Grave Dust
" This was unexpected, Oman," the First had said coolly, " You almost killed him. "
She took a deep breath, still weary from the two days she spent blacked out in some gamblers den. She poured herself a glass of water. " But, my First, I did not kill him. Just as you requested, " there was pleasure in her voice. It had been as much a question as an statement. In truth she did not know if the Poet was dead or alive until just now. Were he dead, she would have to suffer consequences for her actions. Face the Music as it were.
" Do you think there will be repercussions? " she asked. The First paced behind his desk, his hands joined behind his back. " I do not," he offered simply. She had hoped for more detail with this question, but settled for the good outcome. Oman stood and moved to the window. Relieved. Slowly she remembered to breathe. It was not her place to ask. A Killer needn't know the details. One question did burn her for an answer, but did she dare to ask it? Wait, she heard in her ear.
" What news of the theft, Sister? " he was watching her. Here was her second test come to fruition. The First was elected to the Leaders seat while she was away. They were not well known to one another except on a casual basis. He was trying her loyalties this time now that her skills were known.
" I know where the goods are, my First. With a retinue I could retrieve them if that is your wish, " she drank her water, handed him a slip of paper and continued, " I do not think it is a job for one. " To be a good judge of body language one must invoke all of the senses. He seemed pleased, but unsure how respond. His pacing though steady and with even strides was without purpose. He was pensive. The name on the paper must have troubled him.
Oman waited. Ever the patient inquisitor the time for her question would soon come. A talendar scented slave girl brought them tea. The First spoke as she began to serve it, " You shall have what you require, but She Killer beware, this is delicate a matter. Justice for our own could provoke war."
" More than killing the voice of the Lower Castes, the People ? " she had struck her question with a cunning caress. " Yes, " he answered.
" What news of the theft, Sister? " he was watching her. Here was her second test come to fruition. The First was elected to the Leaders seat while she was away. They were not well known to one another except on a casual basis. He was trying her loyalties this time now that her skills were known.
" I know where the goods are, my First. With a retinue I could retrieve them if that is your wish, " she drank her water, handed him a slip of paper and continued, " I do not think it is a job for one. " To be a good judge of body language one must invoke all of the senses. He seemed pleased, but unsure how respond. His pacing though steady and with even strides was without purpose. He was pensive. The name on the paper must have troubled him.
Oman waited. Ever the patient inquisitor the time for her question would soon come. A talendar scented slave girl brought them tea. The First spoke as she began to serve it, " You shall have what you require, but She Killer beware, this is delicate a matter. Justice for our own could provoke war."
" More than killing the voice of the Lower Castes, the People ? " she had struck her question with a cunning caress. " Yes, " he answered.
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