"Thousand." His voice came out as barely more than a whisper as he slowly turned around – and his chin dropped at the sight.
A completely different woman stood before him. She was much shorter, for one, with a smaller bust, and more pronounced cheekbones. Her hair, once a vibrant sky blue, was now a bleached blonde almost bordering on white – all the rage in the city, no doubt Gladys' way of making her daughter seem more appealing – and her eyes, once a dark brown, were now flecked with green.
Lucas could almost have excused himself and left, convinced this was an entirely different person, if she hadn't spoken right that moment.
"Where is your brother? I wasn't informed of the change."
Because her voice, her voice was the exact same stream of bitter, refreshing lemonade with a hint of sweetness. Lucas was sure he could pick anyone's voice out of a crowd – in fact, it was about the only thing that made him capable of avoiding Felicity and Noemia like the plague – but Thousand's was especially distinct.
Still, it's not every day you see someone transform into another person in front of you.
"He's, uh, busy," Lucas managed to stammer. "Are you sure you're..." His words seemed to lose themselves as Thousand nodded – not that he needed any confirmation. "How?"
"I have my methods. Why do you think he hired me?" Her tone seemed impatient, as if she wasn't used to saying so many words at a time.
As Thousand gestured for him to follow her, Lucas marveled at her change in behavior. In a split second, she'd gone from gruff mercenary to perfectly poised noblewoman with a honeyed smile that could rival Aunt Primrose's. She batted her eyelashes, and he struggled to understand how this was the same person.
Oh, he realized. This was probably her job. A mercenary with a thousand faces.
Any normal person would've probably been put off by this. After all, what good is trying to understand someone when you don't even know their real self? In his mind, he pictured his brother. Rodric would most certainly have no interest in mysterious mercenaries. Why would he, as long as they were useful? He saw the world as it was.
But Lucas saw it as it could be – a challenge. Under the flawless acting, beneath the carefully perfected poise, there was always a human being, with hopes and dreams – he knew that better than anyone.
I will figure her out. He made that promise to himself as he followed Thousand further away from the center of the ball.
~
After what seemed like hours of endless walking, she finally stopped, putting a hand to her ear, then glancing at him and nodding. All clear. Lucas nodded back eagerly, and she frowned.
"You're going to have to shed those habits if you want to impersonate your brother." He raised an eyebrow. Impersonate?
As if in response, she continued talking. "We have to style your hair, teach you how to properly groom yourself. I'd want to burn the freckles, but that would draw attention." She listed off each of the items on her hand with almost no expression on her face. Still, Lucas watched her, enraptured.
"What am I impersonating him for?" He didn't catch his words in time – the question was already out. I really need to stop asking stupid questions, if I ever want them to take me seriously.
Fortunately, she didn't seem too irritated. "The job involves the defamation of King Ivory of Pluma. Don't worry, everyone here despises him, so they won't report us." She looked away, and Lucas wondered if she hated him too.
King Ivory was heavily rumored to be the source of the rebellion in Plumsk, the capital city of Pluma. Officially, he was no more than a governor, to whom Emperor Romull III had handed the reins of the southern kingdom across the ocean. But people talked – and it was impossible to ignore the rallying speeches of freedom he gave, despite the vocabulary being technically permitted by the Empire.
In fact, no one could prove he was the source of anything – he could simply claim that the people had formed a resistance on their own due to 'misleading themselves' – and he had, several times.
'It's all lies, the rat,' his brother often spat at the telecom. Politics was just about the only thing that made him show real emotion – Lucas never missed his opportunity to say 'You're absolutely right. The sooner we get rid of him the better,' because he knew when he did, his brother would hum in agreement (the corners of his mouth would sometimes even turn up) and the two would share a moment of blissful, if brief, peace and quiet.
In truth, he didn't care much for politics. He knew it would be bad for the Empire if the Pluma rebellion went anywhere, and he knew his brother was vehemently against any kind of compassion for them – and that was that. Opinion made.
So it was with a shrug that he turned to Thousand. "It's fine by me. I never liked him much anyway."
