Artman scrapped the remnants of egg of his jacket, it still baffled him at how easily they'd exploded across his kitchen. Maven got it worst, she was in the bath with a comb, trying to extract the half cooked yokes from her hair and spitting fire the whole way too.

He would have to practice cooking with the Simulacra, or take Maven's advice and just cook without it. Would be a shame if their only claim to glory and riches suddenly burned down in a kitchen fire.

So, here he was. Sitting in a cafe ordering breakfast and waiting for Maven to arrive.

He sipped on a brew of tea leaves scented with orange peels, and greedily eyed a croissant. The traffic was slow here, but the walk was manageable. He was a bit puzzled by a sign near the entrance depicting a black cat with a knife in it. When he asked about it, the waiter gave a polite smile and moved on to a different table rather quickly.

As he was sitting there, he pulled up a newspaper that he'd snagged from a paperboy on the street corner. Typical news, courts debating law, the Brigade blustering about some new officer; the Order announcing a new partnership with a local glassblowers guild to further the study of optics.

He flicked through the pages for a moment, looking at some of the ad's. There was a request for something to repel stray cats in the classified section. Another was asking for advice in love charms.

He thought about answering the fellow and explaining to them exactly why the Order had agreed to ban those petulant things in the first place, or how they started the so called "Cupid Wars" that saw a rash of romantic crimes and the legal case determining the use of Love charms to be tantamount to assault.

Thank goodness they discovered a countermeasure in quartz salt, alongside some choice enchantments inscribed on the back of a purity ring.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him tear his gaze away from the paper. Entering the cafe was a shapely creature, dressed in a white dress and furs, amber colored hair like the evening sun, small lips but quite pink, a round face that was begging to be kissed.

Artman was about to stand and introduce himself, when Maven walked in after her, mischievously grey eyes sliding into his field of view and holding him there like a fox that's found its prey.

He smiled and pulled out a seat for her, which Maven accepted graciously, smoothing out the folds of her light blue dress as she did.

"There you are. I was worried you'd given me the wrong cafe for a moment." she said, pouring herself a cup a of strong smelling tea.

"And why would I do that? My dear assistant." Artman replied, trying not to let his eyes move too much.

"Well, for starters, I could imagine you wanting to make small talk with the lovely lady in the furs over there by the flowers." She pointed with her chin towards the woman that Artman had been admiring.

"Well, I-" He started, but Maven gave him a teasing smile

"Relax Artman, I don't mind, too much." She said, putting a bit of grit in her voice. She continued to gaze for a moment. "Simply lovely, isn't she? Why I could she you sweeping her of her feet and into your bed within a heartbeat?" Maven paused a moment and reconsidered.

"No, that would be too fast for you, maybe over the next week, over shared lunches and an excellent wine. It would be so romantic." She giggled to herself for a moment as Artman buried his head in the white sands of his newspaper.

"Oh, don't be so bashful. You act like we were married." She reassured him, but Artman could quite choke down his shame. "though it would be cruel of you, letting another woman warm the sheets with you after all our long chilly nights together." She continued, almost licking her predatory lips, watching Artman squirm a little.

He cleared his throat and spoke up. "I'm worried about these rumors of a Noble Patron. I'm not sure If I'll be able to meet their demands when their made. That and theirs the matter of negotiating a price."

Maven leaned back in her chair, somewhat disappointed her little game was over, but also to feign disinterest in the fresh developments.

"Oh, let them squabble for a while. It'll will be worth it to drive the price up."

Artman tensed at that. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Quarrels between the nobles can lead to unpleasant outcomes, something I'd rather avoid."

Maven bit her lip for a moment. "Well, I guess it all depends on who's all involved. If it's Baron Herman, for example, then we definitely want to jump on that. If it's someone like Felix Monroe, we can let him squirm for a while, beating off competitors with a stick while you romance some lovely lady out of her soul."

Artman shuddered. Felix Monroe was almost worse than Darwin. The Head of Purchase at the Triple Serpents Magic Guild. With ways of making coin that went outside the approved list of Sellable Charms the Order had made into law. Rumors of love charms, lurker cloaks, selling charmed horseshoes from Brigade surplus, and other suspected plots.

Had the Wind Lance passed its trials, Artman suspected the Triple Serpents would have gotten a hand in producing it for the Brigade, or someone else, Felix would've made sure of that. His connections to various Brigade and clerical officials ran deep through his family connections to the Monroe estate.

It was half the reason the Triple Serpents' unsavory dealings went unquestioned.

"I would rather hope it's not Felix. I can't imagine what he'd use it for; but it wouldn't be in the spirit of Charity or hospice. That I can assure you." He replied dryly. Maven nodded.

"I'll take your word for it. I've seen the boys that come home from a fight with a wizard. Can't imagine those snakes are any less merciful." She said that last part with a venomous tongue. Artman knew better than to press her experience on such matters.

The waiter appeared with their plates, and the conversation melted away for a moment as they ate.

"What about one of the other Guild masters? Could they be interested?" Maven asked between bites. Artman shook his head and took a long drink of tea.

"No, they'd rather steal it and make some cheap copy like they always do. Constantly snitching from each other. No, if the Guilds do make an offer, I shall demand an exclusive contract and prosecute the rest should they dare to infringe."

