Author's note: I know that there's no mention of local diction in the game, but having different languages on the various continents doesn't seem unrealistic, so I'm going with it.

Chapter 9: Macellum Negrum

Rinoa came to take a seat next to her husband in the Blue Elvoret. The café's owner looked up to her with a single finger around a handle of an espresso cup.

"I was just telling Mr. Leonhart here that I am unable to help him."

"Oh." Her eyes alighted to the floor, a bird falling from the nest.

Smirking sardonically, Squall told her, "You see my dear, the word has gone around." He takes a sip of coffee.

Porsche continues to address Rinoa. "As leader of all illegal activities in Dollet, I am an influential and respected man. It would not be worth my life to do anything for Mr. Leonhart. You, however, are a different matter."

Her eyes lifted and her husband turned to her again. "Porsche thinks it might be possible to get an exit visa for you."

"And only you." Porsche elaborates pointedly.

"I will stay here and keep on trying. I'm sure in a little while –"

"- We may as well be frank Mr. Leonhart." The portly man set down his cup, his fourth, without a tremor in his hand. "It will take a miracle to get you out of Dollet. And the Galbadians have outlawed miracles."

Amidst the bustle of unhurried restive populace set to drown its sorrows or buy them off, Rinoa entwined her fingers with her husband's. "We are only interested in two exit visas, sir."

"Please Rinoa, don't be hasty." Squall's eyes were pleading.

"No, Squall, no." Rinoa's eyes were resolute.

"You'll want some time to discuss this. Excuse me." Porsche gets up and tips his wide–brimmed hat to them. "I'll be at the bar."

"No, Rinoa, I won't let you stay here. You must get to Balamb." He grabs her other hand and sets them both on the table. "And believe me, somehow I will get out and join you."

"But, Squall, if the situation was different, if I had to stay, and there was only a visa for one, would you take it?"

"Yes, I would."

She smiled. "I see. So, when I had trouble getting out of Winhill, why didn't you leave me there? And when I was sick in the desert and held you up for two weeks and you were in danger every minute of the time, why didn't you leave me then?"

"I meant to, but something always held me up." He smiled. "I love you very much Rinoa."

Bending forward, she kisses him. "Your secret is safe with me. Porsche is waiting for our answer."

They walk hand in hand up to the bar. Porsche sees them approach in the mirror between two of the dozens of liquor bottles on the shelves and he turns to meet them.

"We've decided, Mister Porsche. For the present we are only interested in two exit visas."

Porsche nods, slowly, but his jowls still jiggle slightly. He hands a coffee to Rinoa and looks at her closely, then turns to Squall. "Well, good luck, but be careful." His eyes flick momentarily to the bazaar. "You are aware that you are being shadowed?"

Squall glances toward the market. "Of course. It becomes an instinct."

The fat gentleman returns his gaze to Rinoa, mouth upturned and voice ironic. "I observe that in one respect you are a very lucky man, Mr. Leonhart. I am moved to make one more suggestion, why, I do not know, because it cannot possibly profit me, but, have you heard about Mister Zone and the letters of transit?"

"Yes, something."

"Those letters were not found on Zone when they arrested him."

The information sinks in and Squall's hand involuntarily squeezes his wife's a little harder. He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Do you know where they are?"

"Not for certain, Mr. Leonheart, but I would venture to guess that Zone left the letters with Mr. Almasy."

Rinoa's face grows dark as Squall and Porsche study her reaction without expression. Squall questions, "Seifer?"

"He's a difficult customer, that Seifer. One never knows what he'll do or why." The big man shrugs. "But it is worth a chance."

Squall nods. "Thank you very much. Good day."

"Goodbye, and thank you for your coffee, sir. I shall miss it when we leave Dollet."

Porsche bowed. "It was gracious of you to share it with me. Good day sir, madam."

"Good day."

The couple returns to the heat and activity of the bazaar. Porsche takes another sip of espresso and swats a fly nonchalantly.

In Seifer's Café Balamb, the Trabian pickpocket had found another trapped tourist to victimize. He lifted his glass in a toast to the bemused outlander. "Here's to you sir."

"Er…Good luck, yes."

"I'd better be going." He stated from a position that was too close for comfort. The other man eyed his waiter, Selphie.

"Er, my check, please."

"I have to warn you, sir. I beseech you…" Airily as a moth, his hand emerges surreptitiously with the tourist's wallet. "This is a dangerous place. Full of vultures, vultures everywhere!" He finally backs away. "Thanks for everything."

