The quaint proposal.

[Yurrechire]

(And now, for a dip in the past.)

===

The Price Wars of Alberta, which ended roughly 10 years ago, had no clear winners. They did have a number of losers, amidst the merchant estates big and small. The house of Lady Silver came down in a shower of worthless banknotes, buried under by machinations of Merkelsonn & Sons. It was dead almost three days before a private militia came in to mop up the pieces, burning the actual building and killing or scattering the remaining servants.

Lady Silver - as she was known to her customers and much of the household's more mundane staff, or Lady Naomi- to the certain stoic steward, projected a calm and elegant presence in the elite circles of the Trade City. She was not unlike her favorite Amatsu silks- delicate and fey,, yet a maker of contract tethers stronger than steel. Shrewd judge of human character, she put together the oddest combinations of personnel, delighting both allies and enemies alike with brilliant results.

This was how Procyon Canis, a mercenary of no clear allegiance, and Catherine McWren, a servant of some special talents, first met. Through a series of odd missions (conducted in the middle of the night and generally ending up in deaths of peoples’ second cousins), the pair build a working relationship of no-nonsense respect.

Lady Silver’s forte was exotic imports, mostly outsourced, rarely taken up by her own loyal people.

Which was why the small group, sent out into the jungles of Umbala to hunt a dream, remained ignorant of their mistress’s fall for over a week. Their jubilant return coincided with her funeral, a severely truncated and unimpressive affair, in which the few ‘mourners’ who lined the pews did not bother hiding their gloating.

The last two loyal servants of the household were left at loose ends. Procyon, having been in the confidences of Silver quite a bit longer than McWren, swore vengeance. Catherine, who had been trying to train a juvenile peco while paying child support, counseled moving on. The two parted ways, maintaining a connection through McWren’s frequent care packages, and Canis’s short, nearly always angry-sounding reports on her progress in bringing down one of the still most-powerful trading houses in Alberta.

===

The little room on the ground level of a sprawling Rachel estate was likely meant to be some servant’s bedroom. Currently, it functioned as Cat’s makeshift lair. Shelves had been installed, and a massive wooden desk- positioned close to the single, unimpressive window. Piles of ledgers on the desktop mingled with packets of strange powders, a half-dead potted ficus, and several pieces of shell. A peco feather was lodged into a crack of the windowsill. It was a place where McWren came to sort out the life of herself and the household; a place just cramped and familiar enough to feel safe in.

She came at a run, that morning, a bulky bundle- clutched tightly to her chest. P.O. box addresses, both delivering and returning, had been written by a familiar hand. The note, attached carelessly to the front of the package, had been skimmed earlier.

It was strange, how so few words could shake ones’ world so profoundly.

“It is done. He even kept souvenirs.”

No signature, for the old friend rarely bothered with such formalities.

McWren ripped open the brown paper almost reverently, unveiling one of such ‘souvenirs’. The fabric had been the finest one could get in Alberta, those days; a rich brocade of tastefully understated grays and pinks, on a pristine white background.

When she buried her face in it, Cat could still smell the past, the dust of the carriage rides and humid air of the jungle; the lilac perfume of a she-demon in disguise.

She shook out the garment, carefully fastening the tarnished silver clasp at the throat; looked down this way and that, judging the effect. It was true what they said- some clothing never looked right on anyone but the owner.

Catherine McWren spun around, just once, heavy silk of the old cloak- billowing out around her.

Just for a moment, the folds looked a lot like wings