She merely hummed in response, then gestured for him to follow her again. He debated on whether to ask her where they were going, but decided against it at the last second. No more stupid questions. I need to learn to follow orders.
Still, he looked on, eyes full of questions, as Thousand slid a secret panel in the wall. The dark, musty opening was barely big enough for one person, but she crouched down, expensive dress and all.
Does Aunt Gladys even know about that passage? He had to stop himself from full-on interrogating her as she disappeared down the tunnel, crawling down with surprising speed and dexterity for someone wearing floor-length skirts.
Unfortunately, Lucas didn't have the same prowess. He shimmied through the damp passage, feeling something slimy and wet seep from the walls and through his clothes. Mother's gonna be so mad that I've ruined this suit. He suppressed a shudder in the cold air – and at his parents' future reaction to seeing their precious money go to waste.
The tunnel didn't have any lighting, and his fragile trust in Thousand frayed by the second as they descended, deeper and deeper. She could kill me so easily down here, and no one would hear me scream, he thought.
Still, no matter what, a fragile speck of trust remained. Someone with that voice couldn't mean him any harm, as sure as the day turns into night.
He could also hear Rodric's rational voice, telling him he had no basis for this claim, but Lucas had always been one to trust his intuition. It had told him Noemia was dangerous, without knowing a word of politics; it had told him Azure was a friend, only knowing her reputation; and it told him Thousand wouldn't kill him now – knowing only her code name, and job, in the vaguest terms possible – but knowing her voice also.
Sure enough, it turned out to be right once again, as the tunnel suddenly veered upward, and Lucas found himself struggling to climb the steep slope. He could hear Thousand again, a few paces ahead, and what sounded like hinges creaking – the exit!
"We're here." Her voice was slightly muffled from the other side, but Lucas followed it, crawling the last few feet. White light seemed to attack him from all sides, and it took a little while to adjust, but he was free!
"I did it! I did it!" he exclaimed. Only then did it occur to him that he probably shouldn't have. He risked a glance at Thousand, readying himself for her cold gaze, but found only a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
"You're incredibly slow." She turned away, but he could've sworn he saw a hint of a smile.
"Hey! I did it. I went through the dark cave of nightmares. That's all that matters." He found himself talking out of place again, now that he knew Thousand didn't seem to mind.
She didn't even chuckle, though. With a sigh – I'll try again later – Lucas took in his surroundings for the first time.
He'd come out through one of the grayish floor tiles – many of them with hidden hinges, now that he looked closer – into what seemed like an old, dimly lit costume shop. Everywhere he looked, there were dresses and gowns of all kinds – the flowy Feyrganian fashions he was most familiar with, the massive round skirts from Soute, even the rich furs from the far south.
Wandering around only gave him more of the same. A sliding door revealed a whole room full of nothing but shoes – although he noticed they were all from distinctly different locations and styles, with barely any repetition – and trunks full of gloves, scarves, hats, those parasols North Otterfall women seemed to love.
He gasped in awe at seeing a dresser filled to the brim with extravagant jewelry. Would even Aunt Gladys have the money for an emerald this big?
"They're fake, obviously." Thousand had appeared around the corner after seemingly changing herself – she now appeared to be a brown-haired, brown-eyed commoner of average height. "Even I don't have the money for real ones, but they get the job done."
"Is all this... your work?" Lucas stared around the room, wide-eyed. "Wait– is that your real form?" He figured one more impertinent question couldn't hurt – it was practice for what not to say, of course. Definitely.
"Yes, this is one of my bases. Don't even think of betraying it, I have taken extensive measures to make sure no one knows where it is." He realized that was probably why the tunnel went so deep – to prevent anyone from counting their steps. "And no, it's not my real appearance, but it's the closest you'll get."
"Woah." He couldn't help but let out a sigh of awe. "This is amazing!"
Thousand merely snorted in response. "Most of it is convincing forgery. I do have some real dresses, but they're in another base." She let out a long breath, sitting down at another dresser and rummaging around the various drawers, until finally she pulled out a thin black comb. "We'll need to fix you up for this, but you'll pass well enough, I suppose."
Somehow, he felt like this was her way of saying, I believe in you.