Aveline's fingers tightened around the report til the paper tore. She did not need to read it again; she had already memorized its contents… just like the contents of the three other reports that had been filed this week alone. With a growl of frustration, she threw the nearest hard object to hand—a sliver inkpot embossed with the viscount's seal—at the wall. Slender, tanned fingers caught the object before it could reach its mark, however, and Aveline tried to hide her surprise at the sight of the young woman who had certainly not been sitting on her desk a moment ago. She must have failed, for Hawke smirked.
"Nice to see you don't always know where I am," the rogue observed smugly. "So why did you call me here? Are the inkpots of Kirkwall staging a rebellion? Should I watch out for assassination attempts from my pens and paper too? Or is it something to do with…" she glanced down at the paperwork she was sitting on, "… a requisition order for twenty bushels of potatoes, to be signed in triplicate, and copies hand delivered to both the viscount's and seneschal's offices by Thursday… Maker! I'd throw things too."
Aveline sighed. "I'll handle the paperwork—I don't want to see how well you can forge my signature," Hawke grinned. "There's something else I need your help with."
"Please tell me it doesn't involve potatoes."
Aveline resisted the urge to choke her friend. "My guards have been reporting strange things happening at the docks. Shipping crates going missing, people being attacked—but no one ever sees it happen. I've tried doubling and tripling the guard on that patrol, but it doesn't make a difference. Even the victims of the attacks don't seem to know what their attackers looked like, and last night a merchant was found dead. My men are no cowards, Hawke, but they're afraid. They can't fight what they can't see."
Hawke's eyebrows rose. "And you think I can? I'm flattered, but I'm not sure I'll live up to your expectations."
Aveline shook her head. "It may sound like I'm asking you to fight ghosts, but I'm not. Until last night, all the crimes have been petty; thefts and beatings don't really seem worth crossing the veil for. I'm convinced that whoever is behind this is as mortal as you or I; they just use methods the city guard are not trained to deal with."
"So now you need someone familiar with… unconventional fighting styles," Hawke was smirking again. Aveline refused to be antagonized by the rogue's mocking tone. She just nodded shortly. "Will you do it?"
Hawke shrugged. "I'll look into it. This merchant who was killed… who was he?"
"I can give you a name: Seras Anterral, but I don't know that it will do you much good. He only arrived in Kirkwall yesterday morning," Aveline frowned. "Not the kind of welcome we want to give visitors to the city."
"I'll see what I can find," Hawke hopped down from the desk and headed for the door, but Aveline stopped her with an outstretched hand. Hawke gave the guard captain a look of wide-eyed innocence, but Aveline merely snapped her fingers and held out her hand again. With a rueful smile, Hawke shrugged and dropped the silver inkpot in Aveline's palm before turning and disappearing up the stairs.
When she was sure the rogue was truly gone, Aveline dropped wearily into her chair and began signing requisition forms.