(( OOC comments welcome! ))

The meeting chamber was decidedly eerie, lit by the dim greenish glow of the phosphor lanterns; Silas Hawke shuddered at the deplorable interior decorating.

Across from him sat four men, each fixated on a specific part of him - his hat, his white scarf, his red coat, his bandoleer. None of them looked him in his eye, and he smiled a crooked smile, for this was the way he preferred things to be. They were his subjects.

"Yes," he said, after a carefully calculated pause.

"Then it's decided," said one, a great silverback gorilla of a man with beady eyes, so unnaturally devoid of greed. "You will take both passages, north and south, and we will put a stop to them at Harbrooke. The inquiry will be stifled. Virthmore is yours, as is the coast to the southeast, but you will not encroach on our territory."

"The resistance movement must be quieted," said another man, this one with a bloodshot eye. It was difficult for Hawke to look at anything else, so unsettling was his disfigurement.

Slowly, the King of the Underworld nodded.

"I understand there is no formal law to speak of in Old Rose," said the third man, who clearly disliked Hawke and everything he stood for, and Hawke amused himself thinking the High Judge's voice might have been distilled into a noxious cologne called Pure, Unmitigated Contempt (pour hommes). "And, consequentially, nothing to rebel against, save you and your band of...associates. From your reputation I know you are remarkably skilled at keeping the population grumbling under their breath, with minimal unpleasantness. But how great is your influence beyond the port?"

"My grasp exceeds my beach," replied Hawke silkily.

"Clever," remarked the man with the bloodshot eye.

"My dear Mr. Julian Megiro, I am always clever. Come to expect it from me, and we may be friends."

"Thank you," said Julian, "but your company might be a bit too rich for my blood."

"Mr. Hawke, my Seventen are prepared to provide you with ample compensation in exchange for a steady stream of information," said the gorilla. "We have no interest in Old Rose; it is a foregone conclusion. Control of the Vein is not something we desire in any capacity. I hope, despite the inevitable, that we might continue to uphold the ancient, unspoken understanding between the government and you...and your ilk."

Hawke stood up so suddenly that his hat tipped over one eye, and bent over the table to peer directly into the man's wide, grizzled face.

"Mister Morde, darling, I have no ilk," he hissed, his breath smelling like fragrance and tobacco. "I have no peers, brethren or kin, nor do I have any successors, confidants, contemporaries, or even admired cohorts. Let me remind you that your little world depends rather heavily on my continued survival. Because I am unique - in what I do, in how I do it. No one could do what I have done."

They exchanged glances.

"I think perhaps we are finished," said Julian, standing and reaching out a hand to shake. Hawke took the hand and planted a kiss on it, and Julian retracted it quickly, sneering.

The tall wick smiled.

"I'll be in touch," he said loftily, swinging the end of his scarf over his shoulder as he turned on the heel of his boot and marched towards the exit, sashaying gleefully in the aisle.

When he had gone, Julian turned to Azmus and Morde, and raised an eyebrow.

"Curious man," he said.

"A necessary nuisance," growled Morde, glaring resentfully after him. "I've put up with his antics for far too long. Let's just hope he keeps to his part of the bargain. It's like reining in rabid dogs, keeping my men from tracking him down - no subtlety at all, entering Vienda like that."

"He expects you to do all the work, Hanz," said the High Judge, sighing. "He's taunting us. We can't bring him in, or look incompetent when he gets out again. Meanwhile, the people love him, or so I hear. He's something of a folk hero to the people of Old Rose."

"Those that aren't starving to death under the weight of his taxes, you mean."

"Rubbish," said the king suddenly.

The three men turned to him, cocking their heads as they looked at the ancient, drooling old fool. His insipid smile revealed decaying teeth; bleary eyes wobbled back and forth in their sockets. After the initial outburst, he lapsed into silence once more, though they could hear a faint murmur of noise issuing from his nose - like the sound of a kettle about to boil.

