Thar Shaddin

"Dearest cousin Diego, ever afraid to fully show his true colors in polite company. Not that one would ever suspect you of such." Sarita eyed Diego's clothing even as she assessed his posture. Not all of her spies or assassins were like Diego – none were exactly his equal or his like – but the ones who were all served to give her heartburn on a regular basis. It must be a required payment for such capabilities; the less she worried about her agents on the field, the more she had to worry about them at home.

"Lest you've forgotten, Senor, Costanca is part of the business that has brought you here. I trust you'll react with decorum for the remainder of your trip here."

A useless reminder. She said much the same thing every time he reported to her. One might almost assume he found pleasure in needling her every time they were alone, and what deference he showed was only ever a temporary act. Was this Salvador's idea of a joke? If he wasn't such a celebrated trainer, Sarita might one day find herself strangling him in one of his sitting rooms. Still, irreverence aside, Diego had his point.

"Dona Eluira has always had a firm stance on treason. She considers it her holy mission to stamp all of it from Morua, as if such a thing were possible in any one person's lifetime." Sarita's tone went from reproachful to a thoughtful musing. Her eyes drifted from Diego to the door. "I would rather not waste more time than is necessary gathering more evidence. This is certainly enough to get her interest, but as to what she will agree to. . .well, we'll have to be persuasive."

Sarita's eyes wandered back to Diego, her head canting slightly to the side as she considered him. "Dona Eluira always did pay close attention to you when you left your hair tousled."

Diego grinned "Dearest cousin Sarita, I am a delicate butterfly of the court, didn't you know? Indeed, yes, pierced to my place with the pin of politics. Why, to suggest I could act with anything other than decorum is a patent absurdity." The assassin somehow contrived a way to look even more relaxed in the chair, like a cat draped over a cushion. A moment later the grin turned to a smirk. "Yes, Dona Eluira does have a... forceful personality. Rather likes to have things her own way. Very much dislikes complications to the smooth running of the family interests."

Rumours abounded about every action and interaction of Corezan society, and there were certainly some speculations about the previous spymistress and her favourite spy. Diego suspected that Sarita harboured some curiosity about the veracity of such rumours. The assassin's expression didn't change a jot as he added "Tousled hair it is. And if it helps, M'dear mistress, I could dress in tight-fitting clothing and recite a lot of poetry while I'm at it, yes? Invite her to dance, the full honey pot." Diego knew for a fact that Eluira would not enjoy any of that. She would, in fact, likely have something very particular to say to Diego in private regarding such a vile display.

As if a mere afterthought, Diego added. "Or we can trust to her ability to reason out the facts. After all, as she does so often love to remind, she was spymistress before you." But if it came down to persuasion, well, Diego and Eluira went back a long way.

Sarita chose the better part of valor, and watched him without appearing to hear his lack of deference. Instead, she eyed him up with the same sort of calculation a tailor might use on a piece of cloth. If the piece of cloth also had a mouth on it and could be accused of loitering on its stand, at least, that would be near enough to how she was looking at him. Encouraging him in his vices was not to her best interests, however, and unlike Costanca Sarita knew well enough to leave some things alone. Though she would never fault Costanca for picking at things (that tendency was quite useful when it came to ferreting information out of her often petulant sister), she could admit to herself that she wouldn't mind dealing with adults who made it a point to act like the respectable members of society they should be.

Wishes were useless things. "The Dona in question appreciates clothing well fitted across shoulders and hips. Full honey pot, indeed. As for the rest, don't be foolish. Dona Eluira is quite familiar with what Senora Solana was capable of, and she might be wary of placing her within reach again. We shall need to convince her of the Senora's importance in this matter. She might wish for more evidence; as well you know she is a very thorough woman. However, the longer Senora Solana remains as a slave, I fear the less likely we'll find her alive. Slavery would not suit her, of that I am certain."

Sarita had been accused on occasion of being too prim for the Moruan courts, but Solana had always been far, far worse.

