* * * TARIFAX – CONIMBRIGA * * *

Claude Melancon awkwardly clambered down from the hansome cab. He stretched to get rid of the crick in his back and looked up at the grimy soot stained building that took up the north frontage of the square they were in.

He squared his shoulders and then almost jumped out of his skin when his sat phone warbled for attention. Grumbling, and still not sure if he should believe his ears he answered it.

“Melancon here.”

“Claude, when you can find out what you can about a place called Casar Vitara.”

“Casa Vitara? Yes sir, I will.”

“Casar not Casa. And see if you and your team can make your way there. You are cleared to hire your current local guides for the mission.”

“Yes sir,” sighed Claude. “What about our current mission?”

“That comes first, Claude. See to it.”

“Yes sir,” replied Claude. He looked at his phone and put it away. He looked up and found Sue Wilkins looking at him with an air of resignation. Ax, Mesca and Silk were simply waiting for him to finish his call. They were paying attention to their surroundings. The way they were watching the surroundings alertly made Claude uneasy.

“Well, let’s see if we can buy that land,” Claude offered as he set his foot on the stairs leading up to the building’s once magnificent front entrance.

Once through the usual airlock entrance of the local Town Hall, the civic offices of Conimbriga had a weird sense of familiarity. There were numerous members of the public, mostly waiting patiently, sitting down on tired looking chairs, or far more commonly, standing in queues. Then there were the clerks, mostly seeming to ignore their duties and gossiping in small clumps, while a minority did all the work.

Mesca stopped one of the bronze collared attendants, and after exchanging a few remarks and passing the man a couple of bronze coins, led them to an apparently empty counter. Once there he hit the button of the bell that resided on the counter in question.

A wispy looking little man with a few strands of oily looking hair combed over a shiny pate shuffled listlessly in their direction. Mesca made a gesture that Claude noted revealed a flash of silver. The little man visibly perked up and shuffled faster.

Claude further noticed that when he arrived at his position, the little man passed his hand over his counter where Mesca had been resting his hand.

“Yes, what may I do for you, my lords?”

Mesca smiled and said, “This gentleman and lady wish to purchase some land belonging to the city. The land in question is outside the walls, and was formerly Hazelgrove Farm.”

The clerk showed mild surprise, but he nodded politely, handed them a numbered token from under his counter and said, “Please proceed to the Crimson Room, take the stairs and it’s the second door to the right.”

As he followed Mesca up the stairs Claude felt depressed, it was becoming increasingly obvious that nothing would get done without a sweetener. That and the sheer number of slaves, clearly distinguishable by the collars they wore. Most of the ones here in the town hall wore bronze or silver, which he assumed was the reason that none of them looked as – desperate and beaten down, as the ones who wore leather slave collars.

According to their briefing on Tarifax, both Frog’s Arena of Blood and Ms Silvestre’s Blue Lagoon were doing what they could against the practice. Mind you, both dungeons had more things on their plate than just working against slavery.

Then they entered the Crimson Room. It was lavishly furnished, but distinctly dusty and grimy. Once again it took the bribe of a couple of silver coins to get seen. This, despite the fact that they were the only customers present.

The self-important woman who consented to see them proved amenable to selling only a fraction of the original farm. It cost them almost as much to buy the two fields they wanted, as it would have cost to buy the entire farm. But the taxes would be far less.

Two hours later they were done. Once in the street Claude used his phone, to discover where they were staying, now that the temple of the goddess of healing had expelled them. Because of Silk, for healing that youth.

Later, in a hansome cab while on their way to their new lodgings Claude updated their superiors back on Earth. Claude still found it jarring that they could phone between worlds like this. They had to be careful of what they said, because it stood to reason that Ms Silvestre’s people controlled the communications satellites. But then, back on Earth he was well aware that the mobile phone network wasn’t secure.

That evening, as they gathered around a table in the dining room of the Pig in a Poke, Claude ventured to ask Ax, “So, Just what all is Ms Silvestre involved in? Are you allowed to tell us?”

Ax grinned as he scratched Silk under the chin. “Mostly. Mother is building up her air navy to take on Blackbeard, that is to say the pirates and slavers. Blackbeard has already lost many followers to Mother, here and on Parthia. Mother’s traders are starting to make inroads here too. She has spent treasure, buying and then freeing slaves; they tend to make loyal followers. There is more, but that – well, I am assured she doesn’t want you to know – yet.”

“How is she able to do so much more than Frog? Aren’t they both dungeon cores?” asked Sue fishing for clues.

“Mother is more. She is a goddess,” boasted Ax. “And I guess I can tell you, she has plans to free all the sapient dungeons on Tarifax. She has an uneasy alliance with Azurea to do that. I suspect the merely sentient dungeon cores will also be freed in time.”

“What does she get out of it?” asked Claude.

« She rubs everyone’s nose in the fact that dungeon cores are people too, and that she’s the boss. » Silk explained.

Claude thought for a moment; then turning to Grey, asked, “What can you tell us about a place called Casar Vitara? And can you escort us there?”

Grey rubbed his right horn in thought, before looking enquiringly at his companions. Ax rubbed his chin. “I think it’s a small town up north, near the sea. Was a frontier post in the old empire.”

“If that’s the case, then there should be airships plying the route. Why do you want to go to such a remote spot?” asked Grey.

Claude shrugged, “I honestly don’t know – yet. I suspect we’ll be told if the cost of the journey in time and money isn’t considered excessive.”

Grey downed his ale. “Fine. I’ll head down to the airport tomorrow and inquire as to availability of passage. Cost and time. I can let you know sometime tomorrow, or you can accompany me and find out when I do.”

* * * EARTH – IN THE NEWS * * *

A spokesman for the Saudi Kingdom has condemned the killing of their citizen Zaidaan al-Khalid in Basel. Mr al-Khalid and his assistant were decapitated in their home.

Mr Wajeeb al-Khalid the brother of the murdered man, and his heir, discovered that all the liquid assets of his brother were stolen. The thieves seem to have gained access to the murdered man’s bank details.

* * *

The Tyrant of the Isles has advised George Soros that he is not welcome on Parthia. Ms Lane Loisdottir acting as the Tyrant’s spokesperson stated, that it was purely a matter of clashing political viewpoints.

* * *

An attempt to capture a group of winged cats by a pair of Chinese nationals was foiled today. Authorities on Maui state the two men are presently in custody, and that the state AG is determining what would be the appropriate charges.

* * *

Attention has been drawn to Falstaff Middle School in Los Angeles. Mr Galbraith the principal has been arrested for the misappropriation of funds. The school, which was left in a seriously dilapidated condition, has been much improved over the past week.

The board of governors are concerned as the repairs have been extensive, and they have been unable to figure out where the money for the repairs is coming from. And even more mysteriously, who is doing the repairs.