The tourist laughs. "Er, goodbye sir."

"It has been a pleasure to meet you." With his final words, he dashes off, straight into Selphie. "Oh, I'm sorry."

As the man scurries away, Selphie quickly pats all her pockets to make sure nothing is missing.

Raijin is sitting on the piano and a decorative floral arrangement sits atop the instrument, with all manner of fragrant flowers from the corners of the earth to make all yearn for a distant home. To his tunes, a singer from Balamb croons in a sultry voice devoid of emotion, but full of hunger. A small orchestra plays behind them.

Major Martine and his entourage come in, slipping by Seifer's table as Selphie approaches. She sets down a bottle and a glass. With a cheerful tone and a smile that stopped abruptly at her lips, she says, "Seifer, you're getting to be your best customer." He doesn't respond as she leaves with her tray, only stops to light a cigarette.

"Well Seifer, I'm very pleased with you. You're finally starting to live like a Trabian." Irvine sat across from him at the small table.

Seifer levels a poisonous glare at him and pours a drink for his companion anyway. "That was some going over your men gave my place this afternoon. We barely had time to clean it all up before opening."

Irvine shrugged. "I told Martine that he wouldn't find the letters here. But I told my men to be especially destructive. You know how that impresses Galbadians?" He sips his drink. "Seifer, have you got those letters of transit?"

"Irvine, are you pro-Vichy or Free Trabian?"

The prefect grinned, his eyes lighting and lifting his hat slightly on his head, and he wags his finger at Seifer, pointing. "Serves me right for asking a direct question. The subject is closed."

Seifer's gaze travels to the bar. "Looks like you're a little too late." He remarks.

"What?"

He nods his head in the direction of a Galbadian officer who has a slightly miffed Quistis Trepe on his arm. "So, it looks like Quistis has gone over to the enemy."

Underneath his wide hat, Irvine's eyes regard Seifer with the intensity and focus of a marksman. Abruptly, he shrugs. "Who knows? In her own way she may constitute an entire second front. I think it's time for me to go flatter the Major for a while. I'll see you later Seifer." He strolls away.

At the bar Quistis and the officer place their order. "Gilbert!" Quistis calls for the bartender over the loud ambiance.

"Trabian seventy-fives." The officer ordered.

Quistis spreads her arms across the bar, misjudging the distance to it, and declares, "A whole row of them, Gilbert. Starting here and ending here..."

The officer smiled apologetically. "Just two for now." Icy blue eyes narrowed at him. A Trabian agent takes a place next to her, speaking in his native tongue.

"You are not Trabian to be talking to the likes of him!"

"I'm not Trabian anyway. What are you butting in for?" She returned in his language.

"I am butting in-"

"-It's none of your business!"

The Galbadian steps forward and puts himself in front of the Trabian. "No, no, no, no! One minute! What did you say? Kindly repeat what you just said."

"What I said is none of your business!"

"I will make it my business!" They grapple.

Several tables make remarks and some chairs scrape as their occupants stand. Quistis sits to the side and shoots both the drinks set in front of her. Martine and Irvine watch the situation closely and Seifer strides to the fighting men before anyone decides to take sides and join in the ruction.

He pulls them roughly apart and addresses the Galbadian. "I don't like disturbances in my place. Either lay off the politics or get out." Quistis found tears freeze and thaw under the intensity of the glacial stare she sent at Seifer, who turned to her with a soft frown before walking away.

All of the Galbadian and Trabian officers at Martine's table sat back down warily. "You see Captain, the situation isn't as under control as you believe."

"My dear Major, we are trying to cooperate with your government, but we cannot regulate the feelings of our people."

Martine studies him closely. "Captain Kinneas, are you entirely certain which side you're on?"

"I have no conviction, if that's what you mean. I blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from Vichy." He lights a cigarette.

"And if it should change?"

Irvine smiles, piquant. "Surely the Reich doesn't admit that possibility?" He puffs contentedly.

"We are concerned about more than Dollet. We know that every Trabian province in Galbadia is honeycombed with traitors waiting for their chance, waiting, perhaps, for a leader."

"A leader, like Leonhart?" Casually asked by the Captain, from within a plume of smoke.

"Uh-huh. I have been thinking. It is too dangerous if we let him go. It may be too dangerous if we let him stay."

