Inverness: Thanks! I hope you like this new chapter! Things are just starting to heat up!
Chapter 4: Time and Space
It's been close to a week and day after day it's been the same scene for Mimi. Check for her boss at his office only to find it empty save for a walnut desk, an orb-like artifact, and haphazardly erected books. Creep all over the Prince Etienne Wing like an intern on her first day as she searches for him. End up on the barren garden at the very end of the wing whose only visitor has been a black haired Adonis in cardigan. Stare at said black haired Adonis in cardigan as he sits serene with his eyes closed, all the while hedging between bolting or be the awkward disturber of the peace. She admits, it's far too much walking for someone with short legs.
Finally after a handful of minutes, Mimi detects movement as his head, quite alarmingly for her, sways her direction.
"You're hovering, Mimi." Professor Valmont greets her with perfectly conscious green eyes, his left eyebrow quirked in expectation.
"Good morning, Professor." She pauses to answer his polite nod with one of her own. "The retrieved materials are ready."
"Brilliant. Thank you for setting it up." He dips his head before sweeping out of the enclosure. "Any other updates?"
"All items have already been transferred to our safekeeping in cooperation with the Orlesian rangers. I made sure to send them a letter of thanks in behalf of the team and the department." Mimi looks up to the towering man as he nods along, concern etched in his furrowed eyebrows. In all the mornings that they do this unofficial routine, she can't skip over the way he keeps his strides as compact as possible. She appreciates how he gets with it subtly.
"Bien. And what have we got thus far?" The professor keeps his head bowed, his voice in that ever considerate level. It's either he's too shy or he's outright avoiding unnecessary attention. Mimi hasn't quite pinpointed that part yet.
"Well, I've put Hermione, Buffy, and two others from History to sort out all the boxes. That was three hours ago so hopefully they have something new when we get back." It took her a while to notice, but as soon as they made their way to the lecture hall, the rest of the people have begun to thin out. The corridors are clear and not even the faintest sound can be heard. Even her footsteps are suddenly muted, and that's saying a lot.
"And how is your morning with our special guest?" He finally looks at her, which, if she's being honest, she isn't sure whether she appreciates or not. It was soon made clear to the group that their at times silent team leader possesses quite the double edged sword. At one side he is a natural charmer who would often make you feel like the most important person in the room, sparkling eyes and all. On the flipside, he can bore down on you with the focus of a hundred eagles, often with a feeling that he can see right through your soul. The hair at the back of her neck jumps straight at the thought. She gathers her bearings and braves the onslaught of forest green staring at her.
"We made a leap, one that would start us to a three-fold path. John Doe is one mysterious guy—no tracks, no clues, not even an engraved locket from a girlfriend. He's really living up to his name right now. But I think I've figured out how to crack his code." She takes the plunge and before she knows it, all the nerves have settled. It will never stop blowing her mind how she gets to do the thing she loves and gets paid for it!
"DNA." Professor Valmont catches the shift in her tone and rides along, his lips quirked up in amusement. His eyes follow suit, sparkling up as she taps the tip of her nose twice.
"You know it! But it's tricky! And so I've extracted three types: his mitochondrial DNA, his Y chromosome, and some puzzle pieces to tell us about his characteristics. Hair color, eye color, things like that." She pauses as they face the metal door and reaches for something in a side locker.
"But the thing I've started with is carbon dating. We first need to determine at which point in Skyhold's history did John Doe stay in the fortress. I've extracted two samples and sent it to two carbon dating centers. One is at Markham and the other is the University's own. We should be expecting results in a couple of days." Mimi doesn't skip a beat as she hands the professor a lab coat and a box of gloves.
"Great call. We need to be efficient with our time and resources. Having two tests independent of each other would give more confidence on the results. We should also do a CT scan for John Doe to better outline his injuries." The professor blurts out a rundown of the impending afternoon's to-do's as he puts on his lab coat, elegant fingers lining down unruly collars. The man can wrap himself in a blanket and he still would be a main draw at the Val Royeaux Fashion Week.
"Right! One CT coming up! And I'll also have to check on Dads in case something's cooking over at History." She makes a mental note to approach the middle-aged PhD candidate as soon as they go inside. It has been a landslide for the man when the groups voted for team leaders back in their first afternoon.
"A father hen, but squishier!" Buffy totally didn't make sense but all of them in History agreed regardless.
She pulls out of her reverie only to drop in the middle of an awkward pause. A beat and she recognizes. The door hasn't been opened yet. She gives the tall Adonis a questioning side nod. What she sees, however, confounds her about the man even more.
