by DC Bastien
The first of their threads had brought them here. Ithon had ranged all over Europe, but there'd been a definite sphere (or in this case 'strip') of influence he'd been picking up on. It had focussed here in the north of Old England, in the Scandinavian countries and Iceland. Many of the financial trails were now beyond defunct, but there were names that cropped up repeatedly and one of them still ran an art gallery in Carlisle city centre.
"You remember this guy from before?"
Ithon shook his head. "Only vaguely. It's been ten years, Kip. I interviewed and investigated a lot of people. Maybe when I see her again it will jog my memory."
The art gallery was an eclectic mix of several species' art. There were paintings, sculptures, moving sand-scapes and the tactile quilting the Roq were so fond of. There was fusion art, too; a Human-style statue of a proud Sianar wearing a Roq-manufactured cloak. (That piece was called 'Unity' and seemed to be the work of the nervous Dhalia who fluttered around it listening for feedback.) Vadim peered at a water feature, hypnotised by the dancing colours and soft, trickling music that kept pace perfectly with the steady stream of liquid.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice purred behind – and above – his ear.
Startled, he jumped. "Yeah. It's very soothing," he agreed. "I don't normally go for mixed media stuff, but this one's something."
"Who was the artist?" Ithon asked.
"Ah, would knowing make the work any different to you? Would you like it more, or less? Would you read different interpretation into the play of the elements?"
Vadim frowned. That was a little deeper than 'I like it, it's calming'. "...maybe? I guess... yes?"
"Then knowing would narrow down the possibilities, would choke off the part of art that is art. You are better not knowing and wondering than you are knowing for certain. That is what my gallery is about."
A really deep way of looking at it. He could tell why she'd devoted her life to this subject, and he turned to face her properly.
Leniem-Tho was slightly short for a Sianar in that she stood at six feet tall, with perhaps an inch or two above that. Her fur was a rich red colour, her mane hidden by a stiff, plainly fabric ruff that clasped around her throat with two circles overlapping. She wore the shorts most Sianar did, but she also wore a loose chemise over her torso and her lower legs had leather bracers around, like footless boots.
Kip beamed at her, nodding to show he understood. "It's an interesting way to look at it."
"I sometimes make my clients and my artists sign non-disclosure and non-investigation disclaimers. I believe in the purity of the artistic conversation. I'll do anything to uphold it," Leniem told them. "Were you interested in purchasing?"
"Interested... yes. Convinced I can afford it when you don't even display the prices? Less so," he said, truthfully enough.
"Honey, where would we put it?" Ithon asked, rolling his eyes. "You can't just like things and they magically fit into your life."
"No?" Vadim childishly stuck his tongue out, only to snap his jaws shut when fingers came close enough to pin his lips together.
"We'd prefer something a little more... portable," Ithon said, turning back to Leniem. "Did I hear that you have a collection of Pearlscapes?"
"We have a few," Leniem said, her amber eyes narrowing just slightly.
"We're after... well. We're hoping to commission some privately, with 'scapes of our choosing." Ithon knew full well that the Sianar herself was reputedly responsible for those. Vadim also knew it was a bit of a risk being so brazen about it.
"I see. Did you have any... ideas?"
"I have an extensive portfolio of properties I own," Ithon replied. "I'd like to represent them all. You know, immortalise them. My hubby and I are usually travelling, so I'd like to be able to look at reminders of them when we're in the black."
"Ah, so you'd like a thematic sequence? Like... a string of pearls telling a tale, a journey through space?"
Kip wondered quite how his partner had managed to draw her out so expertly. Ithon had such a wonderful knack for weaselling his way into someone's attention span that it – on occasion – made him slightly envious.
"Exactly!" Ithon dropped his head onto Kip's shoulder. "We just want to keep our memories with us wherever we go."
"Leave me your details. I'll see if I can put you in touch with someone."
***
[Sianor: Okay, but now I actually want that. Imagine a string of pearls each engraved with a memory!]
[Ashroe: I know. Damn muses and their poetic souls.]
[Sianor: I know Ithon said he didn't write poetry but I bet he did.]
[Ashroe: As an angsty teen most certainly.]
[Sianor: Kip wouldn't. He'd tell tall tales of adventure and mystery, but he wouldn't write poems. He'd hate it if they tried to make him write at school at all.]
[Ashroe: Kre, meanwhile, is versed in every form of creative writing. From sonnets and haiku to the epic tri-form ballads of the Kior-Dhalias. She wrote very earnest works and the Dhalia tutor she had was worried she got too upset about what should have been fun, light and airy.]
[Sianor: Loap and Saidhe also probably had their angsty teenage years. Biann just wrote in a journal and did lovehearts for the dots on the 'I's (or the Hleen equivalent) instead of having an emo, goth period.]