After a moment, the High Judge cleared his throat.

"I think it best if we discussed the most...pressing matter," he said.

Julian and Morde nodded.

"Last night, as you well know, the Queen passed away in her sleep," said Azmus. "Our best healers were unable to revive her."

"This information has been repressed, naturally," said Julian, smiling faintly and rubbing his chin, "and we've manufactured a fitting explanation. Theft, namely - all members of staff were reassigned, all human servants fired, under suspicion of stealing the Queen's jewels. It should be a satisfactory story to dissuade them from speculating."

"Assuming they don't all talk to each other."

"Yes, Morde, I thought of that. The galdori staff members will be made aware of efforts to hire a new, more confidential staff for the Queen, one under an oath of secrecy. It is only natural not to know who replaced them in such an instance."

Azmus sat back in his seat, apparently reeling. He placed a large hand over his eye.

"Our next step, quite obviously, is dispatching Servalis."

Julian grinned cheekily, like a schoolboy. "Quicke's there already, chumming the waters."

"We're going to need more than Quicke. We're going to need to deal with the Everine. It's the only way to get the support of the public. Make it something big, something unforgivable...the suicide wasn't enough. Hell, it's practically par for the course, around exams."

Hanz Morde grunted. "My men in the Stacks heard wind of a mass breakout of passives."

Azmus' brow furrowed and his voice rose harshly. "Absolutely out of the question. We can't risk letting that occur."

"How long do you really think we can keep her death a secret?" said Julian exasperatedly. "We can't wait around for a hypothetical passive revolt. We should have pressed her more in the investigation into Castor Devlin; it's obvious to me that she must be involved somehow. A sympathizer to the resistance, on top of a passive-lover? The script practically writes itself..."

"That bitch has her claws in every Chair," complained Azmus. "They've grown loyal to her. Even many of the ones who aren't remotely liberal or sympathetic. Quicke has his work cut out for him."

"He's very good."

"Well, I'm having to take your word for it, aren't I?" snapped the High Judge, glaring at the Inquisitor. "Forgive me if the word of a young whippersnapper from Bad Aisling isn't overcoming the increasingly compelling evidence that Quicke is just an expensive, useless scrap."

Julian smiled beatifically, his red eye fixed on the Judge. Azmus found himself quivering. It was the eye - he'd probably bloodied it himself to look more intimidating. Julian was a tall, slim fellow with good looks, more suited to a role as a charming diplomat than a ruthless inquisitor, and it was difficult not to trust him. Azmus felt that people who were easy to trust were the very people you should be automatically wary of. But in this scenario, he had little choice.

"All right," he said finally, sulking. He ran a knobby hand through his thinning hair. "Megiro, you have a week. That's as long as we can give you."

"We can't kill her," said Julian patiently.

Azmus sputtered. "As though I were suggesting--"

"I know, you wouldn't dream of it, High Judge. Of course not. I'm merely bringing up the limitations of how we proceed. We cannot kill Ophelia Servalis."

The king suddenly let loose a piercing cry, one which devolved into a hooting, owlish sound, whistling through his teeth. His eyes were splayed.

"At this rate, we're going to have two dead royals on our hands," said Morde. He spat on the ground.

"Just keep it together, boys! Chin up!" Julian laughed musically, and patted the hands of both men; they looked taken aback. "Every problem is an opportunity in disguise, right? This is natural. Progress. It's evolution. The kingdom is changing - the world is changing. Ester and old slobberbags over here were only holding us back. A new Headmaster, a proper one, and we can find a new Queen - a false Queen, one who serves as a mouthpiece for our plans. And who is in a prime location to be elected the next King?"

He clapped Azmus on the back.

"You'll see, it'll be right as rain in no time." Grinning, he stood up and drew his long, red cloak about his shoulders. "Give me that week, gentlemen, and I'll have Servalis out on the streets, begging for pocket change, while we begin to build a better world."