He has been standing in silence, biting his red puffy lower lip for words. Finally, he seems to have taken hold of a bunch. "Well, you see, I may have forgotten my card in the office." He has enough dignity and pride left to not look her in the eye, focusing on the door all the while fighting an honest to gods blush.
Mimi snorts and pulls hers out of her lab coat pocket. Her steps dissolve the thickening awkwardness only for it to creep back with the sounds of the keypad. Photographic memory and somehow forgets his ID card. Maybe I should run you through the CT scan, too!
"Thank you," She hears behind her as the door swings open. She would have relished responding, too, but her attention was stolen by the racket that greeted them.
"You can't be serious when you say that we should carbon date bricks and boulders to separate what's native to Skyhold and what isn't!"
"And you can't carbon date rocks."
"Whoa whoa. Can we just focus on drying out these books first before moving on to looking under rocks?"
"Given that he's an archaeologist, of course his answer for everything is to literally look under rocks."
Mimi takes in the scene from her place beside the professor. She could almost touch the thickening tension as members of the three groups face off from their tables. No doubt it's been a rough first week for them, what with the amount of workload they have been anticipating. By the third day many in the group are already pulling all-nighters; even she and Professor Valmont had been clocking in 16-hour work days in previous days. As Day 5 rolls in, almost everyone is running on fumes. No one wants to be the only loser who needs a nap when everyone else is putting in long hours. This is an arena, after all, and these are battle hardened elites in lab coats.
"I left you getting started with this topic. Are you seriously pushing to an hour talking about rocks?" Mimi interjects with a straight face.
"Finally someone says it!" Groans waft through the lecture hall as the groups take a break from the back and forth salvo. Dads shakes the stress away and makes a beeline towards a heap of Box o' Joes. Mimi fights a groan when she sees that the coffee is almost gone and it's only 10am. She had them delivered at 8am.
"Alright. To recap: we have been discussing the possibility of armies bringing along catapult ammunition. Walden linked it to the Battle at Emprise du Lion but we all know since the fifth grade that the Siege of Skyhold took place before the battle." Hermione rolls her eyes, immune to the narrowed ones Walden from Archaeology is aiming at her.
"So there's no chance whatsoever that some of the rocks up there weren't from, well, there?" The archaeologist crosses his arms in challenge.
"If you wouldn't resort to stretching basic facts on the distance of Emprise to Skyhold, I may just engage you on yet another discussion." Hermione huffs at the Archaeology section's way.
"Very well. So how are we going to start determining which are actual facts, hm?"
"WE DRY OUT THESE BOOKS FIRST!" Hermione just about had it. Walden raises his hands in surrender as another round of exasperated groans bounce up the walls.
"Now, now." Everybody perks up as a baritone voice embraces the group. They aim their attention to the front where Professor Valmont stands with his arms crossed. "It's not like Walden's thought process isn't without merit. At the same time, historical points are there for a reason. So let's use them wisely."
The group watches him pace, head bowed as usual in contemplation. He stops in front of the wall display panel and enlarges a front view of the mythic fortress. "A big part of Skyhold's mystique is its curious location. Usually fortresses are built for two purposes: maximize resources of an area through commerce and protect said resources from attacks. Anyone who can spot the difference? Dads?"
"It's nowhere near a center of commerce or even a trade route." The burly Historian calls out from his place between two stacks of coffee boxes.
The professor's lips spread to a smile. "And so from there we could begin tracing back. This is important, people: if we cannot agree on the what and the how, then we must therefore acknowledge the why, yes?" He pauses to take in the strained nods in the room before proceeding, "Time is always of the essence. This group is far too brilliant to allow itself regular pitfalls. If one road is blocked, we must find another."
Mimi finds herself nodding along as she watches the previously bickering group mellow down. All the while Professor Valmont paces with hands on his back, fingers toying with a marker. He finally stops by the Archaeology table and gives the group his undiluted focus. "And rocks are every bit as important, because what are we looking at right now?"
"Basically, a pile of rocks. On top of a mountain," one of them wisecracks and instantly freezes in his seat when he realizes what he has said. He looks up to their boss with a deer in the headlights look.
"Exactly right!" The awkwardness is defused with a clear and light laugh from their lead professor. It seems to have lifted some of the tension as well as it reverberates all the way up to the tall ceilings. The professor then turns to the History table, still with a soft smile and twinkle in his eyes. "But again, we must not lose sight of the fact that Skyhold is unusual. And so it follows that the methods in building it, the story behind it, are also unusual. Would you agree?"
