God's Pavilion - The Early Morning

Darkness peels away with the sound of a door creak. Light slowly peers into the room with a bright intensity, burning a brown color into the wooden table at the center of the room. A figure's silhouette at the door stands forebodingly, their mere presence swallowing any excess light into a void at the center of the universe.

 ‘Wake up, Henry. It’s past sunrise already’. A voice calls out to us. The voice is firm. The timbre is low and demanding. A totalitarian unison. No other object dare make another noise. Blinking away the drowsiness, the form moves from a shade of black and purple into a familiar face. The features slide into the calm yet furrowing brow. The dim shine of dark hazel eyes. The faux golden pin name tying the the hotel inn’s uniform together with an unimaginative approach towards professionalism, a white button up with accompanying black slacks. ‘You have ten minutes or that’ll be your 3^rd strike’, the voice affirms.

“Yes, Ms. Alford”. Our voice is soft, but not willingly so. We pull the sheets to the side of the bed and stumble a little to our feet. We let out a shrill groan.  The wooden floor is much too cold for a spring morning. The winds must have shifted again last night. It will be hard to find from our remaining clothes something that is warm enough for today’s excursion. We grumble a little. Only a little, because of Ms. Alford’s eyes are demanding the usual greeting between an employer and serf. ‘Would you want me to move the inventory again today? Or should I just let Jess’e fuck it up again?’ Our right cheek stretches ever so slightly into a noticeable grin.

Ms. Alford scowl droops lower, and the eyes burn more than usual. ‘You’ll run inventory later today.’ Ms. Alford turns and closes the door behind her. Through the door, we hear her voice, keeping the same cadence and levelness. ’10 minutes’. Her shoes heading down the stairs break up the silence like rain pushing apart muddy puddles. We move closer to the door, putting a small space between us and the frame, and give a mighty salute. ‘Whatever you say, your majesty’.

With turn and a hop, we make way towards our dresser. It's basically an antique, but it'll suffice. It's lacquer finish now makes the wood sticky, and the hinges hard to move without making significant noise. It's possible this was throne out for it's shoddy craftsmanship. Opening up the interior, we see a neat row of similar-lined white-buttoned shirts, but a row of sloppily stacked black slacks, and a full length mirror hanging on the door.   

We look at ourselves. A short head of brass hair is strown around, covering our slightly lengthy forehead. Our glassy blue eyes seem to stare back at us. A microscope scanning over a canvas that seems forever too large to comb through. We examine our jaw, running our leading finger up the ridge to exam if its a sharp blade or root under soft soil. It's filling up more than usual. So, that still needs some more work. We place on the uniform, but briefly weigh what limiting options of foot wear. The black ones we always wear. They are beginning to fray, as bits of stingy leather are slowly worming its way out. Or the brown boots. New. The bleeding heel and middle-of-the-foot pain kind of new.    

After meanderingly putting on our stock uniform, we clomp down the stairs in our pair of boots. The stairs open at the bottom to the parlor.  The smell of buttered bread and cinnamon dotes on the air. Dust still lingers in the air as the baby morning light filters into the two large windows at the front of the parlor. ‘You would think that the most profitable inn and tavern in the H’arper would be able to keep clean’.

‘Kind of hard to do that when Ms. Alford still keeps you around’. A voice full of snark fills the air. The smallest of smiles inches across our face as we turn to the smirking worker polishing down the counter. The baby hairs of light concave in around his features. The gentleman standing there is wearing the white button uniform, as well, but his shirt, unlike ours, is wrinkle free and properly tucked in. He’s  wearing an assortment of rings today as he's polishing the cups and silverware. Silver ones with skulls. A gold ring that has emeralds coating the surface. Besides the rings, a bronze chain is hanging around his neck, stopping right above the collar bone. He’s also wearing his long wheat-colored hair in braid today. A few blonde tufts of hair is peeking out of his intricate braid. He has little blue and green glass beads in his braid today. 

