“We are investigating another disappearance in this area,” said the man in armor. “This time it was one of our agents, so we’re going to be taking a much closer look at everything. Even if we’ve seen it before.”
“Indeed, I’m sure you will,” said Sethian Skin, standing on a bloodstain in the middle of his boutique. “I would not expect otherwise.”
“What happened here?” An armored hand gestured to the floor.
“An incredibly expensive spillage of material. Have you any idea how much a dye of such red is worth?”
“Sounds like you need to be more careful.”
“Aren’t you so incredibly uncomfortable, dressed in such rigid shapes?” Sethian Skin looked over the man’s armor. It was gray, polished to a shine as though that made a difference, marred in places by past conflict. Yes, the man was likely a veteran of the thousand-year war, or his own generation’s portion of it, but that was no excuse. “Rigid outer shell like a bug. Leather strips? Fine. Covered in buckles and pins? Artless. And a helmet. Constricts the head. Something like a strangler’s grip, isn’t it?”
The armored man tapped his faceplate. “I feel safe. Not like you’re in much of a place to complain about someone’s face being hidden, mister big-hat.”
Grabbing the brim of his hat, pulling it down further over his invisible face, Sethian Skin replied as though insulted, “It isn’t the face that I care about.” When he breathed deep to heave his sigh, the layers of his vest and gown shifted silently, smoothly, glistening like black water in the firelight. “Well, you’ll be wanting the tour, yes?”
The helmet turned. “I know you’ve got more rooms hidden behind these clothing racks. I can hear the wind. Hear lamps burning.”
“My, that’s impressive. The watch officer who came last week was surprised by every new hallway. Come on, then. I will,” Sethian Skin spun away, walking right at the back wall and pushing aside brilliant yellow garments to show a concealed hallway behind. “Show you what the public does not see of my little Maniaque.”
“Hah.” The armored man followed. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re so dramatic.”
“I’m an artist, sir.” The hallway he’d revealed was lined with red cloth, hiding the walls and the ceiling, making everything look soft and smooth.
As the armored man followed, he asked, “What do you know about a dancer named Norgash?”
“Famous firedancer from the south!” Sethian Skin paced calmly forward, his low voice barely breaking monotone despite the energy with which he answered. “She’s been in the city a few months now, hasn’t she? So many foreigners shopping here right after she arrived, wanting an outfit to stand out during her performances. I’ve heard she gives personal invitations for sensual midnight dances. I heard she picks individuals from the audience and takes them home.”
“Yes, well…” The armored man’s voice wandered, his mind elsewhere.
Sethian Skin chuckled. “She’s one of the missing people, isn’t she?”
“You said you had some fans of hers in your clientele?”
“Fans? I’d call them apostles. Devouts. They worship her. Some have followed her all the way from the Southlands. At great risk, mind you.”
“Stop.” The armored man paused in the middle of the hallway. He looked toward the wall, toward the cloth that concealed it. He stepped back a couple of paces and reached out.
“Please don’t touch the fabric unless you’re interested in purchasing something,” Sethian Skin said. “The fact that it’s displayed on the wall doesn’t mean it’s worthless. This is all incredibly valuable.”
Despite this, armored fingers brushed the cloth aside, revealing a new, dark hallway. “Why are you hiding this hall?”
Sethian Skin pulled down his hat, glaring at the touch of metal to cloth. “I requested that you not touch the fabric.”
“Answer the question.”
“Storage. You may, if you like, make the choice to go inside.” He tilted his hard so his chin was visible beneath the brim of his hat. His lips were as onyx dark as his skin, frown grim. “Up to you.”
The man in armor went into the new hallway. Sethian Skin followed him through a barren hall with tile walls. The soldier walked out onto a stone floor, a little room lit by a candle-dim lamp on the ceiling. He stopped. “What are those?”
“Decorations for a party on the veiled night,” Sethian Skin said, pacing into the room behind the armored man. “The cages will be hauled up to my banquet hall beforehand. We play a bit of a game, and the cages are for the losers.”
The armored man stood stock-still in the middle of the room. He rested one armored hand on his belt, on the grip of a dirk. “Ah. I admit, you surprised me.” His voice remained hard. His helmet turned, metal of the faceplate scratching the metal of his collar-plates as he looked at the long, narrow cages on three of the walls. “A game you say? And who’s this fellow in the cage here? A previous loser?”
“A dressed-up mannequin,” Sethian Skin said, walking to the cage. The door stood open, awaiting him. “Bit of a decoy to sell the illusion. I’ll show you.” He went inside.
“This the key to the cage?” The armored man found a key hanging from a loop on the outside of the cage.
“Naturally.” Sethian Skin crouched over the mannequin. It was dressed in torn blue traveling clothes, a jacket and long pants, a very convincing bloodied tear in the jacket’s back to hint out a wound the mannequin did not actually have.
The armored man closed the cage and locked it, trapping Sethian Skin inside. He said, “You can stay here until I’ve toured the rest of your shop. Then me and a few friends will be back to talk to you about that mannequin in there.”
“Oh, my.” Sethian Skin stood and turned, pulling down the brim of his hat. “Well, you’ve gotten one over on me. Congratulations, sir.”
“Both the dancer Norgash and our agent were spotted at your shop last night. And obviously I’d recognize my compatriot’s garments, even though that mannequin is not their body.” The armored man backed away. “That’s just to give you something to think about while you’re waiting for me.”
“Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ll play a counting game with my friend here.” Sethian Skin gestured to the gory mannequin, then smiled with glistening black teeth. “Take your time, oh dutiful guardian of the people. And, if you can, have fun.”
Rumbling dubiously, the armored man left.
Sethian Skin sat down next to the mannequin and began to count.
