When Emperor Nakseem discovered how deep Gerios' involvement was with the Bohja clan rebellion, he was enraged. Within a moon of destroying the last stronghold, he marched his army across the Fire Mountains into Tasselhane, thus beginning the Twenty-Year War between Gerios and the Dust Empire.

  Excerpt from 'Annotated History of the Dust Empire'

  With a mixed sense of anticipation and fear, Cecille stared at the sealed letter in front of her. The seal itself, stamped in a deep blue wax, was that of a man named Cabe Tenner. He was a merchant who traded in perfumes with a preference for exotic ones. It would not be strange for such a man to send a letter to someone like Cecille, who was one of his most faithful customers.

  Or so it would appear to an outside observer.

  Cecille ran her finger over the wax. The symbol stamped within was indeed the one belonging to Cabe Tenner. Nonetheless, the letter was not his.

  Blue wax, Cecille thought. A message from the Whisper.

  Absent-mindedly she reached up towards a stray curl of her blonde hair and twirled it around her finger.

  “Are you going to open it or are you trying to seduce it?” Rocam asked, then stuck his pinky between his teeth to bite on the nail.

  Cecille let go of her hair and glared at Rocam. As per usual, he looked exactly like the thug he was. His black hair was sticking out in several directions, and the last time he'd shaved was at least three days ago. Above this stubble stood two brown eyes that regarded almost everything they saw with disrespect.

  The worst part about him, however, was that in sharp contrast with his tactless personality, he might be considered handsome provided he bothered to properly groom himself.

  “Don't you get what this means?” Cecille said. “It means we might finally get some of the things we asked for.”

  “Are you sure?” Rocam said, switching to another nail between his teeth. “Because if so, why did they put that smellcloud's seal on it?”

  Across the table, Ventus snickered. “Heh, smellcloud,” he said. “That's just what he's like.”

  Cecille directed her glare at Ventus and he dropped his smile.

  “I'm sorry Cecille, I know you love him,” Ventus said meekly. He looked at her with sad brown eyes of a deeper and richer intensity than Rocam's.

  “I don't love him, Ventus,” Cecille corrected him pointedly. “He just sells me perfume.”

  “Oh, okay,” Ventus answered. He started to run his fingers across the tablecloth, making certain not to touch the lines sewn within.

  Cecille observed him in silence for a moment. The only thing he had in common with Rocam was that he was always smiling, although while Rocam's was more of a grin that reflected his devious nature, Ventus' smile was born of innocence.

  He's so easily distracted these days, Cecille thought, looking at Ventus with pity. I think he's getting worse.

  Ventus' behaviour had always been... strange. Distracted and aloof at some times, incredibly focused and attentive at others. Ventus wasn't crazy, but Cecille knew that he wasn't quite sane either. It was a little infuriating sometimes. She had to admit he had become increasingly grating of late, though she wasn't certain if it was because her tolerance was waning or that his remaining sanity was slipping away from him.

  Maybe it's both.

  “Oh!” Ventus exclaimed as he shook his hand and then pointed towards a small spider that was lowering itself above the table, suspended by a single thread.

  Rocam reached up and snatched the spider, crushing it in his hand. He didn't say anything; he just smiled at Ventus' baffled expression.

  Cecille sighed. What did I do to have these two as my only help? It was a rhetorical question; she'd known the answer for years now.

  “Can you hurry this up?” Rocam asked. “I have an appointment soon.”

  “No you don't,” Cecille said. “You'll just run off to find some idiot to beat up.”

  “You still believe I actually do that?”

  “What else does a man of your talents do?” she said snidely.

  “Masturbate into your underwear,” he said, still grinning. “Though I have to admit there are probably many who possess that particular talent.”

  “I'm sure they do,” Cecille said, ignoring his crudeness. She had become used to his crass behaviour a long time ago.

  She reached out towards the letter, but stopped halfway. What if it is bad news? What if they are dismissing the three of us? What if the Whisper finally decided this outfit isn't worth their resources anymore?

  She closed her hand, leaving her fist a small distance away from the letter. She was the operator for this three-person outfit, tasked with keeping an eye out for any suspicious Duster activity here in Tasselhane.

  The reason they were based here was simple. Tasselhane lay at the border between Gerios and the Dust Empire, and next to the only trail that led through the Fire Mountains without any steep elevations. As a result, almost every bit of land-bound trade between Gerios and the Dust Empire came through here, and Tasselhane had grown into a large and prosperous city as a result.

  A city far too large for the three of us to make even a small impact. Could the Whisper finally have realized this as well? Does this letter contain our dismissal?

  “I'm bored,” Ventus complained. “When can we eat?” He looked at every corner of the room, trying to spot more spiders.

