Nathan of the FoS wrote:
Wolfsbane looks slightly put out by Crow's cloak-and-dagger theatrics, but when he sees the characters written on the page, his expression changes. "Direct-er, Exalted Brother Roeccha," he says, and the darkling (now near the end of the corridor) turns. "Yes, Brother Wolfsbane?" he says, slightly impatient.
The bard's mild surprise, at Wolfsbane's hasty decision to pass the buck to his superior, passes onto his features, albeit nudged slightly in transit, to read as nervous dismay. Were this gathering's attendees worthier men, Crow'd have tossed in a slight undertone of
betrayal, as well -- he had, after all, begged the archivist's discretion in this matter -- but such would be taken for weakness by an audience of vipers.
"Ah...Brother Crow has some information that pertains to the archival material we were discussing a few days ago. Brother Crow, would you care to repeat to Brother Roeccha how you obtained this information, and...er...how you came to recognize its significance?"
As Wolfsbane obsequiously rats out the bard's disclosure to the Director, the VRS spy takes his
own turn at looking nonplussed, then pensive, and lastly -- at the clerkish Brother's final words -- as if he's just realized something very important. The last, he lets flash across his features for less than a heartbeat, then carefully blanks his expression: an unreadable poker-face, to the undiscerning, yet a direct giveaway to the cunning that Wolfsbane's own
words have told him something.
(For the first time since the Tarokka-incident of the day before, the bard's impish love of
gamesmanship rises to the fore, as he covertly relishes the razor's-edge thrill of his work.)
Crow's features animate anew, with an eager-to-please look of anxious deference, and he turns to Roeccha with the falsely-apologetic demeanor of a student caught peeking at a neighbor's examination-paper:
"Well, sir -- Director -- as I was just saying to Brother Magnus, here, it
seemed like a good idea at the time...."
There's an art to deception, and the spy is well-practiced in avoiding the pitfalls of the novice artist. He doesn't embellish those events at the Manoir which led him to possession of the emptied file folder, nor abridge them
per se; he simply relates his own account of the Library-battle as it occurred, hiding those truths which would
damn him (his thefts and lack of membership) within the camouflage of innocuous, equally-valid statements, and reluctant "confessions" to lesser offenses. Yes, he
had gone into the Manoir's Restricted stacks -- he knew he didn't have authorization to do so, and was so very sorry about that -- but only after the
zombies' appearance made such information critical to the embattled Brethren's escape. Yes, he
had looked in the file cabinet -- it had clearly been left ajar by Van Rijn; would the
Exalted Brother have done any differently? -- but he'd
not taken anything but the folder from within ... not that he'd have had time, even if he'd
wanted to salvage the other forbidden files' contents: the room was in flames by then! Yes, he
had missed the coaches which Buchvold brought to pick up the escaping loyalists -- he'd
seen how close the Library floor was to collapse, and had 'ported away as quickly as he was able, soon as he'd alerted the others to the danger -- but with Unholy Order zombies on the rampage, all through the estate, saving his
own neck had (he reluctantly admitted) rated a higher priority than figuring out where the devil the other survivors were planning to rendezvous.
"So," he concludes, "I wound up with
one souvenier of the evening, at least. No use to locate the traitor, but at least it revealed
something of his despicable purposes to Buchvold, Conrad and I. I'd have turned it in, but as I said, I wasn't certain where the Richemuloiuse Brothers had gone to ground, and it didn't seem a particularly pressing matter: the folder
was empty, after all, though its title made the 'significance' of its former contents quite clear.
"Nor, it seems, was I mistaken to keep my souvenier 'under wraps' until this gathering ... that is, if your
own interest is any indication of its import. Frankly, I'd intended to return it to
Brother Reuland's care -- I thought it might be an appropriate receptacle for the traitor's crumbled
bone-dust, once the Fraternity metes out a fitting revenge upon that wretched backstabber -- but if its existence is important enough to invite
your interest, Director..."
The bard bows, then rises with a sly expression.
"...then perhaps its value is greater than I'd initially estimated. That
is a
Brautslava accession-number, is it not? The first two letters
do indicate the location where it's normally stored, yes?"
The spy smiles broadly.
"If so, perhaps it's best if I return it to Brother
Wolfsbane, here, instead of troubling Anthony with unpleasant memories. No need to raise a fuss, as I'd said."
And he turns his grin on Magnus Wolfsbane, showing perfect white teeth.
[OOC: Yes, Crow
is hinting that he could embarass the Brautslava Institute, if he wished to, by disseminating the fact that it was
their archives that loaned out the Doomsday Device plans to the St. Ronges cell, from which Van Rijn promptly stole them. No, he's not actually saying he'll
do such a thing ... only that his turning over the folder so discreetly won't happen, without his receiving
some kind of favor in return.
[Granted, I'm just guessing that the plans were on loan from Brautslava, but I figure it's a safe assumption that the Fraternity would have acquired them in Darkon, not anywhere else. The accession-number will reflect where the plans were originally added to the FoS collection, even if they've been moved elsewhere since then.]