[Ashroe: Biann's teenage years were dedicated first to being cheerier and then a sudden interest in drive shafts and nuts and bolts.]
[Sianor: Hello Sexual Awakening Wrench!]
[Ashroe: All that latent sexual aggression and need turned into making an engine perform at maximum capacity. Saidhe worried that somehow her sister is ship-sexual.]
[Sianor: Ahaha, there's a fic in that. B is an engineer because she's picking up Good Vibrations.]
[Ashroe: Are they giving her Excitations?]
[Sianor: God knows what the Judge did.]
[Ashroe: Probably brought justice and peace to the neighbourhood.]
[Ashroe: Organised a mini Neighbourhood Watch.]
[Sianor: Marshalled all the kids into a little Ur group.]
[Ashroe: I can see him helping little old ladies across the street. And men. Little old everythings.]
[Sianor: And ducks. He'd probably be a great protector of ducks.]
[Ashroe: Making tunnels under roads for hedgehogs.]
[Sianor: Ahahaha. Yesssss.]
[Ashroe: He does dote on Xaix rather a lot.]
[Sianor: Who wouldn't!]
***
Vadim itched. This was too high-society for him. There were starched collars and pinched-toe boots all across the board. Even his moderate outfit was uncomfortably formal for him; the broad, flat silk belt around his middle sliding awkwardly despite all the pins. He felt like a blasted peacock and he really wasn't made for looking pretty like Ithon was. Ithon just oozed charisma and charm wherever they went.
The man could wear a burlap sack and somehow look chic.
Right now he wore a midnight blue suit with ridiculous shoulderpads and a waist cinched in with his own pearlescent white silk belt. His hair was busy defying gravity and the flared cuffs around his wrists were impractical in the extreme. Vadim's cuffs were a fraction of the size, but he still chafed. His underwear seemed to keep riding up between his butt-cheeks, and how did anyone bend in these clothes? Really?
It was supposed to be a coffee shop. Not haute cuisine. Coffee. That drink that everyone drank. Why he had to dress like some high-rent whore for hire when he just wanted a latte was beyond him. Even worse, the slowly flickering list of drinks (and who needed a list so long that it had to scroll through options?) had options he'd never even heard of. And still more options he wished he hadn't.
Ithon's hand was warm in the small of his back, and he had the grace to order for them both. There was some herbal concoction or other to go with the rare Kubla Khan-plantation zero-gravity high ultra-violet plantation the beans had been raped from. "It's subtle," Ithon reassured him.
'Subtle' meant 'you w
on't taste it at all and you'll wonder why you forked over so many bars for this ridiculously esoteric option especially because you're not sure it's even in there and isn't all just a massive con because no one wants to be the first to say they can't taste the thing'. Or it did in his experience, anyway.
"It's also going on Eru's tab," Ithon added, when he caught the man's eyes flickering too long over the price list.
"It's still money pissed down the drain. Literally. Do you know how many people could go into higher education if half of every cup's profit went into a charity slush?"
"Surprisingly, a lot of their profit does. Or, a noticeable amount, anyway. It turns out that the customers like the feel-good buzz of no effort charity work." Ithon nodded at the small stand off to one side. "You can even throw some bricks in, ostentatiously, so everyone can see your altruism."
"Still a waste of money. I could drink coffee for a month instead of one cup here."
Leniem was already perched on a high bench above a circular table off to one side. She had a pot in front of her – cast iron and oval – sitting over a small portable stove. There was a glass cup nestled in the wooden board holding it all, then a series of little glass test-tube like vials with various substances in.
Vadim wondered how anyone could possibly invent such a drink that would take so long to prepare? He liked to pour hot water on things and then go. Well, after waiting for them to cool down so you didn't burn your tongue.
The booth she was at was shaped like a nautilus with swirls built into the wooden walls so the inhabitants could sit at various heights and easily adjust their seating to bring them close to eye-level with one another. Cushions dotted through the swirls, ready to be sat upon or used as support. There were even little holes in the walls that Vadim couldn't work out if they were for putting your cup in, or your foot as you climbed into your seat. Maybe one, then the other.
Ithon went first, sliding around the bohemian architecture like he was born half way to blue blood. Vadim followed, echoing his behaviour as much as possible. They settled close to one another and on eye-level with the Sianar, waiting for the coffee-guru (or whatever they called them here) to bring over their beverages.
"It's a pleasure to see you both again," she greeted, swirling some fragrant stick or other through her warm, flavoured not-coffee.
"And you," Ithon replied, with a bow of his head. "Am I to take it your artist is interested?"
A flash in her eyes, and her head went to one side – as if it would help her think better. "You can assume she is. Though she is not inexpensive, but I believe you knew that when you approached me?"
"My husband and I are men of means," Vadim said, a little more shortly than Ithon would have. He was just playing a role, though. Obviously. "And whatever he wants... he gets."