Diego chuckled "Yes, indeed she does. I'm sure you don't need to be reminded of the years I spent in Dona Eluira's service, Dona Sarita." The assassin shifted his weight, and suddenly the man was as straight-backed and proper in his posture as if he were seated for a portrait. A slight upwards twitch of his left eyebrow served in the sudden absence of his smirk. "Well, we shall see. Honestly though, you're the spymistress now, despite the traditional meddling of those gone before you. I'm sure you have ways of getting your way, just like Dona Eluira did." And still does, Diego silently added. Though perhaps not with quite the same methods as Sarita.

Diego waved a hand to gesture at the papers he had recovered "One way or another, this endeavour has as good as slapped the Guiate in the face." Diego allowed himself a slight smile. "A private slap, of course: none there can accuse me directly, or by extension the main house." Diego shrugged "But it is important to remember that they are not fools. It is only a matter of time before Ramiro discovers what has been lost, and moves to protect Guiate interests. If Senora Querida Solana is indeed key to unravelling whatever their ambitions happen to be, then I would be surprised if it is slavery which ends up killing her. Especially if the Bellezan connection goes deeper than the ledgers suggest."

"Don't be naïve," Sarita scolded, and took another sip of her tea. Sarita might have the title, but Eluira had a lifetime's worth of reputation, contacts, and networks; loyalty and a mind for politicking that Sarita hadn't yet the experience to rival. A title might not mean anything in Morua, no matter the pretty lip service that was paid to it. With Costanca's situation on hand, Sarita was only too aware of that.

As Diego continued, Sarita nodded. "Which brings us back to needing to move as quickly as possible. It is true I can do some meddling in regards to Senora Sola's situation," her voice had quietened, and the nickname only underscored the small affection Sarita had for her first handmaiden, "but without the Dona Eluira's blessing there will be no sending of you, Senor. We could move without her, but then she would recall you. You are one of her favorites, and we cannot do this without her active participation. I shall be most reluctant to send any but my best in this situation – it is simply too delicate.

"Speculation will do us no good in this matter, unless you have any more insights. I shall have my estate mage send word to her estate that we shall be by tomorrow afternoon. Try not to encourage Senora Costanca while we are visiting with the Dona, hm?"

Diego had to concede Sarita had a point. It would be very much like Eluira to reinforce her dominance over family intrigue with such an elegantly simply manoeuvre. "There is that consideration, yes." The assassin shrugged "Well then. I suppose we had better be persuasive. Otherwise we'll end up looking like a neat collection of fools over this Guiate affair." Diego added by way of afterthought "On the assumption that Eluira is persuaded, I am certain you are aware of the increased need to ward yourselves from assassins. The Bellezans have their own share of talent in the area, as you well know, should the Guiate have such connections at their avail. Though that too could prove an opportunity. I'd highly recommend keeping one or two of Salvador's graduates around, at least until the matter is resolved."

Diego rose to his feet and gathered up the papers he had been reading, then offered Sarita a slight bow "On the topic of Dona Costanca, I can assure you: I shall be sufficiently boring that she shall turn her attentions elsewhere. You, most likely." Diego quirked his lips in a hint of a smirk "But if we are to retire to the drawing room without appearing obnoxiously late, and thereby set lascivious rumours astir, now may be a good time to secure the paperwork and make our way down."

Sarita nodded and set down her tea. Maidservants would collect them once the two had vacated the room, though not those under general employment. No, certain rooms had their own special attendants, and were kept locked the rest of the time. Should the unfortunate happen, Sarita tried to limit the potential damage and list of suspect. No system was ever fully secure, she knew, but the effort was well worth making.

"I shall take your advice on this matter. I believe I know two such individuals; one has been used for such service in the past. A very circumspect senora, as I recall."

She stood, gathering the papers Diego had brought and collecting the ones she'd given him to read. "I shall meet you in the drawing room," she said, preceding him to the door. "I have no doubt there may be some others under my employ you had hoped to speak to before the evening draws to a close. If you move quickly you might make contact before needing to make your appearance. I myself shall yet take some few minutes before appearing." Sarita did, of course, have her own hidey holes for sensitive information, and she never allowed any to accompany her during those trips. Her suite of rooms, separate from the quarters she kept with her husband, were well guarded and held within them no small number of places to keep things private.