The prefect leaned forward, thoughtful. "I think I see what you mean."

Selphie nearly skips. There is a bottle and two glasses in her hands and a wide grin on her face as she approaches the table of a middle-age Galbadian couple. She greets them in Galbadian. "I brought you the finest brandy. Only the employees drink it here. Tee-hee." Setting down the snifters, she uncorks the bottle and pours to the widest point, and swirls them each.

The husband says, "Thank you Selphie."

"For mister Leuchtag."

The wife thanks her as well.

"For missus Leuchtag."

"Selphie. Sit down. Have a brandy with us."

She lit up the room with a nitid grin, pulling out another glass from her back pocket. Mrs. Leuchtag beams right back, saying "To celebrate our leaving for Balamb tomorrow."

The waitress sits. "Thank you very much. I thought you might ask me, so I brought the good brandy and a third glass."

"At last the day has come." Mrs. Leuchtag squeezes her husband's hand.

"Frau Leuchtag and I are only speaking Estharian now, so we should feel right at home ven ve get to Esthar."

"That's a very nice idea."

"To Esthar." Their glasses clink together and they all tipple the brandy.

"Uh, sweetness heart, what watch?"

His wife glances at her wristwatch. "Ten watch."

Mr. Leuchtag looks shocked. "So much?"

"Er, you will get along beautifully in Esthar, huh."

Selphie directs her verdant gaze to the gambling room where a young refugee woman, who had tried to see him earlier, approaches Irvine in the hall.

He regards her momentarily, gaze and attitude effortlessly riding the line between philogyny and misogyny. "How's lady luck treating you? Aw, that's too bad. You'll find him over there." He points to Seifer's table.

She sees him and walks over to his table where he sits smoking. "Mister Seifer?" The refugee asks tentatively, wringing her hands.

"Yes?"

"Could I speak to you for just a moment please?"

He looks up at her and narrows his eyes. "How did you get in here? You're under age."

"I came in with Captain Kinneas."

His face contorted into a cynical smile. "Heh. Should have known."

"My husband is with me too."

"Is he? Well, Captain Kinneas is getting broadminded." He slides out a chair with his foot. "Sit down. Will you have drink?" She shakes her head. "No, of course not. Mind if I do?"

"No." Seifer pours himself a drink from the bottle Selphie left on the table. She gathers her courage before talking again. "Mister Seifer, what kind of man is Captain Kinneas?"

"Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so."

"No, I mean, is he trustworthy? Is his word –"

"- Now just a minute. Who told you to ask me that?"

"He did. Captain Kinneas did."

"I thought so." He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "Where's your husband?"

"At the roulette table, trying to win enough for our exit visa. Well, of course he's losing."

Seifer studies her closely. She looks exotic, pretty even, and too worldly though, to be so young "How long have you been married?"

"Eight weeks. We come from Winhill. Things are very bad there, a devil has the people by the throat. So, Jan and I, we, we do not want our children growing up in such a country."

"…So you decided to go to Esthar." Seifer's voice was weary, a condition passed on from his ears which had heard the same story with small variations for a very long time.

"Yes, but we have not much money, and travelling is difficult and expensive. It was much more than we thought to get here. And Captain Kinneas sees us and is so kind. He wants to help us."

"Yes, I'll bet."

"He tells me he can get us an exit visa, but we have no money."

"Does he know that?"

"Yes."

"And he's still willing to give you a visa?" He was suspicious.

"Yes, sir."

"And you want to know –"

"-Will he keep his word?"

Seifer looks away. "He always has."

She nods. Something eats at her, disturbs her deeply. "Oh, mister Seifer, you are a man. If someone loved you very much, so that your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the whole world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her?"

He stares off at nothing. "Nobody ever loved me that much."

She continues on, not having heard his soft retort, or not acknowledging it. "And he never knew, and she kept it locked away in her heart? That would be all right, wouldn't it?" She was starting to tear up.

His venomous eyes snap to her again. "You want my advice?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"Go back to Winhill."

Desperate, she goes on. "Oh, but if you only knew what it means to us to leave Galbadia, to go to Esthar! Oh, but if Jan should ever find out! He is such a boy. In many ways I am so much older than he is."

"Yes, well everyone in Dollet has problems. Yours may just work out. You'll excuse me." He leaves abruptly, leaving her dejected, unable to move.

"Thank you sir." She doesn't rise and neither does her voice.