Crow slips Wolfsbane the page -- carefully folded to hide what is written there, to show willingness to keep the archivist's lapse from public knowledge -- then turns back to the darkling, as if the Brautslava underling has ceased to exist for him. 'Brother Crow', by appearances, doesn't see fit to waste his considerable charm on bumblers and lackeys.Nathan of the FoS wrote:"Wolfsbane, please arrange to take the folder as soon as possible and see if you can't keep track of it this time. Brother Crow, a word with you, please?"
Remaining on his feet as in deference to the Exalted Brother's stature, the bard nods in acknowledgement of Roeccha's remarks, and files away the mention of when the plans were stolen for future consideration. He lets the corner of his mouth curl up a tad, when the darkling admits to the cleverness of 'Brother Crow's' gambit, then broadens it into a smile when its attention-grabbing potential is pointed out.The darkling steps back into the library, now empty, and seats himself. "Clever," he says, smiling very slightly, "but not a winning gambit. The Fathers of the Fraternity have already learned who took that folder and when; there is no hay to be made there, Brother Crow. But your display of initiative...rather catches the attention."
Interesting, the bard thinks -- for more than one reason -- and nods again, this time with as much gratitude as deference."I noticed that you asked the Borcan the right questions, as well--it's an enviable talent to recognize the right question, and not many possess it."
'Pray harken: by steel of tongue, the battle is join'd', the VRS spy mentally quotes Campole to himself, as his wits and thrill-seeker blood rise to the darkling's challenge. He shrugs his shoulders, lets gleaming, perfect teeth flash once more, then trades his smile for a more serious demeanor and commences to field the darkling's most-pressing queries, albeit in reverse order."Indeed, it rather makes me ask--who is this brother? Where is he from, and why have we never met previously? How does he have the cheek to declare himself at large in the restricted stacks, and the possessor of the folder containing the plans for the Doomsday Device, on an occasion where the Fraternity library was rifled and robbed of those plans and many other valuable manuscripts? At the very least, Brother Crow, you are angling for recognition, and a bigger piece of the pie. If you can answer questions as well as you ask them, you may get a chance at it."
"A 'chance', Director, is all that I ask or require. If answering such queries as you broach -- within reasonable bounds of privacy and decorum, of course -- should earn me that much-desired opportunity ... why, then I'll happily tell you that which I'm at liberty to pass on to any Brother, as well as a thing or two best kept from other ears.
"You've guessed my aim in part, sir -- recognition is what I seek, if not for scholarship or spellcraft, then for less ... mainstream ... aptitudes -- and I'd neither shirk from, nor quail at, the chance to place those knacks at the disposal of a Fraternity in sore need of them. Lateral thinking, Director, is what is called for when the bedrock shifts under one's feet -- not the complacency of the past, nor the routine predictability of the present -- and all the more so, when the scoundrel who's kicked the world's pillars out from under you knows your old methods and tactics intimately.
"Consider the ease with which the Traitor exploited loopholes in his own cell's all-too-familiar defenses. Consider how little we would know of his agenda, even now, had a few of us not had the 'cheekiness' to fight back! I know I did my best, sir, to salvage what was most precious from the Manoir's fall; I know my conscience is clear, and I apologize for my actions only so far as they broke with protocol, not honor. Judge me harshly if you must, Director, for venturing where only those with proper authorization were permitted ... but if I hadn't dared to do so, and retrieved that book on the undead, Buchvold and Conrad might never have deduced the renegade's grim apotheosis. Nor might solid proof that the plans in question didn't merely burn to ashes, with the rest of the Library -- I speak, of course, of the folder I retrieved -- have ever emerged.
"They did mention that little detail, when the survivors regrouped after the fire, didn't they? As I said, I missed whatever debriefing took place afterwards, but I should think that Conrad, at least, would've vouched for the part I played ... after all, he joined me in the Restricted section, and was extremely diligent in rescuing volumes I -- not personally being a connoisseur of wizard-lore -- might admittedly have neglected to save.
"If we've not met before, Exalted Brother, then -- with all due respect, sir -- it's because I'd not deemed such a meeting to be as necessary at it is now, before the Fraternity's betrayer showed his true colors. When I had little to contribute that the Brethren-at-large would appreciate, it was hardly in my best interest to invite attention to myself: my history as a member isn't one that conventional critics would deem laudable, as I've no patience with journals' persnickety submission-standards and my own magical specialty is barely tolerated by most. Why chase recognition or stature amongst the Brethren, when they'd merely dismiss me out-of-hand for a dabbler? Before Van Rijn's rebellion, remaining just an anonymous face in the crowd spared me from unrewarding busywork and petty intra-society politics.
"But now, when the Fraternity needs such 'fringe dilletantes' as have the temerity to think in unconventional fashions -- to think that deception needn't be arcane to be effective, for example, or that a quarry who expects to be tracked magically is best pursued by other means -- I have to say that such discretion has outlived its usefulness. At a time like this, I see my chance to shine -- something a performer can hardly turn away from, sir -- and to prove my usefulness to those who've doubted and dismissed me.
"You say my 'gambit' wasn't a winning one, Director ... and, had its purpose been to coerce your support, this would certainly be true. But I might point out that it, along with my previous query at Buchvold's lecture, succeeded in catching your eye, sir -- another thing a performer is ever-alert to, in a potential patron -- and ask only that you take that 'winning' outcome into account, should your opinion ever be sought as to the selection of Brethren to help pursue the turncoat."
Crow bows in the Darkonian style, with a dash of military 'By-Your-Order-Sir' deference.
At no time, of course, has he actually accused Conrad of being the Library-thief, nor pled that a bard had far less use for books than the numerous wizardly suspects who took part in the rescue of the Manoir's texts. Moreover, his words have skipped the most innocuous -- and delicate -- of Roeccha's queries: just where, exactly, is 'Brother Crow' from? But the VRS spy isn't fool enough to think the Exalted Brother won't spot these omissions ... or question his motives, in deftly avoiding such overly-defensive statements.
(He does, however, know that so long as Roeccha thinks 'Brother Crow' is trying to demonstrate his ability to con his FoS superior -- and thus, prove he's devious enough to be an asset to the Fraternity, worthy of inclusion in the lich-hunt -- then such omissions and veiled statements on the bard's part needn't necessarily constitute proof of his concealed guilt. Rather, they might merely be another attempt to show off his own duplicitousness, just as the feigned extortion-ploy with the accession number -- a ruse, in truth, to lure Roeccha's interest and thus bring the darkling's inquisitveness into the open -- had been.)
Am I lying to save myself, or to 'sell' myself? You'll surely know it's one of the two, but can you guess which? It's a quandry your native powers can't foresee your way out of, Roeccha -- at best, they'll only confirm that there's trickery at hand, but you've surely deduced that already -- so it all comes down to one question: does leading you into such a place of uncertainty impress you enough to convince you I really would be useful, in whatever personal schemes or ploys you might find such deviousness an asset to, in the future?
The bard savors the edge-of-the-cliff sensation of peril, as he awaits the Brautslava director's reply.