"Yes, professor." The History table answers in unison as they give each other looks and shrugs that imply they have not considered this angle before. Usually, the answers would be in written records and local legends.
From there Mimi looks back to this young professor who is oh so subtly steering his herd to the right path, hopefully away from wringing each other's necks. He seems oblivious to the effect he's having on the group, unassuming cream V-neck cardigan and all. Or is he? He catches her gaze just as he is making his way to the Architecture table.
"As builders, what would you do when faced with limited resources?"
"Make up for it wherever we can. The only priority is to finish the project."
"Simply put, pick up random stones if you have to?" The professor follows up with a suggestive arch of the eyebrows.
It's simple and yet the effect is clear. What used to be a wound up group of accomplished architects is now chuckling with the professor, who shares in the moment with a wry half smile. Mimi swears, he would have made quite a diplomat just a stone's throw away at Val Royeaux. She can only conceal a knowing smile with a disbelieving headshake.
"And it just as well translates to the identity of the structure, yes? When we think of the philosophy behind building a structure, I'd like to think that the essence of the materials—every morsel of rock and every angle of the chisel, becomes a part of said structure's identity. They culminate into a new essence. Because yes, building and construction have a philosophy as well." The professor paces back to the front and along the way tilts his head towards the Archaeology and Architecture tables, "Isn't that right?"
The two groups could not be more delighted of this and it shows in their emphatic answer, "Yes, sir!"
Mimi isn't even sure she's heard of Architectural Philosophy before. She thought it's just building from the ground up and moving on to the next one. The fact that their senior fellow just acknowledged it went a long way, she can tell. Even the History group has a new level of curiosity about them. And right on time, Professor Valmont snaps and points toward their table,
"And that's where you come in. On our first day you said that Skyhold has yet to have a definitive origins story. No one has been able to pinpoint one due to the eclectic mix of styles. I truly believe this is why you were chosen for this. Because in order to be historical, we must first do historic things. Things that had never been done nor accomplished before." He regards each member of the History group with a firm and challenging nod, his green eyes darker with intensity. "Are you ready to defy 1,000 years of track record?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Let's go!"
"YEAAHHH!" Dad's resounding answer booms all the way up the ceilings. He has his hands up in the air, coffee sloshing from his cup. Mimi makes a mental note to track Dad's and the rest of the group's caffeine intake for the rest of the day.
Clearly it was the right words to say. To all the groups. After all, these aren't some pushover summer interns. These are the best that the University has to offer. The elite talents of their fields. She can't believe how natural it was for this usually reserved and quiet young man to dance around eggshells.
Egotistical and highly caffeinated eggshells. Each and every one.
Going by the renewed buzzing in the room, it's looking like crisis has just been averted. Just like that, everyone's attention is now on planning a new modus of approach.
Seeing this, the twinkle in the Professor's eyes is back and it lightens up his sincere expression even more. He nods to the room and with raised eyebrows gives directives towards the group's new path, "I like the direction you're going with taking the surroundings in question, Archaeology. Let's try to find out just how they were able to transport materials to that part of the Frostbacks. Was it summer when they started construction? If so, let's take a look at caves and tunnels that could be easily overlooked during the river's high tide. Let's trace every beaten down path to see where they lead."
"Say, I know it's quite a-ways from Orzammar but it's still worth looking into." A guy from Archaeology looks around his group and is met with a couple of nods. If they are looking into tunnels, where's the best one to start than the greatest of them all? The ancient underground Dwarf kingdom of Orzammar.
"But isn't Orzammar already scaled down during the Second Inquisition's formation?" A female group member answers.
"That is true. But suppose Skyhold was constructed much earlier than that?" A third one offers and nods back when the rest of the group perks up at the idea. He smiles when he sees the professor nodding along as well.
"Mimi, don't we have samples of tile and floor work?" The professor zeroes in on her, moving on from the Archaeology table. She nods as she calls back by the door, "Yes, Professor. They came with construction materials, too. Chisels, hammers, axes."
"Brilliant! Architects, let's start from there. If we could trace back the tools' origins then perhaps we could match them with the corresponding building style." There's a collective nod just as the group is busying away in their laptops and notebooks. Some are already getting started with 3D renders.
"History, I do believe we needed to go through the items inventory. What have we got?"
