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I sat at my usual table in the Tavern of Metal, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the roof. San-Ten is always discrete, and knows exactly what I require - unlike San-To over at the Tavern of Wood. That woman couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it (if you don't believe me, wait a week and find out). Anyway, I was sipping my second cup of tea when my contact walked in the door, and I nodded her to a seat as I poured her a cup. "Good evening" I said, leaning back in my chair. "Please, have some tea." She smiled gratefully as she brushed the rain from her clothes and took the seat across from me. "You must be Ashalia. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person." She said, lifting her cup to blow across the surface of the hot liquid. "Please," I smiled warmly, "my friends call me Ash or Asha. How was your journey?" (Never underestimate the power of smalltalk to make an agent feel like one of the family. They do serve so much better when they feel like they matter). We talked about various about nonsense for a good half hour until the food came before getting down to business, and then I grilled her on her interactions with various merchant houses. For the most part, she knew what I was looking for and the information was good and reliable. By the time the meal was over, I'd squeezed her dry. I paid the bill and wished her well, then headed for home, scanning the streets in my peripheral while making plans in the back of my mind. Her information this time was wrong. Dead wrong. I won't bore you with the details. It should suffice to say that it resulted in a pretty substantial loss of assets to avoid exposure. Substantial enough that I suspected she may have been turned, and our next meeting went shall we say, much differently: Once again, I was seated at San-Ten's table, this time with a client who I've worked with more than a few times. He was detailing a job, but the more he said, the more I could smell a trap. I was starting to think I hadn't avoided exposure after all - either that, or my father was getting close enough to my trail to be putting out targeted feelers. Whoever was pulling my client's puppet strings got it wrong though. Very wrong. "Look, [redacted]." I said, noticing my agent walk in out of the corner of my eye. (I knew she could hear me, but she would wait for my signal to approach). I didn't lower my voice. "You know full well I don't get my hands dirty. I've told you before I won't do wet work, and this sounds entirely too neat and tidy to be trusted. I have a suspicion that if I take this job myself, I'll be rewarded with a good look at the underside of a rose bush." Then looking over at my agent, I appeared to notice her for the first time. No smiles this time, my face was utterly blank as I gestured for her to take a seat. She sat nervously on the edge of the chair and kept glancing at a table in the corner where a pair of well-dressed gentlemen had been sitting and sipping wine all evening. Interesting. "Good evening, Asha!" she said with a smile that tried and failed to meet her eyes, "How have you been?" "The name's Ashalia." I said, coolly. "Still alive for a while yet. I'm glad you're here, I think I've got just the job for you." Her face fell as I nodded in the direction of my client, then drained completely of color. Quite satisfying. ::Continued... | |