Message Delivered

[mcian]

Korbin Durr, the Papuan chef who, twice a week, visited the locations in Malas to prepare meals , arrived earlier than usual at the establishment named Sanctuary. His haste was apparent as he began his search for either of his friends – Scar and Deminatza – for he called out their names on every floor of the building, to no avail. He then remembered they had moved their residence to a new location, the Settlement, a short distance to the south. As it was connected by teleporter, he arrived there, finding Scar relaxing on a sofa, reading a book. Seeing him, Scar’s intense concentration softened and he smiled, bidding the friend to enter and be seated.

“Good to see you, Korbin! It has been a while,” he saluted. “Come, sit,” he invited, closing, then setting the book down beside him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Korbin’s attention was drawn briefly to the furnishings of the lounge – sparse but plush furniture of rich, warm, colors that created a most serene setting. “This is very nice,” he commented as he entered the room and sat down across from his host. He extended his hand, holding a letter, to Scar. “This is from your son, Jace. He gave it to me last night. He told me to get it to you. I would have come last night but with the curfew, I could not risk it.”

Scar frowned, taking the letter. “Curfew? Since when has there been a curfew in Papua?”

“For a week now. We have had vandalism in the town. They leave markings on the walls of buildings with words of shame for us… telling us that we are nothing but slaves or dogs and that our town is a hog pen. The archon ordered it. He believes the work is done by Delucians who are jealous of us, but none have been caught.”

“I see,” Scar nodded. “I have not been around obviously. I thought things had calmed down since the people stopped the mining – hoping things would return to normal. I am wrong, apparently.” He began reading the letter. His eyes widened and he stood up, letting the letter drop from his hands. “We must go… now. Wait here while I get myself prepared and properly dressed.” He exited via a teleporter that would take him to his room above.

Korbin, confused and curious, picked up the letter and read it. “Oh my! This is bad, very bad.”

Shortly, Scar returned, dressed in his battle gear. “Let’s go! There is no time to waste.”

The two of them departed for Papua in haste, together.

[mcian]

The Inquiry

In the office above Pier 39 in Papua – Archon Chumsol’s residence – three men squared off, two against one. One, the archon himself, was seated at a table. Standing to his right was the Benefactor, Thraxas, his left hand resting on the chair back. Separating them from the other one was a large table strewn with parchments, papers, and a few bound scrolls. The archon’s casual unoffending smile was pasted on, failing utterly to disguise his anxiety.

“Good day to both of you,” Scar began, the palm of his right hand lay lightly atop the bejeweled hilt of his favorite kryss. “I am here to inquire concerning the whereabouts of my son, Jace. I need to talk to him. It is urgent. Can you tell me where he is?”

The archon’s eyes glanced upward and to the right briefly before he spoke. “I… did not know Jace was your son, Lord Scar. He has been serving with us for some time now and has been doing exceptionally well. Last time I saw him he was in fine health and fulfilling his duties of guarding the dock, patrolling the town, and caravan escort. In fact, he may be on such a task as that at this very moment.”

Scar ignored him and the comment. He locked eyes with Thraxas but even then he found it strangely difficult to keep the sternness of a glare intact – there was something unnerving about those eyes. “He said he worked for you, Lord Thraxas. Is that true?”

Thraxas smiled and nodded. “He spoke true. I have had the oversight of his training by the request of the archon. He has assisted me on several occasions with various tasks, some dangerous even. Like the archon said, he has been delightfully competent – a quick study, a skillful warrior, and dependable worker.”

“He was not in his room at the Inn and no one I have asked has seen him today. One does not just disappear without a trace in a small town like this. His mother has need of him,” he lied, “and she depends on him to visit on occasion to help her.”

“We will do all we can to find him, Lord Scar. Rest assured! Now that I know of this, I shall have men search for him immediately,” the archon stated.

Scar turned his attention to him. “I understand there is a curfew here. What is that all about?”

Once again, the archon glanced up toward Thraxas. “Yes… yes there is. You see, Delucian spies have been writing terrible things about us on the walls of our buildings. We decided to impose the curfew to try and catch them,” he explained.

“Did it not occur to you that if you are wrong, and they are not ‘Delucian spies’ but operatives here, that you are providing them with a means to continue their work unimpeded?”

“What do you mean?” the archon asked, truly puzzled.

“If there is no one out and about at night, there will be no witnesses to the acts.”

“But there are people ‘out and about’ as you say, Lord Scar – the militia patrol every night,” Chumsol explained.

“Our people, or his?”

The archon fell silent. Scar noted a slight wrinkle in Thraxas’ brow – perhaps he had ruffled the demur façade the man constantly and irritatingly maintained.

“Excuse me. What do you mean by, “my people?” Thraxas challenged. “I assure you they are quite trustworthy.”

“Your men are doing the nightly patrols then, correct?”

“Well, yes. It is one of their many duties. They are not criminals, Lord Scar. Please do not so describe them. It is not fair, sir,” Thraxas stated, in plea-like intonation. He folded his arms.

“Fair or not, I strongly suggest you allow the militia alone to resume the patrols. I think then you will see that this problem will quite disappear.”

Thraxas frowned. “I take offense sir! On behalf of my men, whose honor is at issue here, I insist you retract your statement.”

Scar smiled as his eyes narrowed. “Just how offended are you? Do you wish to take this outside, or shall we “discuss” it right here in front of the archon?” He gripped the pommel of his kryss tightly. “Might make a mess though.”

“Gentlemen please!” the archon interjected. “There is no reason to come to blows over this! We can settle this properly. I will have some of my men also patrol along with yours, Lord Thraxas. That should be enough to prove the honor of your men.”

For a few moments the two opponents locked eyes, then Scar nodded. “There is still the matter of my son’s disappearance. I am going to look for him, as may my wife, Deminatza. I strongly suggest that no one impede us in any way at any time. It will turn out badly for them otherwise.” He gave a slight bow to the archon, ignored Thraxas, and stalked out of the room.

The archon sighed. “I told you he would find out and would not like it. You should have listened to me.”

“It is nothing,” Thraxas replied calmly. “He is one man.”

“His wife is no pushover. She is skilled and intelligent. I want no harm to come to either of them, Lord Thraxas. See to it.”

“I wish them no harm,” Thraxas replied lowering his arms to his side. “Especially to her,” he added, smiling. “Now, Lord Chumsol, let us get back to work if we may?”