Privacy in the Morveres Estate was ever at a premium. She could only assume Diego knew any movements he made would be watched and noted, reported to her later in the evening. It was not meant for any personal affront: Morveres belonged to the Spymistress, and surveillance in that regard began in her home. She opened the door, a bit of a social gaffe considering that he was the gentleman in the situation, and waited for him to leave first. Ever suspicious was the Dona Sarita.

Diego offered another slight bow. There were two possible women Sarita could be referring to, and both of them had well-deserved reputations for competence. "Appreciated, as always. One must plan for all contingencies. I shall be with you shortly." Stepping through the door opened for him, Diego allowed a smirk to grace his features for a moment, his own response to the politics of doorways. Diego immediately set off for the rooms of the estate mage. The assassin was well aware that his every move was watched carefully. Thus he made no efforts to conceal his actions. He had no real need to, in any case.

During the walk to the mage's office, Diego quickly worked out the cipher for what he needed to say to Salvador. Each day of the month corresponded with a particular song or poem of Salvador's fancy. The order of poems tended to change each time they met in person. Thus an assassin had a varied selection of words to choose from, merely needing to specify the day, stanza, line, and word number. It was amusing, in some regards, that Diego could have happily let Sarita peer over his shoulder while penning his missive to Salvador, and she'd still have no idea what meaning was held within the long sequence of seemingly random numbers separated by dashes.

Diego was under the firm belief that the list of poems varied from assassin to assassin, as a further failsafe in the event of betrayal. Certainly, that's how he'd do things, and Salvador was a man who took painstaking care with the finer details. Not much time passed before the estate mage was handed a sheet of paper consisting of nothing but numbers and dashes. "Please ensure this message reaches the estate of Salvador Agustin El Rojas de Morua. Oh, and do feel free to make a copy for Dona Sarita. I do like to keep her entertained. It's important to enjoy one's duties, no?" Besides, today Diego had more on his mind than starting a new round of the old 'I know you know I know you know' game.

With his contingencies in the process of being dealt with, Diego strode swiftly to the drawing room. Being fashionably late was one thing, but that generally only applied to public events. It still amused Diego to recall one court wit who had lamented that Diego always 'seemed to make his entrance in the last moment, like a man's dying breath'. It had been a not-so-subtle jab at his sombre shade of attire and deliberate lateness, but Diego had liked the sentiment enough to publicly toast the man for a fantastic jest. Apparently the man became something of a recluse after that, accepting clerical work with a merchant based far from the duchy, though Changers knew why. Diego had quite liked the man's humour. Diego would make his way into the drawing room with the air of a man who has arrived precisely on time, no matter what a clock might attempt to insinuate.

Costanca was announced into the Most Illustrious Dona Guiomar Valecia de Morua Morcillo's room by one of Sarita's more vile handmaidens. The eyes of the servant were practically glued to Costanca's back as she swept into the room -- fan discrete amongst her skirts once more -- and smiled at the elderly woman. She intended to greet her venerable aunt, but found herself cut off before she could even open her mouth.

"Oh, oh planes I had thought you outgrew those noxious colors. I see I was wrong. How disappointing." Guiate's voice was cultured, and a touch faint. It contained the slightest of warbles. Costanca knew it more a product of age and theatrics than any genuine emotional distress.

"Great Aunt de Morua Morcillo," she said with a smile, curtseying. "I was set free of my chores so that I might spend some time with you before dinner."

"Sarita and her degenerate ideas keeping the two of you cooped, I've no doubt. The heirs of de Morua, doing manual labor; I can scarcely bear the thought. Did you -- did you know, young lady, that that woman is twenty-six and without any children? Can you imagine. Why, soon she'll be without the capacity for children, and then where shall we be? And she a daughter of the de Morua main line."

Guiomar held out a hand as if beseeching. Costanca played into the role of dutiful niece and crouched at her feet. She spread her skirts out prettily around herself, of course, and took her great aunt's hand. "I know," she said.

"I don't know what you know about. Twenty-two and unmarried. The very house shall fall to ruin. Why is it only my dearest Lena has produced children? Why has there been no marriage, carino?"