  “Until Cecille opens that letter, we cannot eat,” Rocam said.

  Ventus immediately turned towards Cecille and looked at her with sad eyes. “Is it true?” he asked softly.

  “You should know better than to listen to Rocam in such matters by now,” Cecille said, frowning.

  Rocam waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Well, are you going to open it? Or are you that afraid that we are going to be disbanded?”

  Cecille froze, turning her eyes away. This is why I don't like him, she realized. It's not because of the crude sexual jokes, not because he's a low-life thug—it's because he's far too sharp.

  It was at times like this she wondered why Rocam remained with this outfit. There was no way that someone like him wouldn't know the real purpose behind the Whisper's presence in Tasselhane.

  Cecille herself had first learned of it when the previous operator, Bom, retired because of illness and she was made operator in his stead. What he told her was simple; the Tasselhane outfit was made up of rejects. Every agent who didn't perform or who developed some kind of problem that made it impossible for them to function in a regular outfit, yet couldn't be outright dismissed, was sent here; the far edge of the kingdom with the grand goal of spying on the Dust Empire.

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  It was all a lie, of course. The Whisper had not cared about the Dust Empire's doings for generations, thus this was simply a safe place to dump any undesirables. If they screwed up, which inevitably they always did, it only sent a message to the Dust Empire that the Whisper was an organization that was weak, stupid, and not a threat to anyone.

  Otherwise, in the rare cases that the outfit actually managed to do something useful, the leadership simply treated it as a convenient side effect.

  And I was just as bad as any of them. A stupid girl with nothing but her looks.

  Nonetheless, from all the miscreants available to Bom at the time, he had picked her to be the new operator. She was overjoyed at first, until Bom told her the truth and she realized that she was just a reject too.

  In a small act of defiance, however, she had resolved not to give the Whisper the pleasure of her failure. Ever since becoming the operator, she diligently sent monthly status reports, profiles of new Duster arrivals and lengthy speculations and descriptions about Duster politics. All this for years on end to this very day. She even taught herself to speak Enti. Everything she had done since that day was aimed at proving that she was in fact capable, so that someday the Whisper leadership might recognize her worth.

  Did all that work even matter in the end? I should have seen this coming when they stopped sending us new agents.

  Kren had been the last one, and he hadn't even lasted three moons. During fieldwork, he had 'accidentally' set fire to the trade-house of one of the most wealthy merchants in the kingdom. He vanished a day later, and Cecille did not care enough to find out where he went. She just sent his official dismissal to Rios and that was the end of that.

  Rocam bent forward over the table. “Open it or I will. Whatever is in that letter, you'll have to deal with it.”

  Easy for you to say, Cecille thought. You aren't a thirty-one-year-old woman who got by in her life on appearance alone. Without the Whisper's stipend every moon, I will be selling my body to men like you in no time. I certainly can't live off selling perfume.

  The mere thought of having sex with Rocam disgusted her enough to force her into action. She snatched up the letter and broke the seal, immediately skipping to the end of the letter to read the inevitable apology that would accompany a letter of dismissal.

  “To this end you have been granted dispensation to use the blueshift portal outside scheduled connections, and it is of the utmost urgency that you contact me as soon as possible with your results,” the letter said.

  Cecille blinked, trying to process what she had read. Dispensation to use the blueshift whenever I want? She blinked again, her mind desperately trying to make sense of it.

  But that's only for very important operations.

  It finally started to dawn on her that perhaps this message was something she wasn't expecting at all. She moved her gaze to the top of the letter and started to read as fast as she could.

  After she finished, she slowly lowered the letter and looked at Rocam. “?ther division has sent us a request. A high-priority request.” The look on her face reflected her continuing bewilderment as she still did not fully comprehend what was asked of them.

  Rocam snatched the letter away and started reading it for himself.

  Ventus looked confused. “Is it good news?”

  “I'm not sure,” Cecille said. At least we aren't being disbanded. So that's a relief.

  “Hischi Echeb,” Rocam said, looking up from the letter. “I know that one, stocky fellow, gut as large as a beer barrel and wearing more earrings than you.” He grinned at Cecille. “Who would have thought this could ever happen? They actually need us for something.”

  He tapped his finger at the bottom of the letter. “And badly too if they authorized an irregular blueshift. Probably has something to do with that whole missing guild business, I wager.”

  Cecille took the letter back from Rocam and read the assignment once more.

  “We need a full report about a merchant called Hischi Echeb, currently a resident in Tasselhane,” the letter said.

  She shook off her confusion. The exact implications of this letter weren't important right now. What was important was that she had to prepare a full report as soon as possible and that would require some doing.

  “I'll go visit Echeb's trade-house,” Rocam offered, before Cecille had a chance to say anything. “You can do the boring parts of the report.”

