This choice: The spy's story is believed • Go Back... The spy snoozed in a corner chair, dreaming mandrake wine dreams. The wild tales of a drunken informant wouldn't normally raise alarm, but this fellow was usually a fairly reliable source. Still, if it had been just this fellow, it might be chalked up to the wine, or the mad imaginings of fire wraiths and necromancers overheard.
But it was not just one wild eyed report. His whisperers had all been whispering similar tales of nebulous fright. Nothing that could be named, nothing that could be taken in hand, nothing, but the whispers had all risen in chorusing unanimity, cacophonous as it was alarming.
What to do. He was of three minds. What should he do for his own personal safety and continuance? What might he do in service of the Realm, as it had always been in this way that his own best interest had been served, at least to this point? How might he discover the source of this threat and so avoid what must be disasterous?
It all came down to information. He'd had an ear full of the stuff, too much, but none of it clear. There was no way to know what would help him survive if he didn't know what was coming. Exasperated, he settled on a course with his usual decisiveness.
I must not appear to be as ignorant as I am. In service of the Keeper of the Realm such was invitation to punishment from above or undermining and replacement by his peers. Neither would serve. He drew from his desk his favorite tools of the trade, slipping them into hidden pockets and strapping them to his person. Weapons for stealthy killing, impliments for the foiling of locks, and small magics to aid in remaining free to do as he pleased. These were his stock and trade when he'd been like the fellow who snoozed in the chair, just an informant. I must see what is wrong with my own eyes, he thought. All these hints are confused by fear. I must see for myself.
But he was not just that simple sneak-thief of secrets, he had expanded his skills in the areas of the mind. What he most needed, beyond seeing the state of the realm for himself, was the opinion of a man he trusted who's skills were as great as his own if in other areas. Enalphose, his old comrade and true friend. If anyone would have the sense of this dark storm that was rising, he would.
He shrugged into his old grey cloak, nearly black, like true shadow, and comfortable. He stepped through the door to his receiving room and spoke to his assistant, Miss Jones. "Jones? Do give Enalphose word that I will seek him at the usual place in three days time. There is foul doings afoot. I would have his thoughts on what comes our way."
Secure in Jones' competence he slips out into the Realm.
Word count: 492 
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