‘Trust me, H’ashter,’ we say stretching our arms out. ‘If I could get kicked out, I would’ve been tossed out months ago. Just our poor inn keep here refuses to let go of her golden goose.’ Approaching the bar portion to where H’asther is, a plate with a few assorted meats, eggs, and a bread roll lay across it. Scooping the bread roll and taking a bite, we turn to look at the window to see if anyone is coming in to bother us today.

‘Mine’, H’asther plucks the roll back swiftly from our fingers, spinning from one side of the island to the other. ‘If you wanted to eat some, you should have woken up early, like the rest of us’. H’asther finishes the rest of the half-eaten roll, finding a moment of private ecstasy in front of us, and turns back to finish his lecture. ‘And you act like your position is all bad. You have a home here at least, and you know Ms. Alford needs you for more than that.’

‘Easy for her trophy employee to say’, we sit in one of the bar seats, and lean on our right side trying to sink down the morning drowsiness. ‘Hell, you or anyone else that works here, like that idiot Jess’e, makes a mistake and you get off with a warning. Me? Even when I do something right, she goes on a 10-minute rant about how she disapproves of the way I said the customer’s name or whatever.’

‘Well, most of us aren't the ones going out of our way to make trouble’. We can see H’asther looking down past our waist. ‘Like those’, H’asther points with the rag he’s wiping the glasses with towards the leather boots we are wearing. ‘I'm betting those were pricey?’

‘What? You implying I stole it? Sorry to burst you bubble'. We let a grin burst out. 'I haven’t been out in the market since the month started.’

“Aww, our little hen-hen finally beginning to let a lesson sink in’. He starts to pat our head as if we’re some pet. We instinctively start swiping his hand away as he’s ruffling through our hair. The continuous rummaging  of our brassy hair might have continued if not for the faintest sound of the door bell ringing. At first there was no one at the door, but as our eyes slip down, a crouching figuring is quickly trying to move out of our collective eyeline.

‘Seline, please get up off the floor’. H’asther places an arm on his waist. An expecting mother ready to catch their child in the act.

‘Who’s Seline?’ A gruff voice bellows, or, attempts to make their voice so. It’s timbre is weak, coming out without force from the throat. ‘Never met her before, no siree’.

‘I know it’s you. You and Henry were the only ones who didn’t show up for the meeting – ‘, H’asther looks over at his watch strapped to his left arm. ‘About 8 and a half pariis ago’.

‘You got to stop using the eastern time,’ We scold H’asther, trying to reach for small cuts of meat. H’asther seems to magically swipe away at our hands and foiling our plans easily. ‘We’re in Spadix now. No need to show-off how much of a backwater bumpkin you are’.

‘Ha, you’re on to talk, Hen.’ H’asther seems more amused than angry at the comment. ‘It took you a whole moon before you could tell the difference between your trai from phai’. H’asther looks over at the unmoving shadow on the floor. ‘And it took you almost as long to learn your times table, didn’t it?’

The shadow slowly crawls into vision. ‘Yeah’. Seline is on all fours in the inn unform similar to the other two. Her hair is in a simply ponytail, her auburn hair on her right shoulder throwing off her balance slightly as she shuffles towards the other two as quietly as possible. Her jade eyes look around the parlor anxiously, as if anticipating a ghost to be sitting at one of the tables or among the wall decorations. ‘But hey, I didn’t walk through the door just now. I was always here working early in the morning’. She stands and begins brushing off her clothes with her left hand. We could see that her cufflinks are goldish butterflies on her left sleeve, while her right empty sleeve is tied up to the shoulder, held together with a green ribbon. 

Just as soon as she dusts herself off, the sound of a door on the opposite end of where the trio are conversing swings open and interrupts the airy conversation with more tension. Seline drops to the floor as fast as a missile, and proceeds to stay low and hide, inching closer to a table that may or may not be out of sight from a demotion or scolding. Ms. Alford enters the room, the obligatory white button down with her signature accompanying purple robe. No one has ever seen Ms. Alford not wearing the robe. The pattern work from where the fabric stitches together resembles tree tendrils wrapping around from the back out towards the arms and down to wear it meets her legs. Though, the more ambient lighting makes the actual color hard to pin down. Somewhere between a dark lavender and a magenta. Every time we look, we can never tell if what she has on the same robe from the previous day or if this is a new robe, as even the stitching appears to shift. No one here has ever seen the robe not clean. She has on a pair of matching sunglasses, that she places on the table as the roll call takes place.