  She raised her eyebrows. Is he up to something? Normally I can't get him to do anything right away. “I'm amazed you're going along with this so easily,” she said.

  Rocam shrugged as he got up from his chair. “It's obvious there's a hot fire burning under this one and any delays will only make it hotter.” He reached for his hooded cloak on the wall. “I'm not planning to get burned over this and neither should you.” He opened the back door and then he was gone, leaving her and Ventus, who was rubbing a piece of blue wax between his fingers.

  With a heavy sigh, Cecille got up and walked towards her only couch. There, she seated herself, running a finger across the soft green velvet. She let her gaze wander through the small living room of her house. The dining table and the couch she was sitting on almost filled the entire room. On one side there was a narrow cupboard and on the other a door leading to a kitchen, which was barely big enough for two people. Her bedroom on the floor above wasn't much larger, and Ventus' room was in the basement so she could keep an eye on him.

  He could handle himself alone if out on a job, but when it came to minor things like personal hygiene or even eating properly, he was a disaster. She had no idea where Rocam spent his days, nor did she care to know.

  Cecille leaned back and put her arm over her eyes. The sudden arrival of the letter caused her to reflect on her life. Most specifically, on the fact that her current circumstances were not how she had pictured them when she first arrived in Tasselhane ten years ago. Back then, she imagined herself to be married soon to some handsome, wealthy merchant with a gaggle of servants to cater to her every whim, parties every other night, and new clothes to wear every day.

  Instead she lived in a small house on the edge of the Rink, a lengthy cliff that cut right through the north half of Tasselhane. She did have a servant, sort of, as Ventus strangely enough liked to clean things as long as the thing being cleaned wasn't him. There were parties too, though she was never the shining centre of attention.

  Not anymore.

  Rich men preferred young girls with spunk and she had lost both of those attributes. Now she was merely a middle-aged woman who advised said young girls on clothing and which perfumes they should wear to attract the man of their preference. Stupid of them to take my advice, really; it's not like I ever managed to get my dream prince.

  “Should I go to the scribe office?” Ventus asked, interrupting Cecille's musings.

  Cecille lifted her arm and looked at him. He was holding the letter and waving it around.

  “I think I scouted this man before,” Ventus added. “A long time ago when he first came to Tasselhane.”

  “You probably did,” Cecille said, waving her hand dismissively like a noblewoman. “Yes, go to the scribe office and copy everything they have about his business of the past year.”

  “Maybe you can go to one of his parties then? Then we all have something to do.”

  “There are no soirées during the day, but I'll keep it in mind.”

  She watched Ventus leave and then realized something. Parties... Didn't I actually attend one of Echeb's soirées a couple of days ago? She pulled out her agenda from a hidden sleeve pocket in her dress and started to flip through it. Yes, here it is, last Rotdych, the thirty-third day of the Second Moon. She flipped some more pages. Here's another one.

  As she moved backwards through her schedule, she noticed that Echeb had been throwing a lot of parties of late. Sometimes even as often as twice a week. And the few she had attended, she now recalled, had all been lavish affairs. Too lavish considering the rate at which he was holding them. Echeb was a wealthy merchant, but not this wealthy. Or at least, he wasn't supposed to be.

  This is suspicious, she thought, closing her agenda. But that's probably why he's the one we need to report on.

  She began to ponder on all the information she would need to write down. The basic things she knew about, but in this case they probably wanted more than just a standard report. Well, I can't give them anything more really. It's not like we can afford to keep an eye on every Duster merchant in the city with just the three of us. We can't even do that for just one.

  She wondered if there would be repercussions if she were to fail somehow. Despite her decision earlier not to think about the implications of this assignment until later, she couldn't help beginning to speculate.

  As Rocam said, it was very likely this was all related to the recent incidents involving the White Candle in Rios. Those were big news, even here in Tasselhane, and people ate the stories up. Of course, the rumours that reached Tasselhane were all blown out of proportion. There was no way a troop of ghasts razed half the city to the ground, or that an entire Royal Guard lance had been killed.

  She stared at the letter that Ventus had left on the table. What if those things really did happen?

  Since she had received the letter she had gone through a whole set of emotions: anticipation, anxiety, confusion and relief. Now she was back at anxiety again. It was obvious that this was a very important assignment. It had even got Rocam running, which was no small feat. The important question to Cecille, however, was what would happen afterwards.

  Could this be the chance I've been working for? Or will they just use us and leave us as we were before?

  She abruptly sat up. “No,” she said to the empty room. “This is it. This is the point where I will find out if I will spend the rest of my life here or not.” She jumped up and headed towards her bedroom. That's where she kept her paper and ink, and she knew she was going to need a lot of it.