Costanca told her. She had told her aunt the same thing thirty-eight times over the past week and four days. If Sarita was not courting the old woman's patronage and settling an inner family dispute with the old biddy at the head, Costanca would have shown her exactly how degenerate she could be. Instead, she tilted her head to the side prettily and finished her sad tale with a contrite, "I promise to have lots of children, Auntie, but for now it's time for supper."

"Do go on," the old woman grumbled, "for what reason have you been sent to fetch me, rather than one of Senora Sarita's girls?"

"We have a guest."

"I cannot possibly fathom who."
"It is our cousin, Great Auntie! The Senor Diego de Morua."
"She's having an affair with him, isn't she? Is this why there have been no children?"
"Aunt Guiomar?"
"This family is sufficiently lacking in able wits," Guiomar said, pulling forth her own fan -- a delicate contraption of rare wood and lace -- to fan herself with.

Costanca's smile held. Barely. "Shall we meet them in the drawing room?"

"As I have not yet left my facilities or my manners, it would seem the only viable option."

Costanca inclined her head, and counted down from ten.

Five minutes later, the Illustrious Dona had been settled in a comfortable armchair that had, at her insistence, minimal padding. Costanca had not yet found a chair of her own, instead standing beside some of the pieces of artwork that Sarita had decorated the room with. One vase in particular had caught her attention, since it meant she had to face away from Guiomar to properly look at it.

"Must you continue to wear such outrageous colors?"
"There's nothing wrong with orange, dearest Aunt. The colors I favor remind me of spring."
"Yes, well, that spring has long since passed for you, carino. You look the part of a fat tangerine."

Costanca grit her teeth against a sly, spiteful reply, and turned so she could favor her elder relative with a beaming smile. "How dear of you to think of me," she said.

Meanwhile she hoped -- nay, prayed -- for another target to arrive. Where were they?

Diego stepped into the drawing room, and realised to his chagrin that he had arrived before Sarita. It was a deucedly stupid error. Now, rather than sharing Guiomar's attention with two others, he would be required to actually converse with the blasted aunt-in-law. There had been little love lost between his mother, Beatriz, and Guiomar. Thus had Salvador warned him when Diego was still the callow youth of sixteen and about to be released into the viper pit of Moruan society. Diego was not privy to how the Morcillos had wormed or bribed their way into the main household, nor what lay at the heart of the dispute between the now-dead spymistress and the still living Guiomar. But the feud had been very real and, by all accounts, quietly vicious.

Certainly, the old woman knew how to keep a feud running through the generations. Diego bowed, noting the slight tension to Costanca's features. "Why, Dona Guiomar Valecia De Morua Morcillo, I am glad to see you in good health. And Dona Costanca, you have fine taste: I believe Sarita is quite pleased with her acquisition of that vase. I recall prospective ownership of it being under contest with some envoy from Hassele at the time." If Diego was lucky, he might be able to divert things before they could start.

Guiomar's peeved voice cut across them "I'm quite sure you are not glad at all. And next you will start to blather on about the paintings, no doubt. I'm sure Beatriz' bastard son has much to tell us about art." The old woman's disapproval saturated every nuance of her tone "There's a gap in your name which no amount of drivel will fill, Diego Baltazar De Morua, and the sooner you stop distracting the women of this household from their duty to marry and provide children, the better." Guiomar snapped her fan shut and pointed it at Diego. "Really, you can't even be properly married off. You're like a glorified lapdog taking up too much of the household's time."

Diego responded by bowing even lower with a smile "I'd offer to bark my agreement, Dona" As hoped, the ridiculous statement caused Guiomar to sputter, allowing Diego the opening he needed for a proper rejoinder "...but even bastards understand the bounds of propriety. You will be relieved to know that this particular hound's kennel is in a different estate, and I am but stopping for the night to scratch at fleas." A small quirk of Diego's eyebrow as he made eye contact with Guiomar contained several layers of veiled insult. He'd never been close to his mother but it didn't do to let any person, no matter their status or relation to a man, trample over one's heritage. "Even so, I assure you that I take your admonition regarding my dear cousins to heart. How are your heirs, Dona?" Diego's smile was flawlessly warm and sincere.

