Tyriel Wert was peering at his latest acquisition through a loupe when three knocks sounded from the door. The impulse to ignore them overwhelmed him, then his rational half surged back in control.
That knock meant business. Day business. Cumbersome as it may be, for the good part of a decade it had allowed him to conduct his actual business in peace. The wool over the wary eyes of the Jaisian law.
Swallowing his sigh, he slipped the loupe and the ruby necklace into his desk drawer.
"Yes, Gertha?"
The door opened just enough for the maid's masked face to squeeze in for a nervous word,
"A Madam...Dunstaal...is here to see you, sir." Gertha glanced at the unseen client for confirmation. Tyriel cocked his head as he rifled through his memories. The name rang no bells. A new client.
He browsed through his array of practiced smiles and slotted on the humble and welcoming one. He traversed the room in three brisk strides and pulled the door wide open.
Draped from the shoulder down in her black veil, Madam Dunstaal reminded Tyriel of a velvet jewelry display. Her mask featured a stunning white peacock, whose trailing train seemed as if to loop around her neck in silver-white chains, beset with rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Tassels of gold cascaded from her earlobes onto her shoulders. Metal bands thick and thin pooled at her wrists. Rings adorned every other finger of her gloved hands.
Tyriel beckoned the client over to the seat before his desk with a bow. Once Madam Dunstaal had lowered herself onto the velvet-padded chair, Tyriel settled on his own.
"My lady, it is our pleasure to host you in our humble bathhouse. What seems to be the problem?"
He steepled his fingers, his eyes alighting on the empty eye-sockets of Madam Dunstaal's mask. Madam Dunstaal started, her honeyed smile faltering.
"Oh no, no. I'm not here with a complaint." She waved her ornament-laden hand. Judging from her voice and the size of her bosom, he guessed she'd had children, and was well into her fourth decade. Yet, she dissolved into a bout of coquettish giggles as she leaned in,
"I have an offer for you."
Tyriel's hand spasmed on the desk. He'd pinned her for a westerner from the fair skin around her lips. How had this foreign lady been introduced to his actual business? And calling for his services during daylight hours, no less.
"Do tell, my lady." He let his mask deal with his pallor and apprehension, and simply dredged the tremors out of his voice. Madam Dunstaal smiled. She glanced around his office, appraising the various memorabilia from previous business dealings he had framed in gold on the wall, or rested on velvet busts atop marble plinths.
Rows of ancient Tyldornian dubloons. A diamond necklace with a sapphire centerpiece the size of a quail egg. A jet-studded tiara. An ornate copper shield. A puzzle box of carved ivory. A polished tortoiseshell bowl. A hunk of aged ambergris. She lingered on the amiant cloak with Lattis yarn goldwork Tyriel had pawned off a Greeneye trafficker. A shiver rushed down her arms. Or just a trick of the light—the woman was a constellation.
The lady returned to him at last. Fondling a ruby brooch over her heart, she heaved a sigh and shone him a guilty smile,
"Pardon me for ogling. I have a weakness for shiny trinkets. You'd think I'm an overgrown magpie."
Tyriel responded with his obligatory smile.
"Not at all, my lady. I see it as an appreciation for rare beauty we share."
His reassurance seemed to trouble Madam Dunstaal. She unpinned her ruby brooch and fidgeted with it on the desk.
"If so, then I'm sure this must come as an outrageous request." Tyriel tilted his head to mask his growing impatience. He itched to pick up where he left off with his ruby. "You see, from the instant I caught sight of that crystal ball in your chough's beak, I realize I couldn't rest until it's nestled in velvet in my collection."
Ah, finally.
Tyriel smiled in satisfaction and relief. Ever since he had that eye mounted onto the chough statue three days ago, he'd received countless complaints from tourists mainly from Meriton, Icemeet or Aquar. He set the old statue cleaner to explain eastern norms to them, and the deluge subsided. Though a few persistent naysayers trickled through.
Seeing Madam Dunstaal's fair skin, he expected her to be one of the petty lot. Instead, she had turned out to be the visitor he'd been anticipating. The ones of like mind. A fellow seeker of exotic relics.
A clack of metal and stone on wood broke the silence. Madam Dunstaal's drooping necklaces caressed the desk as she leaned in,
"I heard you've lost a dear for it. I'm willing to compensate you for every Latt, down to the last brass coin."
Unfortunately, Tyriel had decided from the beginning that the eye would not be up for sale. He had prepared a solution for fellow collectors. He reached for the handle of the bottommost drawer.
"If so, my lady, you would no doubt have also heard of whom I've obtained the eye from." He extracted a heavy ledger bound in carmine silk, "There is one more where that came from. I have seen it. I can assure you, they are as alike as any twin."
He propped the ledger against the desk, trawling through names, dates, and amounts of owed gold with a nimble finger. The deal remained fresh in his memory.
"Ah, here we are," He looked up. Madam Dunstaal was toppling from the edge of her seat, ample breasts flattened under the combined weight of her jewelry and her leaning head. Swallowing a chuckle, Tyriel gestured towards his inkwell and pile of blank paper,
"I have the father's name and address. Shall I write it down for you?"
Madam Dunstaal burst into a radiant smile. She brought her hands together in a soundless clap.
"Why, thank you, sir! That would be ideal. You are most generous." She wetted her lips greedily as she watched Tyriel's quill dancing on the paper, "I hadn't expected you to be so open about your business dealings."
"Not at all, my lady." Tyriel's smile sagged as he concentrated on his work. He hitched its corners back up. He slid his peacock quill into its stand, then flourished the folded note towards Madam Dunstaal, "From one collector to another."
The lady swiped the note from his fingers and unfurled it.