"Very well. I will need to see pictures of these properties. And discuss how much of a liberty I am at with the process. I will also need to know the level of detail you wish. As you know, Pearlscapes come in a variety of sizes. The more intricate and miniscule the image, the finer the laser and the steadier the hand. The prestige pieces can only be appreciated with the correct magnification and framing process."
Ithon pulled out a tablet and offered it to her. "This is our stable," he said.
He watched as her eyes first sharpened then widened. "I believe there is some mistake."
"No mistake," Ithon said, voice utterly level. "Those are our properties."
The images were of ones he'd suspected belonged to the criminal mastermind all those years ago. Properties which Leniem had been instrumental in acquiring. Her paw trembled just slightly and she pushed the tablet back at them.
"No."
The Sianar was on her feet in an instant.
"Leave."
"Leniem, please think about this. If we have that information, you know what we know," Ithon pushed.
"If you have such information as you imply, you would not present this to me," she huffed. "Leave."
"How long before it gets out that you ratted?" Vadim said. "I mean, you weren't private about meeting us here. You must know we're under observation. Now you've met with us, and a mutual acquaintance will be very interested in what you've said."
"I've said nothing," she insisted. "Nothing at all."
"You've said more than enough." Ithon leaned back. "If you want our protection, you need to talk to us about the person who owned those properties ten years ago."
"You can't protect me. No one can."
"You have to at least try us," Vadim pushed, but she was already running.
"Well, that went well," Ithon said. He leaned over to sniff at her drink, making a face of distaste. "I'll stick with my coffee."
***
Chapter Seventeen – Mission: Assumption
Kre was sure this was the most ridiculous plan ever. How did a seven foot tall Sianar act stealthy? Even around other Sianar? Kior-Dhalias were stealthy. Humans (because of their ubiquity) and Hleen (because of their inherently liked status) were stealthy. Sianar and Roq were usually more obvious because of their dislike of one another. Or that was how she felt, anyway.
She had a fake ruff on again, but this one was much more artificial and cultured to blend in with the locals. Blend in... by standing out. The fur was pure white with gold flecks through the shiny fur. It was even bigger than the ones her forbears had made the defeated families wear to shame them, and she'd thought those would never see their equal again. Did the Sianar wearing such garish, huge monstrosities forget that overly-ornate ones had once been an insult to someone's genetic heritage and prowess? Had they decided to re-appropriate and re-interpret the past, or did they simply not even remember?
'Follow Leniem' they'd said. Leniem, with her vibrant, auburn fur and the cloud of anger above her head. She wasn't hard to track, nor was it difficult to pair with her communications device by brute force. Kre could probably track her without ever looking up from her own device, just by listening to the sound of her paw-pads on the too-clean floor.
The earbud nestled in one ear let her listen in to the frantic call she was making even as she tracked down the destination. It rang for about thirty seconds before a very soothing voice answered.
"Yes?"
"I just got asked about something," Leniem growled. "Something I should never have been asked about."
"Yes."
"You knew it was coming? And you didn't think to warn me, or offer me protection?"
"Do you truly think you need protection?"
"Isn't that something you should be telling me?"
"You do not need protection. Unless you divulged privileged information."
"Why would I – look. I want to know there's not going to be some fallout from this."
"There is not. You are being followed."
Kre almost stopped breathing. They knew? Did they know she was tapping into the communications? Did she run? Did she pretend she hadn't reacted? Were they watching to see who reacted? The moment went on too long, then she did the only thing she could think of and laughed loudly, swiping at the tablet in her hand and shaking her head. It was the only way she could cover over the momentary lapse in her calm enough to conceal herself. If it was even still possible.
"I'm being – this is not what I signed up for!"
"Continue your work. We have no further need of you." The line clicked dead, and Kre hoped to hell they had enough information. It looked like whoever she had called were using their surveillance in reverse, too.
Perfect.
Leniem froze in place, her face a horrible rictus of terror. Kre couldn't look at her as she carried on walking past.
***
"Tell me you got something useable," Vadim asked the Sianar stomping back aboard.
"You tell me," she said, pulling the earbud out. It was never comfortable to wear long-term, but it was the only real option for what they'd had her do. "I haven't been able to trace the source of the second voice. Well. Other than the shell company of
a real estate agency that looks legitimate."
"This is getting us nowhere." The Enforcer was pacing, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders forced further back than was strictly necessary. "They knew we'd approach Leniem. They knew we'd go to the bank. They are one step ahead of us, all along."
"Hey, don't give up so easy," the Captain said, turning towards the other Human.
"Why not? I tried this a decade ago. All I could get was hints, threads... the shadow cast by a web, but never the spider at the centre."
"We do seem to be on the back paw," Kre agreed, unfastening the fake ruff and tossing it onto the table. She shook her own mane out, feeling... itchy. "As if they were toying with us."