Of course, rumours abounded regarding Guiomar's ill fortune with regards to her offspring, as well as the death of her husband. Those children that had not died in stillbirth had their ...eccentricities of form and thought. Officially, it was all just coincidences and bad luck. Unofficially, several theories retained popularity. Naturally, some would lay the blame at the doors of the Bellezans and/or Quijans. However, some said that the hidden warfare between Beatriz and Guiomar had numerous consequences for both sides. Unsurprisingly, the same theories applied to Beatriz' death. One thing was clear, though: Guiomar had found things on the bottom of her shoe which she liked more than Diego Baltazar De Morua. Diego wondered if the old she-demon's presence was punishment for both himself and Costanca who had been sent to fetch her. Guiomar liked Sarita more than either of them, he knew, though Changers' knew why. Well, if that was the game Sarita was playing right now, Diego would even the score at some opportune moment in the future.

Diego casually took a seat across from the old noblewoman, still wearing the pleasant smile with which he had greeted her. For all intents and purposes, his posture and expression suggested they'd just been having an amiable chat about the welfare of the rose beds. Guiomar snapped open her fan, and glared daggers from behind its fluttering frame, as she more carefully prepared her next verbal assault. Diego smiled wider, and kept half an eye on Costanca, to gauge how she responded to the situation.

Costanca had nodded politely to Diego at his entrance, and even offered a murmured, "Senor Diego." She knew if she played correctly the old snake would strike at another target. Gone was the allusion to family and any stray affection between him. She treated him as she might any man introduced to her immediate family's table. Any man who was not closely tied by blood or marriage, that is. She wasn't disappointed. Guiomar took the bait like a baby bird choking down food, and Costanca smiled with a natural sweetness that had taken her years to master. She paid enough attention to their back and forth to not be negligent in politeness, but made no other move than to acknowledge that the two of them were present and speaking. She wanted no part of that, and gave little reason to become involved.

She was the perfect listener. She did not show bias for either one of the speakers, nor inappropriate amusement at the not-so-veiled insults. It was well known that Guiomar considered servants to be something of lesser folk, lacking the intelligence of gentry or those of means. That Diego worked for Sarita in some loose term, that he was beholden to someone of higher rank than himself, together with his lack of paternal surname placed him squarely with the rest. Planes, Guiomar viewed the upper ranked servants such as chamberlains or butlers better than Diego. Costanca was pleased he'd shown up.

"Holding their esteemed positions with grace," the Dona Guiomar said, quite primly. "It really is such a shame your mother's estates went to a second cousin. Do you go by for visits very often?"

Holding them with clever advisors, Costanca knew. Everyone knew, but no one quite had the influence to say it straight. Guiomar was a respected and feared woman for a reason, though Costanca thought it was only a matter of time before someone toppled her. Always happened.

Diego let his smile widen. "Oh, business matters have taken me there on the odd occasion, Dona. It is true that your son Senor Ignacio Enriquez has a certain grace all of his own. It is a marvel to watch the elegance with which he artfully allows soup to give texture to his goatee." Ignacio's cleft lip was a sign of the Morcillo's 'refined' breeding stock. "And his unique recitals of Fernando Batista Gutierrez Monteza's works, with his artistic slurrings and frequent eloquent repetitions, clearly show he learned the noble poetic aesthetics from his most accomplished mother. It was a pleasure indeed to visit with Senor Ignacio".

Ignacio was an ill-fortuned scion, suffering from a stammer and the not insignificant mental retardation which Beatriz' poisons had wrought on Guiomar's offspring. After Beatriz' death, Guiomar felt the best posthumous insult was to ensure her ill-suited son be granted stewardship over her estates. Many strings were pulled, her efforts aided by the fact Beatriz' only son was, strictly speaking, illegitimate. The political finesse of Ignacio's 'advisors' have helped maintain the status quo. Diego found the whole thing amusing, but the death of Guiomar and Ignacio were certainly on his 'list of things to arrange, if his schedule permitted'.