"Yes, sir. So far this morning we have gathered assorted documents—we have journals, letters, encrypted briefings, and a couple of damaged hard drives from the blast." Dads recites from a list that Hermione handed over.
"Damaged hard drives, you say? I could help with that if needed!" One of the architects looks up from his 3D model.
"And us. If there's anything saved in those drives, artifacts and excavation photos would be on top of the list." Another from Archaeology breaks away from the huddled group and raises his hand.
"Great job volunteering, you guys! Hey Brighton, why don't you and James set up over there by the wall outlets?" Mimi calls out to the architect, pointing with her thumb at the left wall.
"We're on it, Mimi!" Without preamble, the two jog around, swerving around tables with arms filled with laptops and the damaged hard drives.
"Mimi, can I join them to work on the inventory?" Mimi meets Buffy's expectant round eyes and gives her a nod,
"Good idea. Go, fly and be free."
"Sir, is this a good time for the daily report?"
Chief of Staff Ian Olafson peers up through his half spectacles, a folder suspended upon his hands. For the first time that afternoon he tears his attention away from his mahogany desk only to find his office's cream paneling soaked in the setting sun's dark red and orange. He rubs his forehead as he looks up to the man at the door. Whatever snappy remark he has is held back by the fact that it is the head of Household Intelligence himself who is giving him the day's report.
"Talk me through it, Major."
The man nods and closes the double oak doors behind him. Ian braces himself just as the officer reveals yet another folder from his back. "We have yet to locate the Crown Prince since he was last spotted leaving Jader seven days ago," the Major fills him in with all the words he most certainly does not want to hear at nine in the evening, nor at any other time.
"Seven days," Ian taps his watch for a moment. The delicate sound cuts through the thickening silence like razor. Seven days. One future king. Infinite possibilities. The officer standing before him must have perceived his thoughts and returns his steely gaze. Finally, he tucks the watch back under his bespoke Antivan suit. His eyes tighten on the mountain of classified briefings that has invaded his week.
"We need to come up with much better than that, Major. We can't have the heir to the throne go off the grid for seven whole days. Have we tried looking off continent?"
"There simply aren't many options for him outside Thedas. All it takes is one tweet about him in an airport lounge somewhere and the international media will be on him like flies. He knows this—"
"And that's all it takes for us to be hounded, too. Which is why we must get to him first before anyone else. When word leaks out that he's been AWOL then it won't take too much for the media and the people to put 2 and 2 together." Ian gathers himself, taking a brief reprieve as he watches the last slivers of sunlight through one of the arched windows.
Beyond the reaches of the royal palace, the city of Denerim prepares for the second half of a day that never really ends. All around them skyscrapers and thoroughfares come to life with lights spreading in all directions. For another moment he contents himself with the priceless city view that makes all of it bearable.
"We should have never agreed to send him to missions without his protection officers. It was a close call, Ian." Ian finds himself nodding in agreement. He motions for the officer to sit in one of the two vacant mahogany chairs before him, now that the formal portion of the daily updates are done.
"Four women against three highly trained military men. And going by the lead pilot's report, they were supposed to had been locked in a metal vault for an unknown stretch of time without food and water." He shakes off the image of a lifeless prince. The very prince that has been put in his charge since he accepted the job almost 12 years ago. He fights down a cringe. They must get to Prince Nikolai at the soonest possible time!
"The perpetrators remain under strict monitoring." The officer pauses before deciding to go further, "I wager it was adrenaline. Still, the weapons retrieved from them… they're otherworldly, to say the least."
At the officer's word Ian starts sifting through the photos of evidences submitted to him through the week. A longsword. A pair of daggers. An ornate walking staff that, according to the paramedic aboard, he could have sworn to have melted the plexiglass window.
"The DNA and blood tests have already come back as well. It's the real reason why I'm here."
That made Ian tear his eyes from the images. They remain silent, no doubt gauging each other before venturing forth.
An explosion deep in uncharted Frostbacks.
A long lost fortress believed to only exist in legends.
Four women emerging from a long abandoned metal vault.
The disappearance of Ferelden's Crown Prince.
It has been one bizarre event on top of another these past five days. Events that are fast becoming a potent mix that the entire Royal Household would rather not have at the moment. Not when border disputes throughout the continent have been causing tension. The last thing they need, that Ferelden needs, is for all this to trigger a domino effect of sorts. After a few seconds he presses on, "No big movements, Major. You know how the media has eyes and ears everywhere nowadays. Has His Majesty been informed already?"
