*
The Hilton Hotel, London
The bellhop tugged nervously at his gold-trimmed collar as the elevator droned upwards towards the penthouse suite. He looked down at the new leather carrying case at his feet, wondering why it made him uneasy. Supple oxblood leather, fastened with a monogrammed clasp, it was the sort of item any gentleman of means had in their possession. Rubbing at his buttons with the cuff of his wine red jacket, making sure they shone, he glanced at it again. Nose wrinkling, he jumped as the elevator chimed and sighed to a halt, the brass needle on the floor indicator bumping the last number on the dial. Pulling back the concertina mesh door, he stepped out into the landing, gingerly carrying the case. He was quite certain it was not supposed to smell like last year's leaf mould and cold, stony damp places.
Approaching the door to the penthouse, he bit back a yelp as something moved inside the case with a sickening lurch. Dropping it, he leapt away, back pressed against the corridor wall. Eyes saucer huge, the chinstrap of his jaunty, brocade-edged cap hooked beneath his nose, he stared at the unremarkable carrying case. When it did not begin to rock, or burst open and spill forth anything with teeth, he heaved a huge sigh. Feeling unspeakably stupid, he shook his head self-consciously, peeled himself away from the wall and picked it up again. Trotting to the door, he raised his hand to knock, jumping violently as it swung inwards on a darkened room. A tall, cadaverously thin man with eyes like tin pennies appeared at the doorway, a tailored suit hanging awkwardly from his sparse frame.
"Ummm, your case, sir!" he announced, remembering to keep his tone polite, with a suitable amount of deference.
Extending a spidery hand, the appendage seemingly disembodied in the gloom, the thin man took the case without comment or acknowledgement. Though he seemed indifferent to his attire, the bellhop could not help feeling a Saville Row suit was not his garment of choice, rather it was a ploy to blend with his surroundings. After several seconds of waiting for a tip, grinning inanely all the while, the bellhop watched as he turned away and closed the door.
"Thank you, sir!" he called, finding his legs carrying him away.
It was only as the elevator door exhaled shut behind him that he realised the occupant of the penthouse had not blinked once, pewter eyes lifeless. Shuddering, the bellhop was suddenly glad he had not received a tip, wondering what he might have been required to give up in exchange. Glancing at the clock mounted on the elevator wall, he resolved to visit the kitchens and beg a measure of cooking brandy from the chef to calm his nerves.
Inside the suite, the attenuated man slowly scissored towards the main room, the case dangling from his long hand. Wordlessly, he placed it on the occasional table next to the plush armchair, waiting for instructions. The curtains were tightly closed against the bright morning sunshine, leaving the room in darkness. Hands folded, ankles pressed together, he stood unnaturally still, poised like a resting mamba in the gloom. The carrying case juddered, a faint, impatient hissing coming from the interior. Thickening, swirling like ink dropped in water, the darkness intensified, coalescing into a midnight-robed figure wearing a beaten silver mask.
Bowing from the waist, averting his dull eyes deferentially, the thin man blinked once, quicksilver scales rippling across his gaunt features.
"Sebak, your eyes serve me well, as always." The voice behind the mask was velvet rubbed across stone, deep and cultured, implicitly threatening despite the congenial tone.
Dipping his head once more, Sebak accepted the praise without comment, gesturing towards the carrying case. The hissing grew louder, more insistent. With a gesture of his leather-gloved hand, the masked man snapped open the clasp. Several shovel-shaped reptilian heads poked over the sides, tasting the air with flickering purple tongues. A sinuous, gleaming ebony mass, the asps emerged from their temporary home and surged eagerly down the legs of the occasional table. Holding out his arms as if to a child, the hooded man allowed them to wind around his forearms and coil in his lap. Stroking them in turn, unconcerned by their venomous bite, he turned his expressionless silvered countenance towards Sebak.
"The Med-Jai chieftain, he will prove a hindrance to my plans. Because of him, She knows I live and work against Her. Kill him."
Bearing hollow, needle fangs, the djinn hissed, wattles of scaly iridescent skin flaring at his throat. Pupils flashing elliptical, he bobbed his head and dematerialised in a rapidly dispersing twist of grey smoke. Smiling behind his mask Runihura settled back into the easy chair, listening to the quiet, contented hissing of his familiars.
*