Allice in Mysterious Land (ON HOLD)

22: Vulturuous

"Lizare City is in trouble. As you can see"—Sandra directs her phone screen at Mr. Julian—"look at the massive number of refugees from Okauri Country. The poverty rate rises by three-point-one percent shortly after they flooded into the capital. Society's satisfaction level is down by seven percent, according to the monthly polling..."

A throaty grumble escapes Mr. Julian. Though he's more composed than his wife, he's still less patient than his Lowlife twin, Mr. Jules. "Look, it's just news on the TV, alright? Just rumors or discourse. Benjamin Kamal has led Biliya for years... he must've found a way to handle such problems. It's not the first time a crisis like this happens." He scowls, wrinkling his nose.

Sandra's scowl also deepens as she scribbles in her notebook. "Fine. Now let's talk about why Jorge wants Dogson to become a capital city. It might add more burden to us. Rising life costs, more workplaces..."

"He seeks perfection." My words bring silence into the room. I fidget with my fingers to release the building tension inside me. "You remember what he said in The Office, don't you, Sandra? He said about making things closer to perfection. He's always obsessed with it. Maybe leading a capital city has always been his... lifelong ambition."

"That makes sense." Scratching his mustache, Mr. Julian continues, "Eh, do you think he'll create chaos to... you know, leave the president with no choice but to move everything to Dogson?"

Now that sounds wicked. If he tries to move the capital for his own sake while using the overflowing number of refugees as an excuse...

Ax's ears perk up, as if supported by flag poles, and he soon growls, as if threatened. Arsy scrambles up from the couch and approaches him at the eastern window, scratching his ears gently. Yet, Ax grows more restless than before.

Also, from the thin windows, comes the indistinct footings of strangers.

I skitter to the northern one, where moonlight usually floods in to keep me sane during the night. Behind the trees that become our barriers, an army of dozen, clad in black uniform, marches by. I hold my breath when barrels of their snipers peek from their close-distanced shoulders.

Striding with the straightest back is a cloaked figure, with tendrils of the fabric licking the dirt. No signs of weapons can be read from her. A black mask covers her nose and below, leaving her owl-sharp eyes unattended. She's as swift and silent as a hunting panther in the documentary Auntie Morgan used to show me.

"Lindra," I whisper, "can you find out who the cloaked figure is?"

Sandra's light footsteps clamber from my back, followed by a warm nudge on my shoulder. "Who are those?" Her breath becomes labored, her lips shuddering.

Lindra's static voice hums, "According to the facial recognition from Lin-Roy's database, the subject's eyes and hair color match those of Beatrix Kamal."

As if hearing Lindra, Beatrix's head turns to the treehouse. I shove Sandra's head to the floor, ignoring the pain jolting from my elbow. The way her eyes observe from the distance... it's like even our guardian trees fail to conceal the treehouse.

Ax lets out an impatient grumbling, yet Arsy's attempts to soothe it always end up fruitless. Sandra bolts on the floor like a four-legged spider, approaching Ax with the special oil—civetone—in hand. The room falls into another stiffness, only meddled by the beast's slurps against the glass vial.

"But Mr. Orion didn't mention any treehouses in his statement," a shaky voice counters, accompanied by soft soles against the grass. A few more pairs trample across the field, filling my heart with dread.

This isn't good. We're already one step ahead in discovering their plans as Roy said, and we shouldn't get caught...

I scramble to the eastern window, huddling together with Ax and Arsy. There are six men, with the cloaked figure in the middle, becoming their axis.