A nod and then, "The Lord Chamberlain is with him now as we speak."
He lets the information sink in as he looks over these mysterious women's profiles. They may had been subjected through difficult situations for who knows how long, but there's no denying it—their complexion, their posture, their eyes, these are individuals who are far from regular. There's no mistaking the air and aura about them which are not too different from the envoys and courtiers he passes behind Palace walls. He can almost see it in his mind's eyes, high stakes poker to start the day and then vintage wines to cap the night. What lovely masks they all seem to wear.
He fights a smirk until a sudden realization wipes it from his face. These people have played The Game.
"I knew you'd catch up fast enough," the officer meets his eyes with knowing ones of his own and proceeds without missing a beat, "here are the results."
The Major lifts a folder from his poised, crossed legs and slides it across his desk. This one is thicker than usual. He can almost feel the weight with which it comes just as well. There's a split second hesitation before he reaches for it, finally delving himself head first down the ever deepening rabbit hole.
"On their first night in Jader they were asked basic information. Identity, countries of origin, contact people in case of emergency, things of that nature. We found it peculiar that none of it checks out despite them passing multiple lie detector tests. And so we dug deeper… and deeper. It took us days but finally there it was, the first lead. A match was made to Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva…"
The Major then pauses as he gauges Ian for a handful of seconds. With a sigh he presses on, "You can just imagine the level of disbelief when it's found out that the match was from one thousand years ago."
To his credit, the Major allows him a few minutes to absorb the revelation. It's not until his lungs started burning that he realized the air has been taken out from him. All of a sudden his heartbeat is like thunder, ringing in his ears. The city's hustle and bustle only emphasized to him that he is at the center of it all. Here at Ferelden's biggest stage, where the attention could be harsh and punishing. He walks up to the nearest window to focus, but all he could see are blurred lights.
Finally, the head of Intelligence proceeds with an ever deepening frown. "We checked multiple angles just to make sure. If the group includes Lady Montilyet, then it only follows that the rest are her contemporaries. Notable individuals that moved in the Ambassador's circles. To trim it down further, we looked at these four's common denominator—"
"—Skyhold," Ian bridges the gap, his eyes tracking traffic that emerges from the Palace's two sides.
"And that's where Miss right here enters the picture." Shuffled papers and folders finally reel Ian back to his office. Now also standing, the officer helps himself at the mahogany desk as he looks for the right folder. Given that Ian has been studying the women's profiles minutes before, it didn't take him long. He takes the shorthaired one's profile front and center,
"None other than the Hero of Orlais. Arguably the most fabled Right Hand in history—Cassandra Pentaghast."
"But wasn't she—" Ian grips his desk. For support or to check that he is indeed still in the right dimension, he isn't sure.
"Killed that night? Apparently not so. In her case, having the Pentaghast bloodline still in Nevarra was a tremendous help. They may no longer be the ruling family but there they stay. And so with the blood extracted from her, we tested for a DNA match and match it did. However, it appears that hers is from the male line which has already died out around 700 years ago."
"700 years…" Ian could not believe the road they're taking with their discussion. Yet the evidences are overwhelming. His eyes wander across the table, trying to extract logical answers from the printed out DNA sequences. "But nobody was supposed to have survived the attack. How?"
"I may actually have the answer to that." For a while the DNA results are buried as the Major retrieves a photo they have set aside mere minutes ago. "This," he points to the wooden staff that, in Ian's eyes, only grows more sinister by the second. In the corner of his eye he chances upon the photo of one of the four. The one with the longer dark hair, with glinting golden eyes. He keeps his eyes firmly trained forward.
"Unless you're implying it's actually a flying broomstick…" Ian spies his watch as the hands trudge closer to 10pm. He has a feeling the evening has just truly begun.
"Close," the officer has the audacity to smirk. "Remember that old legend about the witch of the Korcari Wilds? Apparently she was real, and lived around the same time as our mysterious group."
"Surely you don't mean—"
"Oh, but I most certainly do. It came straight from the source herself." The officer lifts the photo Ian was just avoiding straight to his face.
Just then, a knock echoed through the room. Their heads snap towards the double doors just as Ian's assistant peeks in, her eyes trained right at his. "Ian, Line 2. It's the King."
It has been hours since the conversation he had with the King during the previous night. After two more red-eye meetings, Ian is finally on his way back to his own office to sign off on a number of briefings. All in all, it has been a productive 24 hours and he finds himself looking forward to a down time at home, smiling at the thought of actually making it in time to have breakfast with his family. He swings one of the heavy doors to his office but is taken aback by a man standing by the windows.
