1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Tomas wrote:"On your break, Bertram?" Tomas asks innocently enough, hoping one of the waterskins they brought was still full.
“For me to be on break makes the assumption that this is a job I can take a break from.” Bertram observed amiably. The lanky Renier sighed, then rolled off the branch to land nimbly on his feet. “Unfortunately, while Uncle Sebastian was long on subtle threats and snide remarks, he didn't actually mention paying us for this little outing.”
“That's because you're lazy, brother dearest, and not taking the chance to turn a profit.” Bertriz said, bidding the wart-covered man a fond farewell and examining the payment she had earned. It was a round stone about two inches across, with a hole in the middle, the whole thing polished to a satiny smoothness. “Brilliant, but lazy.”
“To think, if I applied myself, I could have all the rocks I ever wanted.” Bertram grinned. “I weep at what I'm missing, sister beloved.”
“You're making me reconsider the brilliant part.” Bertriz said absently, still examining the little round stone.
Lia wrote:"Please be careful of your acquisitions until I can have a fresh look at them; this place is dangerous, and someone might have decided to stick you with a cursed item so as to free themselves. Now. Where are Melanchthon and the others?"
“Sure thing.” Cerise said agreeably. “I read the first few pages of the book though, is that alright? Oh, Bertie, where did you say Dr. Melanchthon went with M. de Castaigne and Katja?”
“To the slaver Dior.” Bertriz said casually, pocketing the little rock and stretching, linking her long arms above her head. “They should be back soon enough.”
1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Inky's Emporium, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Nerit wrote:"If that were the case, Professor, where has Winter gone? And will she come back when there is no usurper left? Could reincarnation occur under the circumstances of violent death as well as the supposed natural cycle?" She finished by looking back to Inkeri with a tiny nod.
"She should have come back already!" Inkeri cried, holding her arms behind her back and looking as helpless as she could be. "Even before, when the Maiden of Spring was killed, and the victor took her place, the spirit of Dementlieu was maintained. There was no destruction like the night that the Lady of Winter died. But now, nothing has happened as it should have! The Mother has not aged to become the Lady of Winter, the Maiden has not matured to become the Mother of Summer. The spirit of Dementlieu has remained broken, without anything to fix it, and now there is this -- this replacement!"
Petrik sniffed, unimpressed. "Pacts can be broken. Even a fey lord can die." She pursed her lips, considering her explanation. "The fey are spirits of narrative. They represent things, either natural or societal. For all of their power, they are bound by mortal consciousness and belief. If a fey cannot adapt itself to the beliefs of the land it lives in, it will weaken and die."
She pressed the iron ring on her left hand to the corner of her mouth, thinking things over. "When a fey dies, it returns to the concept that spawned it. If this concept remains strong, it will spawn new fey. From what has been said here, the Lady of Winter has been killed. And what she represented has
also been killed. That is what caused the chaos that night, and the strange behavior after that night. There can be no replacement until whatever is missing from Dementlieu has been replaced." She gave a sharp look at Celeste. "This boy is now reversing the process. He will replace the Lady of Death. And he will replace whatever she represented."
"He mustn't!" Inky protested.
"Whatever
he represents seems objectionable to some of the fey," Professor Petrik said, impervious. She seemed to take this fact as an endorsement for his new position.
Agale wrote:"I see. Then might you direct us to the current Lady of Winter or Mother of Summer that we might consult?"
"Oh dear... oh no... not without their permission," Inkeri replied, aghast and very apologetic. "Even in the best of times we would rarely deal with the triarchs, no more than a peasant would a king. And now... oh dear... They are very angry and worried, with the Lady of Winter dead. They could be next. They trust no one. No, I -- I mustn't."
1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Dior's Stand, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Mercator wrote:"That is, if I may say so, a strikingly optimistic assessment of your prospective return on such a sale. It is my understanding that in the slave pits of Lekar only a person of truly extraordinary talents could possibly fetch the price you mention; two hundred pieces of gold, or even one hundred and fifty, would be regarded as a more ordinary price, which would make a sale at auction under the present circumstances difficult. If you would accept a note drawn on my bank in Levkarest, I could possibly pay...one hundred nightshades...and, of course, a full refund of your deposit."
“With all due respect, Dr. Melanchthon, I
only work with the most extraordinary talents.” Dior said with a sudden grin. He knelt beside Perrine and ruffled her hair casually, causing the girl to cringe. The golden-haired man continued. “Little Perrine here doesn't look like much, but she's
very good at what she does. And what she does, Doctor, is steal.”
“Perrine is the precocious girl who was one of the first teams which looted the Old Opera House. Brave slip of a thing, isn't she?” Dior said with a fond smile towards Perine, who looked at him in surprise. “No mean fixtures for her. She went straight for director's offices, helped herself to the paintings there.”
“Perrine is the girl who stole the Duc d'Eifort's wine. Quite a collection, six bottles, some of them over a century old.” The golden-haired man continued, even as Perrine grew pale. “
And she's the girl who picked the pocket of the Carlyle Trading Company's Factor in Port-a-Lucine. That took skill, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The late Mr. Watson was no one's fool.”
“Why, the last time Perrine tried her trickery, she had the gendarme prowling through the whole Quartier Ouvrier. In packs of ten, mind you, but still, they came.” M. Dior finished, ignoring Perrine's trembling face. He was very well informed, it seemed. The slaver ran a finger along Perrine's cheek. “So you see... Perrine
is an extraordinary talent. One of the best thieves in Dementlieu, I wager.”
Nicolas wrote:"And one it would certainly behove you to consider it M.Dior. Damaged goods with a short shelf life rarely fetch a premium regardless of the nature of the market" Inwardly Nicolas cringed at the coldness of his words, but let nothing show, "and let us assure you Monsieur, without proper care and convalescence, we are looking at a particularly short shelf life in this case."
“A point, though I hope Perrine's condition isn't so dire as that. Please, I'm no monster. I intend to take the very best of care for Perrine until tomorrow, after which point... well, her guardian would see her as an investment of the very best kind. Never fear, Doctor Melanchthon, M'sieur, Perrine will be in good hands.” Dior paused for a moment, then added. “Certain of her future patrons may not even see her ill health as being of much relevance, though admittedly only a small portion.”
“Still... waiting a day in her condition, even if anything else is impractical.” Dior mused. “Perhaps for thirteen-fifty solars, I could be persuaded to send her with you.”