Sapphire, by lyradaemon

Chapter 11: Missing

The door closed silently.

Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Surreal quickly surveyed her surroundings. The street was empty; obviously no-one wanted to be around here at this time. She didn't blame them.

Calling in her stiletto and wrapping it in a sight shield, Surreal carefully made her way down the street. She knew Draega reasonably well; including all the various back alleys and shortcuts through the seedier parts of the city. Slipping down a side alley – which, incidentally, appeared to be a dumping ground for empty bottles – she headed into the heart of Draega.

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After Daemon's curt dismissal, Surreal had crept to her room, creating a plan. She had spoken to Noelle and Amaya, trying to find out the best way of getting the information they needed. It had been obvious that Dorothea – in some shape or form – had been behind the attacks resulting in the deaths of the cousins' families. The only question was who had actually carried them out – and who had been the informer.

That was the part Noelle and Amaya agreed upon. Someone – someone they all knew – had been in league with Dorothea and had given her men the information which had led those men to Dena Nehele.

However neither of them had been able to come up with a single name. Surreal had questioned them relentlessly about it, but had ended up none the wiser. It was a blind lead and they all knew it.

Still, Surreal had some hope that she could find someone who would know; men would quite happily spill their secrets in careless pillow talk.

Finding the right man was the difficulty.

But she did have one card up her sleeve: a name. After that night when she and Noelle had gone to the theatre and had been threatened, she had heard the parting words of one of the men. He had obviously thought she was out of ear-shot; but it wasn't his words that had remained with her. It was the name.

Greer.

So Surreal had waited patiently until dusk before slipping out the house. She hadn't told Noelle and Amaya where she was going; and she sure as hell hadn't told Daemon either. I don't need his help.

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Surreal paused outside a rather seedy looking tavern. A rusty old sign swung outside it, creaking on un-oiled hinges. The rather overpowering odour of stale beer and sweat wafted outside. Taking a deep breath and trying to wipe the disgusted look off her face, she went in.

Inside it was dark, smelly and hot. The cloying air was close and, as far as she could tell, the place was packed with men looking for a way to escape their wretched lives. Winding her way between tables – and taking care to miss the outstretched hands – she found an empty table and seated herself carefully, making sure she could see the whole room. Ignoring the leering stares directed her way, she called over to the bar for a glass of brandy, then settled down to watch.

She knew what she was looking for; she'd done this enough times. Most of the men were poorly dressed, their clothes not a lot better than rags. But a handful were obviously better off, flaunting their fancy clothes or wearing an expensive cloak to hide their attire. Those were the men to watch. They were the ones with 'friends in high places', the ones who knew people everywhere, who could find out any bit of information you wanted within a day. The ones who, without a doubt, were Dorothea's men.

Eventually one of them got up and made their way over to her. He had been watching her for some time; quick glances when he thought she wasn't looking. He obviously hadn't been able to resist a companion-less female with exotic looks. Surreal chuckled.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked; what do you think? Surreal thought, but instead replied nonchalantly.

"No that I know of."

He gave her a sharp look and sat down anyway. "So," he said slowly, looking at her. "You don't seem the sort of woman to come here too often."

"Nor do you."

He seemed slightly taken aback by that, "I didn't mean offence, lady-"

"I know you didn't. Tell me," Surreal murmured, leaning forward. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I'm looking for a man named Greer. Do you know him?"

The man blanched visibly. "Maybe. Why?"

"Because we have a, ah delicate matter to settle between us. He…well, lets just say he owes me." Surreal studied his reaction. His expression hovered between fear and hesitancy.

"Why should I care about what you want with some man? It's got nothing to do with me."

"Ah, but you know where he is."

His eyelids flickered. "I never said that-"

"Look, sugar," Surreal hissed, the stiletto pressing his groin beneath the table. "You do know who is and, what's more, you can tell me where he is. Because if you don't," her lips curved in a feral smile, "I will have to be careless with this," at that she pressed the stiletto just a bit further into him. He gulped audibly. "Now, are you going to cooperate or not?"

"I don't know where he is. But," he said sharply as the point of Surreal's weapon pricked his flesh, "I know who does."

Surreal smiled. "There's a good boy. Tell me."

"The tavern in Wharf Street. A man called Halon. That's all I know."

Surreal sighed inwardly. Great. Glancing over towards the door she gasped.

The man in the black robe.

It was the same one; exactly the same. The one from Dena Nehele. He followed me? She thought, desperately wracking her brains to think of something. Mother Night, how do I get out of this one?

She gave the man opposite her a feral smile, jabbing the stiletto one last time then, checking to make sure the black-robed man was facing the other way, she slid out of her seat and made her way towards the door.

But he saw.

Making her way past rowdy men and groping hands she pushed open the door with a violent shove; only to be grasped around the middle, one hand over her mouth.

Oh shit.

"So, I found you at last," a warm voice murmured in her ear. "You've been playing hard to get, little whore."

Surreal struggled, desperately trying to free her arms but she was locked in an iron grip. She was about to gather her Grey strength to attack the man, but thought better of it. She had no idea how much he knew about her, but she didn't want to give away her only advantage right away. With any luck, he'd have a lighter Jewel than hers; if that was the case, he wouldn't be able to detect which Jewel she wore.

Sensing her still, the man took his hand from her mouth before pressing a dagger to her throat. "One sound and you're dead," he muttered. The arm around her waist disappeared, but her hands had been tied with phantom ropes. She was well and truly trapped.

The man, gripping her so hard it bruised, dragged her into a waiting carriage and thrust her violently in. Surreal banged her head sharply on the side of the door and felt a sticky wetness trickle down her cheek. Once inside, a phantom hand clapped itself over her mouth and the man sat down opposite her. She shook her head, trying in vain to dislodge whatever was holding her but it was no use.

"You're not escaping, whore," the man chuckled cruelly. "You're Dorothea's now."

Suddenly Surreal felt a weariness creep over her. As the rising tide of panic threatened to overwhelm her, she slumped forward, unconscious.

He last thought was "Daemon…"