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“Master Hauer,” you ask, “You are, obviously, an expert. Do you know what the icon is for? The Galseans are, unfortunately, reluctant to discuss it with me.”
“I would normally charge a fee for my consultations,” Hauer begins, but the hard look in your eyes causes him to change his mind. “It's a religious icon, but you know that already. My understanding is that it depicts some kind of devil figure – a malevolent spirit. Some research suggests that the Galseans offered tribute to good and evil spirits alike – though, obviously, for different reasons.”
“Fascinating,” you muse, “May we see it?”
“No,” Hauer answers bluntly, “I am afraid, sir, that you've taken up much of my time already. I have a great deal of work to attend to, which I cannot do with you looming over me.”
He's done with you. But you're not done with him.
“Forgive me, Master Hauer, but I must intrude on your privacy for just a little bit longer,” you tell the man, with exaggerated regret, “These “partners” that you speak of... are they in any way connected with House Tomoe? If so, I would hope that you reconsider any business dealings that you might have with them. As an intelligent man, I'm sure you realise that the perils of bringing Calamity into your house far outweigh any short term benefit.”
Hauer starts to reply, only for the words to catch in his mouth. He's suitably outraged, so much so that you feel certain that you're getting close.
“All our partners are entirely legitimate,” he says at last, in a tight rasp of a voice, “I have no knowledge to suggest even the most tenuous link with House Tomoe.”
“Because you didn't ask,” Elle says suddenly, her voice low and harsh, “You didn't ask because you didn't want to know the answer. You presume that ignorance will be given more leniency than malice.”
Sudden, dead silence follows this dire pronouncement. Ariel bites her lip hard, trying to hold back a smirk, while Master Hauer's eyes bulge with rage. A moment later, Elle blinks her eyes a few times as if coming to her senses. “Forgive me, Master Hauer,” she says graciously, bowing her head, “I should have mentioned that I was an oracle. A grievous breach of etiquette.”
It takes a long time for Hauer to recover his wits. “I think you should leave,” he manages at last, “In fact, I insist. If you don't leave this museum right now, I shall have you arrested.”
“No, you won't,” you tell him, letting the polite mask slip from your face. Something in your eyes, something cold and terrible, strikes him to silence. “You see, Master Hauer, I've tried to be diplomatic and terribly genteel about this but that got us nowhere. So now, I have a confession to make,” you continue, leaning forwards against his extravagant desk, “I'm not here to help the Galseans. In truth, I don't care one bit about them. But I'm here on a mission from King and Country, a mission of no small importance.”
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