‘Good morning you three’, Ms. Alford says without making eye contact with any of the two standing. ‘Seline, darling. Please don’t drag yourself all over the floor. It’s unbecoming if one of my employees is seen pretending to be a rodent.’

Selenie snaps upright off the ground, brushing for the second off some of the lingering dirt still on her clothes. ‘So, that’s where that name pin went’. She brandishes it high above her head as if it is somehow going to defend her. ‘I have been looking everywhere for this. Oh, good morning Ms. Alford, I didn’t see you when I came in this mor-’

‘That’s a demerit for you, Seline, because obviously you didn’t show up to the meeting this morning’. She says without looking at her. The classic clipboard is in hand. And as she scans through all the pages in it, we notice H’asther suppressing a slight grin, his eyes locking onto Ms. Alford. A little too long, as we roll our eyes, pretending not to listen to Ms. Alford.          

‘We have one new client today, and I figured since you three don’t have anything else to do today,' she stares directly at us when she says that line. 'I’ll hand off the client to you’.

‘Thanks for the trusting words’, we mutter. ‘I imagine the others are swamped?’

‘Yes, quite so’. She raises the pages of her notes again. ‘You three are the most likely to complete this deal with our new client. This will be a quick brief before you leave tomorrow, as I imagined this group prefers preparing in their own, unique, ways.

‘Whoa,’ We jostle up from our seat, H'asther barely evading a corner of our chair. ‘Every time we had a client, we always had at least a week to prepare’.

‘The Client given us a deadline for the information. Considering how the vital information is too, they wouldn’t have pushed us to move out so soon otherwise’.

‘But this isn’t procedure,’ H’asther questions the proposal. ‘If it’s this close to the mission date, we normally we either reschedule or decline all-together’.

‘What’s more’, Seline continues H’asther’s train of thought. ‘You're making it sound as if we already accepted this client. Between costuming, intel, and mission setup, it will take us days of prep before we even actually commit to the job. Why would we say yes already?’.

Unless. 

‘Unless you have something else to gain from this’.

‘This is a special case’, Ms. Alford places the clipboard down and pulls out an envelope from a pocket within her robe. ‘The main reason for the short window is the target'. Inside the envelope she pulls out a few sheets of paper and a few photos. One looks to be a photograph of a few political figures at a dinner. Another one is of a pair at the park. Some look like candid photos of a family, another is a few of those people at a work junction. A fair. And one of a political rally.

‘Wait,’ Seline says, edging closer to the table. ‘Isn’t this the Prime Minister of Kaliea? The international broadcasts kept running his story for the last week on repeat. He should still be touring rural areas and cities in Kaliea for his campaign. What is he doing in Spadix?’ 

‘Observant, as usual, Seline.’ Ms. Alford says. A a toothy smile stretches across Seline’s face, only to drop in a few moments after seeing H’ashter and us baring similar chompers at her. Seline sticks her tongue out at us as Ms. Alford continues. ‘If everyone on your team did their research, maybe these briefs after the initial one wouldn’t go on as long’.

‘Like there’s anything worthwhile on the news’, we retort. ‘Just a bunch of egomaniactic pedophiles pretending to care about people’.

‘Pretty sure egomaniatic isn’t a word’, H’asther muses. It totally is, we mouth the words.

‘In any case, this assignment does not have similar clientele to what we’ve had before. Our client is Prime Minister Coupeland’s son-in-law.’ Ms. Alford, takes a seat before going over the mission briefing. ‘To most people viewing current events, the on-the-books peace between Spadix and Kaliea has been close to collapsing a few times over the last few years. Tumultuous at best.  The outpouring of voices demanding potential war is why Prime Minster Coupeland has been under scrutiny’.

