Ghost Rage, Episode 14a- Vote Now!
You decide to make for the safehouse, and break into a sprint, Lucan and Moresti following after.
Fortunately, the safehouse, a modest townhouse owned by a minor lord friendly to the Ghosts, is not far away. The townhouse is always empty, as the lord prefers his seaside villa, and the Ghosts store equipment and occasional prisoners there. You slip in through the back door and race up the stairs to the attic, where the equipment is hidden, and draw out your cloak.
The cloak is a marvel, made by the wizards of ancient times before the rise of the Magisterium. A blending of spider silk and shadow, it is absolutely weightless. While wearing it, you cannot be detected by arcane means, nor can your mind be entered by sorcery.
It’s also quite handy for sneaking about in the shadows.
You don the cloak, pulling the cowl over your head. A moment later the specter of the decaying child appears, her moldering face still lit from within by green fires. The specter looks right at you, and then back and forth.
“Does it not see us?” whispers Moresti.
Lucan shakes his head. “No. The magus sent it to find her. Not us. It doesn’t care about us.”
The specter shrieks in frustration and vanishes into the wall. You creep to the attic window and peer out the slats. In the street below you Cenorix and his militiamen, mounted on horseback. Korthion sits among them, scowling. He’s arguing with Cenorix, and Cenorix does not look happy.
Finally they ride off.
You let out a breath.
“Get moving,” you tell Lucan. You show him where the disguises are hidden, and then go off to prepare yourself.
It’s a bit of trick, changing from a ragged mercenary to a high-end courtesan, but it’s one you’ve done before. You wash the sweat and grime from your face and hands, and arrange your hair. You exchange your leather armor and worn cloak for a flowing red stola that leaves your arms and your left shoulder bare, and your boots for heeled sandals. Some makeup and some jewelry, and you’re done. The stola has no sleeves, at last, but there is plenty of room to hide knives beneath the skirt.
The shadow-cloak you wind into a sash around your hips, since it might come in handy later.
You rejoin the others. Lucan donned the heavy fur-trimmed robe of a prosperous merchant over his coat, while Moresti already looked the part of a hired bodyguard. His eyes widen at your approach, and he says something in Szaldic.
“Quite right,” says Lucan, in Kyracian. “I am always astonished at how you manage to transform yourself into completely different people on such short notice.
“What did Moresti say?” you ask.
“It was flattering, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t translate well to Kyracian,” says Lucan. He extends his arm, and you hook yours through it.
“Liar,” you say, and you leave for the Black Rose brothel.
The Black Rose is not a good place.
The interior is built of black basalt, with thick pillars supporting the ceiling, and a balcony running around the main room. Bronze braziers fill the room with sullen red light, giving the black walls a bloody cast. Reliefs and statues on the wall depict acts ranging from merely depraved to out-and-out horrifying. Women, some dressed in ornate clothes like yours, or dressed in nothing much at all, lounge on couches, eyes glassy. Strange moans and screams come from behind closed doors, the smoky air smells of hallucinogenic and narcotic drugs, and you feel the occasional crawling surge of sorcery.
The perversions of the magi tend to be…exotic.
A few black-robed magi with glassy eyes wander towards you. Lucan smiles, lets the front of his heavy robe fall open to reveal his sword hilt, and rests a possessive arm over your shoulder. The magi reconsider, and shuffle away.
“What a charming establishment,” murmurs Lucan, turning his head towards yours. “I can see why the magi hold it in such regard. Where is this Morlaine fellow?”
“The balcony,” you whisper into his ear. “The corner.”
“Do you trust him?” says Lucan.
“He’s a magus. Of course not. But he’s addicted to narcotics,” you say. “He doesn’t care about anything else.”
Lucan nods and you walk towards the stairs, more or less keeping yourself draped over Lucan to avoid unwanted attention – something that under different circumstances, you muse, you might find enjoyable.
Then the door booms open, and Korthion stalks into the room, followed by an ill-looking Cenorix. For a moment you think that he’s found you, and your hand drops to your concealed knives. But Korthion walks past you, Lucan, and Moresti without looking, his expression thunderous, and vanishes into a doorway. Cenorix remains by the front door, looking ill at ease.
In fact, he looks terrified.
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