security_consultant

Anisa

John asserted the Royal Bank of Brune held a man for whom it was prudent to meet. She asserted she was busy. He asserted it was important, and Joan could attest to its importance. She stated she barely knew Joan, and asked for more information. He claimed it’d be best if she got the information from the man himself. She was unsatisfied.

But, she trusted him, so he handed her a key.

She, Bourrienne and John entered the bank. It was very busy. It was very annoying how the average riffraff thought themselves privileged enough to understand the implications of compound interest and credit. It was very fortunate that Felkner was not average anymore. She’d made sure it wasn’t Blisbane.

The walls were stone. The building was very large, and there were many tellers, so despite the quantity of people, it wasn’t physically claustrophobic. The floor was white marble, the same material as her temporary office. It was Calhoun’s work; he had good aesthetic tastes.

There was a wall of tellers behind tills with bars. Doors were to the sides. John shoved his way to the front of a line.

“Don’t do that,” said Anisa. But he did it, and he gestured from the teller back to Anisa, and the teller looked back at her absurdly straight hair and her naturally sullen face, and Anisa forced a smile.

The teller flicked his hand back and forth, and Anisa and Bourrienne approached.

“Anisa! So nice to see you!”

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s resolve this quickly, to not delay your patrons further.”

“Aw, they can wait. You have an appointment with our security consultant, yes?”

Anisa looked to John, unimpressed. “Yes,” said John.

“Excellent! Follow me.” He unlocked the door, letting only Anisa through, and locked it behind her.

“Am I to assume they requested only my presence?”

She didn’t get an answer, as the teller had already walked down a hallway.

She spoke through the bars, “If I’m not back in 20 minutes,” she looked at her wristwatch, “John set me up to die.” She gestured to John, and ensured Bourrienne and some bank patrons saw. She floated behind the teller.

Though of course, she had far more contingencies in place in the case of her death, and John knew it.

“‘Security consultant’,” repeated Anisa. “Exactly what does that entail.”

“Oh, you know,” said the teller. “Showing how people could break in. What kind of magic the stone isn’t resistant to. I expect he wants to extend his services to the city as a whole. There’s a particularly pernicious form of magic which he’s an expert in. Completely blew our current security setup away.”

“I assume he was sufficiently credentialed, that you know he isn’t simply trying to rob from you.”

“Heh.” The teller stopped walking, and dipped their head. “He’s a long time customer. Key?” Anisa handed the key. The teller unlocked a door.

It was a large room, walls completely marble. There was a single chest in the center. Wooden lid, lined with metal. The lid was closed, but unlatched and unlocked. She stood in the doorway, staring at it.

“How long a time?” she said. She didn’t get a reply, and when she looked at the teller, he smiled. “How many know about this? What do you expect this will lead to?”

“I don’t know,” said the teller, “I just work here. The depository door opens from the inside, please close when you enter. I’ll be down the hall, holler if you need anything.” And he walked away.

She dragged her feet to the chest and threw it open. It was filled with clothes.

She sighed. A variety of styles. A black suit with a green ascot. Grey rags. A black mask. Green rags. A fancy, red velvet suit and matching pants. A dark purple wizard hat. Half were folded, half were crumpled and thrown in.

She pulled them all out and was greeted with the bottom of the chest. Again, she sighed. She reached her hands in, found the seam, removed the false bottom, and was greeted with a trapdoor.

She shoved the chest’s side. It wobbled, free from the ground. There was no hole on the floor below.

She opened the trapdoor and was greeted with a ladder. The greetings were unnecessary, it was all predictable after she’d seen the chest.

“I don’t suppose you’ll crawl out of there yourself?” she said, and got no response. “If I die, I guarantee, my men will find what you care about, and destroy it.” Why was she scared? She could just walk away.

There was a pause, and there was a laugh, a laugh which lasted far too long. “Well I certainly don’t want that,” said Quincy. “If you’d rather, I can come out and meet you, but I have a whole setup here. A table and chairs. Tea. You were Green Carmella, right? Or was it Viscount Black? I remember Samantha saying something about that…”

Anisa didn’t respond.

“The same goes for you,” he said from the chest. “You kill me, I guarantee, what you care about will be destroyed.”

Utterly meaningless bluff. Just as vapid as ever.

“The gravity gets weird around the border,” said Quincy. “The border is down from both of our perspectives. For both of us, gravity gradually lowers as you enter, hits zero at the border proper, and slowly flips as you exit.”