"Good morning, Your Grace." Ian manages to bow without spilling his arms' contents.
The Lord Chamberlain of the Household glances over his shoulder. "Ah. The security briefing, was it?" The man inquires with almost chilling calmness as he plays with a signet ring on his left little finger.
"Yes, my Lord."
Ian is rewarded with an acknowledging nod. Just like that, he finds himself in an impromptu meeting with the King's right hand. Tradition has provided the role for the highest ranking peers of the realm. Just like his predecessors, Alistair Glenn has never lacked power and authority in his own right with being the Duke of Sunderland. His partly bald silver hair is brushed up to frame blue eyes as sharp as an eagle's. Hands brush his bespoke double breasted blazer to the sides to reveal the chain of a golden pocket watch resting in a vest pocket.
"My Lord, would you care for a seat and a drink?" Ian's offer is promptly dismissed with an apathetic wave of a hand. The Lord Chamberlain instead walks to the marble fireplace, leaving Ian with no other choice than to stand up from his desk and follow suit.
"This has become quite the interesting week and it is not even over yet," the older man remarks without breaking eye contact. A beat and he continues, "To be forward, I always held a spot against sending him to Jader. Philip had always indulged the boy so."
Ian can't say he is taken aback by the other man's remarks. It has been known that the King has encouraged his heir one time too many, resulting in grumbles however silently they were let out. He gathers his thoughts and weighs the options, "Do we pull him out?"
"Most certainly not! The better option for us is to keep this as quietly as possible. This must not reach the press."
"For more than one reason, I take it," he weighs in, thinking about that little detail the Major has let slip the night before.
"Indeed. The continent has been unstable as it is. Who knows what a mere squabble over artifacts could trigger? The last thing we need is a highly publicized tiff with Orlais," the man next to him contemplates with arms crossed tightly.
He nods as it dawns on him that they were both in line with the same strategic plan. He sets forth to put in the foundation, "And so quietly iron out potential disputes. If somebody asks, we can safely allude to routine assignment."
"I am glad to hear we are in agreement! His Majesty and I have discussed the matter this past hour and it has been determined that a partnership effort should be initiated with the University of Orlais. It is always uplifting when the kingdom funds an academic research, regardless of country! Bear in mind, the Orlesians do have more than half of the evidences from the explosion. This would make us privy of their progress without doing the actual work." The twinkle in the Duke's eyes says the last thing he cared about was academic outreach.
"A research effort, in line with the 1,000th anniversary of the Siege of Skyhold," Ian decides to play along with his higher up's morning amusement. Because, really, this is merely what it is for the powerful. An amusement with the smaller people as pawns.
"A Heritage Exhibition! A look back to the Second Inquisition! Brilliant, Ian!" Ian tries to disguise his wince as a smile just as the Lord Chamberlain's hand lands on his shoulder.
"And as a member of the Search and Rescue that helped that grievous day, the Crown Prince will be more than appropriate for the lead role. No better than Thedas' dashing Golden Boy to serve as the face of its most momentous milestone! Better yet, it would enable us to keep a keen eye on his activities," the Lord Chamberlain announces and Ian could only help but groan in dismay inwardly.
How did it come to this, again? This is most certainly not how I imagined it a minute ago.
The older man must have read what is on his mind and provides him an angle he cannot very well ignore. "It would also give the prince opportunity to lick his wounds. Redeem his confidence."
"This all sounds promising, sir, but we would still need a contact from the University of Orlais." This time, the frown is evident as he allows his face to be open for interpretation. One wrong move and they could well ignite the diplomatic incident they are determined to avoid.
"Oh but we do have someone, Ian. And he could even put a damper to the growing web of mystery surrounding those four women." The Lord Chamberlain pauses as he catches Ian's startled glance. "Do not think I am unaware of what has transpired last evening. I tried, but Philip would not listen. This way, we both get to contain not one, not two, but three ticking bombs."
Ian pauses for a minute before finally conceding, "Three, sir?"
"Go to the University of Orlais. You will understand once you get there. I think a day in the clouds is exactly what you need, what with the glorious sunny day!"
Ian leads the man out the door where he sends him off with a bow. After which he turns to his secretary stationed immediately to his right, "Joan, get me my wife, please."
He lets out an exasperated sigh as he reaches over the handset on his desk, "Mia, dear, yes I just wanted to let you know that it's looking like I won't be in for movie night…"