In fact, when bored, Diego would occasionally muse over potential strategies. If Ignacio's chief advisor didn't get to them first. Certainly, the man had seemed most attentive when Diego casually told the scandalous tale of the Hasselen household whose seneschal had become so irreplaceable in the day-to-day running of the estate that he poisoned the family and, using his political connections, was granted the estates himself. "Utterly despicable" Diego had said "Typical Hassele treachery." And they had all tut-tutted as if it would never happen in Morua. Diego certainly hoped the man was inspired by the tale of another man's success and social advancement.

The very thought of the possibility gave a charming brightness to Diego's smile, quite at odds with the subtext of his profuse albeit unorthodox compliments. "It's a shame Dona Sarita has not yet arrived. She is missing out on quite a jovial conversation. You shouldn't let her work so hard, Dona Guiomar."

"Oh yes, I haven't forgotten how clever you imagine yourself to be, Senor. How fortunate the Changers have granted to you a superior fencing ability, so that you might poke holes into your betters via dueling since you so lack any other form of legitimacy. In the meantime, I would not worry so over the Dona Sarita. Unlike you, she is free to manage her own -- "

Guiomar's stuffy, aristocratic accent was cut off by Sarita's entrance into the room. "I beg pardon for my late arrival. There were unexpected circumstances preventing a more timely appearance." She turned her attention to the condesa. Costanca knew her sister could tell there was tension in the room, but as quickly as she identified it she dismissed it; Sarita would speak to Diego or Costanca after the dinner to see if anything was gravely amiss. For now, they proceeded towards dinner like a condemned group to the gallows.

"Dearest Great Aunt Guiomar, you must forgive my performance as hostess." She walked towards the elderly woman with her hands outstretched. As was the social norm, acknowledgement of Costanca and Diego would come only after the highest ranked party present was greeted.

It was a pretty bit of ass kissing, Costanca had to admit. Guiomar had come a day ahead of Costanca with a bit of trouble only Sarita was likely to be able to put to rest. However, the news discovered via the Guiate branch family had taken precedence. All that meant, really, was that Sarita had to bow and scrape every time she came into contact with Guiomar. It was quite fun to watch, in Costanca's opinion, twice over. Neither Guiomar nor Sarita was happy with the arrangement, but both had to make extra nice to each other: they both needed something from the other.

Guiomar took Sarita's hands and they kissed on each cheek. "Of course I shall, dearest niece. You are a busy woman, after all."

Sarita pulled back from Guiomar and nodded to Costanca, then Diego. "Is supper nearly finished?"

"Senora Marita said soon when we arrived. I wonder if one of your food tasters has quite taken his last bite," Costanca said, innocent in her musing.

Sarita's smile grew ever-so-slightly strained.

Diego had to admit to himself that, yes, he quite enjoyed poking holes in his 'betters' with a blade. It drew out the matches much longer than the more expedient cut to the neck or temple. Cats, supreme hunters of their own little worlds, saw fit to play with their food. It was the natural order for a predator to have some fun with its prey. Thus Sarita would see a rather satisfied quirk to the assassin's smile in contrast to Guiomar's disgruntled expression.

While Sarita unruffled Guiomar's feathers, Diego straightened his sleeves. There wasn't much to be done or said at present time than to endure the necessity of familial conversation. Then Costanca provided a possible opportunity for more entertainment. "Oh dear, that would quite delay the main course. Well then, shall I go do my duties as glorified lapdog and check to see if the man is choking on his own swollen tongue? One can never be too careful these days, after all." Diego's smile was a perfect replica of a child's innocent 'I'm helping!' smile.

Costanca's own smile grew to mirror Diego's. She looked at him with the sort of pleased expression a little girl might show her dolls at a particularly frivolous tea party, without any restraint at all. It was for Sarita's benefit more than Guiomar's, since the older woman had decided it was best to proceed as though only Sarita was present.

"If you would, Senor Diego?"

The temptation was too great. Costanca drew out her fan and snapped it open, delicately fluttering it over the lower half of her face as if they were all court ladies engaged in some juicy gossip. "Why, sister, that is a servant's job! Surely you cannot mean for the Senor to go tromping about in the servants' rooms!"

"Senor Diego is my guest," Sarita said, no hint of the strain Costanca knew was there in her voice or her face, "and I pray my other guests will treat him as such."

Guiomar sniffed quite loudly.