‘Coupeland’s family was responsible for running much of the weapons manufacturing for the war for Kaliea’s side,’ H’asther says. ‘However, the media in both countries found out the Coupeland family was selling to both sides of the war while the peace negotiations were being ratified.’ We give a proud smile 'n nod to H’asther, as Seline pops up her signature thumbs up with her nail that has a chip in it. ‘What? I read up on stuff too. I don’t just talk to guests all day’.

‘Guests~’, we and Seline say, stretching out the word, and throwing up a few dozen air quotes with our fingers.

‘Precisely H’asther,’ Ms. Alford trudges on ignoring the banter. ‘A majority of the Coupeland family still deny any involvement. All except for the prime minister, who has publicly announced the sale of those weapons. Normally we wouldn’t handle family disputes, but the son-in-law, Petri Salk, believes that his father-in-law is lying about the weapons. Salk is quite an accomplished accountant in Croasnea,  handling the Etheriam Gems finance books as well as the finances of the majority of the Coupeland family. According to the Salk, the figures for weapons doesn’t match with what his father-in-law has been saying publicly’.   

‘So either Coupeland is lying about the sales or, what -’ Seline ponders, ‘Coupeland has a secret fund he’s pulling from?’

‘Or Coupeland is acting as a scapegoat for another entity’ we say, knocking over the first set of mental dominos. ‘If what Salk says is false and the snooty rich family did sell weapons to both sides, there still wouldn’t be a reason for Coupeland to still take the heat for this, especially when there isn’t any proof’.      

A smile drifts across Ms. Alfords face momentarily. ‘This is what our client wishes us to investigate. Prime Minister Coupeland is here in Spadix secretly, as he plans to hold a press conference next week giving more details about the supposed deal. no one outside of  select few even knows this is about to happen. Salk is worried that this will do irreversible damage and wishes for our company to find the intel that counters Mr. Coupeland’s narrative before the press conference takes place'. 

Ms. Alford pulls a second envelope from her robe and pushes it across a nearby table at us, as well as a map. The map is a city district map of Croasnsa, and she point at two locations in the Southeast. ‘The media stations here in Croasnea were the first to report the first settlement the Coupeland family allegedly made to wardogs in Spadix. I want you three to first investigate the Nettletone Network building and see how they obtained this information.’ Ms. Alford takes a pen out from the clipboard lying on the table next to the second envelope and hands it in H’asther’s general direction, to which he takes it gingerly. ‘The pen has an encryption bypass key, which should handle most transits and Room and Board situations. You’ll also head over to Kaliea to search for the seller of the weapons, if they actually exist,  and find any probable cause of third-party involvement. ’

‘That’s why we were the best picks’ Seline says, crossing her left arm over her chest, with her right index fingering tapping the right side of her neck. A dower expression on her face. ‘Finally shipping us back home’.

‘Home,’ Ms. Alford says, surprisingly warmly. ‘Home is where you make of it. What you make of a bounded space. What you do with your life.’ Ms. Alford stands, and positions herself in front of Seline, placing a hand on her left shoulder. ‘I’m sending you three because I know you all will get the job done most efficiently based on your abilities’. The two smiles at each other for a brief second before Ms. Alford pulls back to her position. ‘As customarily of the Atline Bed and Breakfast, does your party agree with this assignment?’

‘Yes, Ms. Alford’, we all say, as we click our feet in the company uniform formation. Left heel swing and click with the other. Left arm in a ninety degree angle, ad left hand raisng above the mouth. 

‘Then until your arrival at check-in, telecom silent’. She waves a finger up to her lips.

‘Telecomm silent’, H’asther places the pen in his pant pocket.

‘Telecomm silent’, Seline says, a nervous look in her eyes.

We take the second envelope from the table. ‘Looks like we got a good one on our hands’. A smirk on our face as we turn to leave to go up the stairs.

‘Telecom silent’.