Maven thought a moment longer, "And if it is nobility?"

"Then I'll be grateful to place fanciful wooden servants inside the homes of the wealthy and amass a fortune to rival my clienteles. Then finally get married and seal my techniques behind Trade Secrecy, passing the knowledge of my process to my sons and then die a happy fat old man."

Maven snickered a little. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Artman waved her off. "Oh, yes, and you'll be handsomely paid for assisting me in perfecting my technique. Enough money to grow into the greedy old crone you are."

Maven laughed out loud for a moment before putting a hand to her mouth. "You horrible wizard, you wouldn't dare wish that on me, not when I intend to die young and shamelessly beautiful. my corpse will be gorgeous, I'll be envied in life and death."

Artman took a long draw of his tea.

"Nothing to say?" she asked, a playful look still on her face as slid a berry past her lips.

Artman put the teacup down with a heavy sigh, "I think we ought to be rich first." he said with a fatal certainty. Maven's face damped in agreement.

"So, how do we meet this supposed patron of ours?" Maven asked. "I don't suppose they'd send a letter of invitation first. It would only be polite."

Artman thought it over a particular spot of soft eggs, mopping it up with a corner of toast. "Well, I can either toil away in the workshop and wait for them to appear, seeing as I have achieved some notoriety, Or I can take a risk and start putting out letters to all the parties allegedly involved, and take the risk of offending them by my propositions."

Now Maven was thinking, a fork halfway to her mouth with a slice of wheat cake perched on it.

"I suppose a Public display would be out of the question, wouldn't it?" she posed. Artman shook his head, wiping his mouth clean with a napkin.

"No, not entirely. But I would urge caution if we decide to go that route. It would leave my project open to unscrupulous characters and uninvited inspection."

"So what, we work the novelty scene and have our little poppet dancing in front of the wealthy and famous? That still leaves us with getting an invitation."

"Perhaps not. Look what just walked in." He glanced towards the door with a pointed look. Maven produced a small hand mirror to peer over her shoulder.

She spotted the man immediately. He practically reeked of self importance, head high, nose pointed and clothes that were the color of burgundy, with a trim of royal purple. He would've cut a dashing figure if his jowls and throat weren't so saggy with fat. Scanning the restaurant with tired and dismissive eyes, he came to rest on them for a moment, lingered, and then flicked to another group to disregard without comment as he strutted past.

He stopped in the middle of the room and cleared his throat before addressing the whole place.

"Is there a Sir Artman Wolfram here? I said, Is there a Sir Artman Wolfram Here?"

Artman and Maven glanced at each other as she closed the little compact with a snap. A look of mischief crept across her face as she kicked Artman from under the table.

He felt himself jump, causing the table to screech under neath him, drawing the man's attention.

"Ah, I am he. Sir, I am Artman Wolfram." He shot a dirty look at Maven, who merely took a sip of tea while attempting to act oblivious. The Stranger squinted a moment, as if he'd taken in a terrible smell, before reaching into his coat and drawing out a pair of spectacles.

"I am Fawkes Duson, in Service to Alexander San German, and he would cordially extend this invitation..." He summoned a letter, sealed in red wax, from within his sleeve offering it to Artman, "To a business proposition." He gave a sniff at Maven, who was battering her eyes at him, and then turned his gaze back to Artman, who was steadily reading the letter in a state of shock.

"Shall I carry on your acceptance to Mister San German, or have you other plans?" Mister Duson spoke in a clipt, demanding voice. Artman had to remember to breathe for a moment before answering.

"My thanks to San German for his offer. May I take the next few days to consider it?" Maven looked on, appalled at the words leaving his mouth, but knew better to raise a fuss in public. Artman stared at the imperious Mr.Duson.

The man in red nodded his approval, "Very well, I shall expect your reply by the Sixth day of this week, no later. Understand?" Artman nodded his approval. How little that mattered, and Mister Duson clicked his heels together and gave a small bow. "Then I take my leave. Mister San German looks forward to hearing from you, Sir Wolfram."

He left, trailing silence like a cape until he was out of sight, or near enough. The bubbling sound of gossip flooded the cafe and soon to spread to the rest of city via little patches of weedy rumors.

Maven reserved her sour look until Artman took his seat again and noticed her staring at him.

"What?"

"Why didn't you say yes, you daft imbecile? being called on by San German? this has the stroke of providence in it. This is our chance!" she hissed, very nearly screaming from the stimuli.

"Maven, please. Calm down and think for a moment. What do either of us know of Mister San German? I've never even heard of this man till now." Artman urged, staring her down as she cast her gaze aside with a sigh of disgust.

"Thats what I thought. Now, as for his offer it's-" he paused "Well, Its very good. Almost too good."

"Too good? What do you mean?" Maven asked.

"See for yourself." Artman slid the letter over to her. She scanned through a few lines and put it down. Then picked it back up, reread some particular line, and then threw it back down.

"What in the shaded hell?" she asked quietly. Artman took another cup of tea as they considered what they'd just read.

"Well, what do you say to that?" Artman asked. Maven shook her head.

"I don't know." a beguiling smile stretched out across her face "But we'll have till Sixth Day to think on it."