bar.

That did not reassure him either.

Pixal dropped into a chair at one of the tables and placed Sandore's wand across her knees.

He remained standing.

She looked up at him.

“Captain Sandore Greycastle.”

“Pixal.”

Her expression brightened.

“Oh, good. Leon remembered my name.”

“He seemed unlikely to forget it.”

“That is such a sweet thing to say. I guess I really can leave an impression.”

The tone changed at once—lightly flirtatious, deliberately exaggerated.

“And you really are more handsome up close.”

Sandore decided that sentence had not been spoken.

Pixal continued as though his silence were encouragement.

“Very proper. Very polished. Excellent posture. Terrible family.”

Sandore finally responded.

“You know my family?”

“I know enough.”

Mocking now.

“Old name. Old house, full of portraits of serious men looking disappointed. Fantastic wealth that no one living earned. Attended day and night by servants paid just enough that they don’t starve and can attend to your desires again tomorrow.”

Sandore refused to take the bait. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.

“I came to discuss the attacks.”

The teasing faded by only a fraction.

“Of course you did.”

“Leon believes you know something.”

“Leon believes lots of things.”

“He believes this strongly enough that he recommended I come here alone.”

That seemed to amuse her.

“Poor Leon.”

Sandore let the silence sit.

Pixal watched him through it.

Then her curiosity won.

“Yes,” she said. “I know about the attacks.”

Sandore leaned forward slightly.

“What do you know?”

“That I think the Remnant is involved.”

His expression remained controlled.

“Why?”

Pixal smiled.

“That's an expensive question.”

“I can pay for useful information.”

“I assumed so.”

“What is your price?”

“Lots.”

Sandore waited for clarification.

None came.

Pixal smiled more sweetly.

He tried again.

“If you know who is responsible, or how the attacks are being caused, say what that information costs.”

“Oh, I might be able to tell you more than that.”

“Might?”

“I need to see what you found.”

Sandore's eyes narrowed.

“The evidence?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“The reports?”

“Maybe.”

“The cage fragments?”

“Sure.”

“The ampoule?”

Pixal's expression sharpened.

There.

Not fear.

Not surprise.

Recognition of importance.

“Definitely.”

“You know what it is?”

“I know what it might be.”

“What?”

Her smile remained.

Her voice changed.

For the first time, there was nothing playful in it.

“Imperial research.”

The words landed differently than everything else she had said.

No flirtation.

No mockery.

No game.

Sandore noticed.

Pixal leaned forward.

“Is it intact?”

“Yes.”

The change in her was immediate but small.

Interest became focus.

“How intact?”

“Fully.”

Pixal looked away for half a heartbeat.

Sandore could almost see the calculation.

When she looked back, the smile had returned.

“So.”

“So?”

“I need to see it.”

Sandore folded his hands.

“I can arrange that.”

“Wonderful.”

“You can come with me now.”

Pixal laughed.

“No.”

“The evidence is secure.”

“I'm sure it is.”

“You said you need to examine it.”

“I do.”

“Then come examine it.”

Pixal rested her chin on one hand.

“At the military headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Sandore had expected resistance.

The speed of the answer still irritated him.

“I can guarantee your safety.”

That produced a look of delighted disbelief.

“Oh, can you?”

“Yes.”

Pixal leaned back.

“That's adorable.”

Sandore held his expression still.

“You would be entering voluntarily and leaving voluntarily.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“No one would detain you.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m being sincere.”

“That makes it much funnier.”

Sandore inhaled once through his nose.

Pixal's eyes sparkled.

“Captain, walking into a military office because a handsome officer promises I won't be arrested is exactly the sort of decision that gets people arrested.”

“I have given you no reason to believe I intend to arrest you.”

“Neither had Leon until he brought three uniforms looking for me.”

“That was not an arrest attempt.”

“I know.”

“Then—”

“That doesn't mean this isn’t.”

Sandore stopped.

Pixal watched him.

The logic was infuriatingly difficult to attack because it was not, strictly speaking, illogical.

He changed approach.

“Then name a location where you will examine it.”

Pixal considered.

“Outside the city.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“We’re leaving at first light.”

“Then I'll meet you after you leave.”

“Where?”

“You'll see me.”

Sandore disliked that answer immediately.

Pixal seemed pleased by this.

“You bring the evidence,” she continued. “All of it.”

“And your price?”

“Funds.”

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“We are going to need a number eventually.”

“A big one,” she agreed.

Sandore stared at her.

Pixal stared back.

Then she smiled again, the mock flirtation returning.

“You know, inviting me back to your place on our first date was very forward of you. Makes a girl blush.”

Sandore ignored that too.

“Tomorrow. Outside the city. You see the evidence. If you can provide useful information, you are paid, after that you are free to leave.”

Pixal's smile thinned.

“I am always free to leave.”

Sandore understood, immediately, that he had stepped on something.

He corrected course.

“No one from my detachment will attempt to prevent you from leaving at any time you wish - deal or no deal.”

The tension vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Better.”

Sandore stood.

Pixal looked disappointed.

“Leaving already?”

“We have an agreement.”

“We do.”

“I have preparations to make.”

“You have people to order around.”

“Yes.”

“That’s so cute. You, giving orders in your little captain hat.”

Sandore decided not to respond.

He extended one hand.

“My wand.”

Pixal looked down at it as though noticing it for the first time.

“Oh, this?”

“Yes.”

She held it up.

For one moment Sandore wondered whether she was going to make him bargain for it.

Instead she tossed it lightly across the table.

He caught it.

Pixal smiled.

“See you tomorrow, O Captain, my Captain.”

Sandore returned the wand to its place.

As he approached the door he stopped and looked back.

The tavern remained shadowed.

Pixal sat alone in the dimness, watching him, an amused smile still playing at her lips.

The late sun through the dirty windows caught the pale edges of her wings and the pink of her hair.

Young. Younger than him.

Playful.

Smart.

Yet somehow dangerous enough that even someone like Leon had insisted Sandore treat every word carefully.

Interested enough in Imperial military research that her entire voice had changed when she spoke of it.

None of it fit together.

Sandore suspected that was partially deliberate, but this girl still made no sense.

He opened the door.

Outside, several doors down, Miuki was already watching.

Sandore stepped into the street and lifted one hand to show that everything was fine.

Only then did her shoulders loosen.

Behind him, inside the dark tavern, Pixal started working on her plan for the next day. She went back behind the bar and helped herself to a pint. The bartender would be unconscious in the back room for a while, after all. She sipped her ale and sighed. “This had better be worth it.”