"Would it be easy this time around, though?" She argued, "After all, it's the boy's only remaining eye. And I do have some reservations about robbing a child's eyesight."
Tyriel drummed his fingers on the desk. He hadn't prepared for that. His eyes strayed to his motley collection, as they often did whenever he sought a spark of inspiration. Unexpectedly, he found it in the blood-red cover of his debtor ledger.
"We're in luck, my lady. I happen to know of a covert place. There, you could find Greeneyes who would be eager to trade off their...possessions. Any of their possessions. Provided you have the gold."
Madam Dunstaal froze, then thawed to life. Nodding, she turned again to the Lattis-embroidered amiant cloak. Even as her hand clenched into a trembling fist over her ruby brooch, her voice remained light,
"Oh, more than I would ever need."
⏳
Jerald had parked Lady Crosset's carriage at the Pearly Falls' entrance. He helped the young ladies and children inside. Gretella brought up the rear, supported by Lady Arinel. Jerald took her free hand and, together with Arinel, eased her up to the driver's seat.
As Gretella adjusted her dress, Arinel handed Jerald a note.
"Please take us to these places first."
Jerald took the note, but didn't unfold it. He didn't so much as glance at it.
"Your Grace, my orders are to bring you directly to Jaise Castle," He said, his voice strained, "You are to prepare for dinner and an audience with Lady Jaise in Meya Hild's place. I doubt we'd have time for detours."
Arinel was unfazed.
"I'm sure we could cut the preparations." She glanced at the sun, "We still have a few hours before sundown. Please, Sir Bayne. It's for Meya and the Greeneyes."
The Lady grasped his arms. Jerald stared at the masked face and imagined those pleading blue eyes through the black glass. He peered into the carriage. An acid green eye glowed in the shade. Meya had taken off her mask, her back curved, her face ashen and her gaze faraway, as Lady Heloise and Lady Agnes relieved her of the multitude of jewelry on her person. He nodded with a sigh,
"Very well, my lady."
The Lady burst into a smile of relief. She squeezed his arms briefly, then allowed him to help her aboard.
The carriage shimmied to life just as Arinel settled down in her seat facing the rear, between Heloise and Fione. She strained around and peered through the doorway. Gretella was leaned towards Jerald, no doubt filling him in on what the girls were up to.
Arinel beamed her grandmother a silent thanks, the scrutinized her fellow passengers. As was customary for the Lady, Meya had taken the front-facing seat in the middle, flanked by Agnes and Amara. Being the lone gentleman, Frenix had volunteered for the rear seat. His curly head bobbed in and out of sight through the rear window as he enjoyed the view and the breeze.
Meya had kept silent all through their trip back to the surface, responding to their frantic pestering for results with listless nods and shakes of her head. Now that she'd shed her mask, Arinel appreciated just how pale she was.
Agnes had relieved Meya of the adornments they had piled on to create her Madam Dunstaal persona, and Heloise was arranging them in their velvet boxes. Meya held onto Coris' ruby brooch, fidgeting with it on her lap as she stared morosely into space.
Arinel tugged off her mask and covered those restless fingers with hers. Meya looked up with her left eye and an empty metallic socket. Her right eye had been slotted into the chough statue in place of the boy's, as part of her scheme.
"What happened in there?"
Meya had set out to shake her head then felt the burn of five pairs of eyes on her face. Frenix flipped around and poked his head inside. Sighing, Meya twiddled the brooch's pin and nodded,
"He's got this cloak on display." She gestured over her shoulder in the direction of the Falls, "It's made of amiant and embroidered with Lattis yarn."
Heloise and Fione shared a look. Arinel glanced at Agnes, arguably the most studious of the immediate party, now that Coris wasn't available, but the Lady Graye shook her head. Meya continued,
"I was almost sold off by Greeneye traffickers once. Just last Fest, actually."
Heloise seized up in fear. Fione leaned in, her wide eyes transfixed on Meya. Frenix's grip tightened on the windowframe. Agnes' hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes met Arinel's as the same inkling began taking shape in their minds.
"I remember. Those were the first hangings I've ever seen." Agnes whispered. Arinel tightened her grip on Meya's sweaty hands, remembering all too vividly the dying throes of the five wicked men, as they swayed from freshly erected gallows.
"Mine as well. They were the first hangings in Crosset after Bailiff Johnsy."
Meya nodded. Or she could have just been bobbing to the rhythm of the carriage.
"Them traffickers used one of those cloaks to knock me out." She smoothed the hairs on her shivering arms, "Now I know it's because sleeping draught doesn't work on Greeneyes like me."
"Oh, Meya."
Agnes gathered the shaken girl into her arms. Meya's bloodshot eye bulged as she sucked in her lips, willing back the lone teardrop that had welled. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand,
"What did you do with those cloaks, my lady?" She turned to Arinel, wringing her trembling lips to form a half-grin, "Amiant and Lattis don't burn, do they? They're nigh indestructible."
Arinel forced her lips into a consoling smile.
"Lattis, perhaps. But not amiant. The alchemist dissolved the robe in vitriol and buried the Lattis yarn. Rest assured, it could never be used on another Greeneye."
She slid her other hand under Meya's, enclosing them between hers. Meya gave her first genuine smile ever since she had donned (and discarded) her disguise, then chuckled as Frenix playfully patted the top of her head. Heloise, however, wasn't at ease.
"How many are still out there, though?" She muttered, her shaking hands clinging tight to one another on her lap, "It's a chilling thought. Wrap a cloak around a Greeneye, and you can whisk them away anywhere."
Heloise clutched her head, her strangled voice filtering through her mane of golden-brown hair.
"Fyr, I hate being a Greeneye."
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