Out of the window, palm trees swayed gently in the wind, which blew lazily across the high hilltop. From here, the manor looked out on the whole of Old Rose. Not the smallest movement of an ant went unnoticed from this palace.

Light streamed in through gossamer curtains, stained all the exotic colors of the hot northern desert, shedding a warm pallor on the richly upholstered chamber. There was a carpet thick with the hand labor of a thousand servants, rich marble the color of the Bastian sunset, a deep mahogany desk inlaid with gold and silver, and a pair of purple leather boots propped up in a reclined position.

They were rumored to be vradire-skin!

Silas Hawke's long, thin fingers tapped against his jaw as he looked at the pile of bodies on the floor. Some were fatter than others, and those had been laid carefully on the bottom, so as not to wrinkle the luxuriant fabrics the men wore. He did have such thoughtful thugs.

"Oh my," he remarked, as though he were viewing something as upsetting as a patch of wall painted a slightly different color than the rest.

"It's like we tried to tell ye last week, sir," said his arch-thug, Remses, with a painfully exasperated expression. "They was workin' for the other Vein the whole time. Got almost 'alf our staff, now, turnin' numbers around, sneakin' about with our earnin's and sendin' ships out what don't return. Ye know what we found on the dogs?!"

His thick neck craned back in disgust as he let fly a handful of square, gold coins. They scattered on the marble floor, flying everywhere.

Silas Hawke's delicate eyebrow rose a half-inch.

"Other Vein?" he said, in a voice that rang with danger despite its foppishness. "There is no other Vein. There's my Vein, of course. The Vein. We call it by name because it is, in fact, the only one. Any other attempt at a "vein" should be referred to as a joke."

He spat the last word out, and his hired muscle jumped in unison.

"So there's Brimley, Hannaskat, Three-Toe, Solley and Trembles, dead on my floor, and I've not had my breakfast yet. Have you boys any good news for me today?"

The thugs looked sheepishly at each other, shuffling their feet.

"Er, my Mary's with child," offered one, quietly.

"Excellent," said Hawke briskly. "I sincerely hope she doesn't die of diphtheria. Now get out of my sight."

There was a joint effort to be clear of the room as quickly as possible, and more than a few streaks were left on the marble floor afterward.

Silas began to rub his temples, staring glumly at the pile of dead men at the foot of his desk.

"Traitors," he mused aloud, pulling a long cigarette from his vest pocket and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. A thin stream of smoke issued from the lit end. He said nothing more out loud - there was always a chance he was being watched. But it seemed as though he had some replacing to do. The posts could not be abandoned for long. It would not be proper.

The Vein had to run. Items had to be moved. Money had to be made.