“I don’t care,” said Anisa. “You have 15 minutes.” She did care, actually. Gravity was a rather rich subject.

She cared? She didn’t care.

“You should care, it means I’ll need to rotate the tea as I’m carrying it out, and I’ll probably spill. The kettles are full, you see, and the lids aren’t completely tight.”

“Multiple kettles?”

“If you pick Viscount or Green, it’ll only be one.”

“14 minutes.”

“I’m bringing the Green. Two cups incoming, catch.” Anisa backed up. 2 cups flew out of the hole, rested in the air, and began falling back down. Anisa caught them and placed them on the ground.

A man slowly cended the ladder, upside down, 1 hand fully on, the other a thumb holding a lid on a teapot, a pinky on the ladder. At the border, at the top of the ladder, he slowly rotated himself, so he was now climbing up, rightside up. He climbed out. Anisa stared at her watch.

He wore a black suit, a red cape, and another dark purple wizard hat.

He poured tea in both cups, placed the kettle on the ground, and picked them up. He offered one to Anisa. “Or I can drink from both first, if you think they’re poisoned.”

“I didn’t ask for tea.”

“And yet you receive it all the same.” She relented and grabbed one.

“I had a slateboard,” said Quincy, “but it should be simple enough to explain without one.”

“Any opinion you hold is forfeit after your death.”

“That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it.”

“I mean it. I don’t care what you say. You’ve proven yourself incapable of responsibility”

“Ha!” he sipped, and twirled to the other side of the chest. He kicked the lid closed, and placed a foot on it. “I thought you’d say that. But I digress, Sorry. I have what, thirteen minutes?”

“At most.”

“Okay, you’re more used to these than I am, do I open with the blackmail, or the plan.”

More empty threats. “You open with getting me to care, which is impossible.”

“Right. You don’t want Samantha dead. I don’t want Samantha dead. You don’t want to step on Agarma’s eggshells.”

“I want Samantha dead.” Yes. It made sense. Samantha emboldened a group who thought their sovereignty overruled hers. She wasted time and resources with inane experiments. She never thought things through. She lied that she had noble motives, when it was all to feed her ego.

Quincy studied her face. She stared into his eyes, blankly.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” said Anisa. “You should admit to yourself you don’t care about her, either. If you did, you’d still be alive. She was absolutely torn up when you left. Frankly, you should kill yourself for real. It’d make things a lot simpler.”

“‘I should kill myself’. Yes.” He bit his tongue. “But, let me ask, would you prefer me as crown prince, or Agarma?”

“Agarma, no question.”

Quincy sipped again. His foot was still on the chest. “Good. Me too. So, you listen to my plan, and maybe you help me, or suddenly Quincy is alive again, and dad has to choose between me and Agarma. And we know he’ll go with me.” Incoherent.

“Or, I kill you before you leave the room.”

He looked her up and down. “Yeah, okay.” He brought his foot off the chest, bent down, and poured himself more tea. “Anyways. I spent all night coming up with all these complicated plans, trying to model political fallout and blah blah blah, all unnecessary. The plan is really simple. I—”

“Is this just to stroke your ego? To save the one person who makes you think you’re not completely worthless?”

He paused. He looked her in the eyes. He looked away. He grimaced.

“I should hope not.” He looked to the ground. “I should hope not.”

Anisa sniffed the tea. She sipped. She did not drop dead.

“She has a nice smile, doesn’t she,” said Quincy.

“You don’t remember that,” said Anisa. “Unless she smiled when you jumped.”

His eyes bore the ground. Then, he laughed. He laughed hard, harder. “Do I need to do the caring for both of us?”

“This has been a complete waste of time,” said Anisa, looking at her watch.

“The plan is, I go with you to Northpoint. I go 4D. I’ve commissioned a wand from Hendrik, I need someone to use it in the same room as Samantha. That’ll tell me where to flip, I’ll grab her and run away. Destroy the wand afterwards, and they won’t know you’re connected.”

“Stop pretending you have anything to live for.”

He sighed. “Once you stop pretending you don’t care.”

She placed her uni-sipped tea on the ground, opened the door and walked out.

She planned to leave for Northpoint the next day. John had somehow lost his clothing trunk, and had had it replaced.

“You lost your clothing trunk.” she said.

“Yes.” he said.

“I trust you.” she said.

“Thank you.” he said.