Author's Note: Finally! Schools out, and I'm recovering from a severe case of academe induced writer's block.

That's what I would have said when I first tried to publish this chapter. I recently downloaded this story for proofreading, since reviews seem to have dropped suddenly. Lo and behold, the entirety of what should have been the 5th chapter (the 4th chapter, if you were to refer to the prologue as chapter 0) was missing. I put this down to my stubborn refusal to follow FFN's numbering system. Having addressed this error, let us continue Izark and Noriko's first day back in Selena Guzena, shall we?

Thanks to BlueTrillium, for once again taking the time to beta read my work––er, play.

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Chapter 5: A Discerning Eye

I'm too old for this. So thought Jul Hirza Aevin, Guard Sergeant of Market District in Selena Guzena, royal capital of Guzena. The wizened ex-soldier looked up from the stack of files in his hands and glared moodily out of his good right eye, surveying the small gathering of hopefuls waiting in the dusty garrison training yard.

What the eye saw was not reassuring. Of the ten people in Jul's view, fully half were on record for crimes committed within this city alone. These were plants, hoodlums sent by the gang bosses to observe and sabotage the Sergeant's attempts to raise a decent guard. Their pictures––done by a sketch artist surreptitiously posted near the admittance desk––were in their files, and matched descriptions from previous investigations. Impatiently, the old man shifted five applications to the back of the pile, then took a closer look at the remaining five candidates.

Two he rejected as drunks; he could smell the sharp odor of booze from where he stood several paces upwind, and he didn't need two eyes to see the vacant expression in theirs. Kess Olesia Hadath, former Army Convoy Guard; Godana Ramnorna Haas, Dock Worker: both out.

Now here was a likely looking man, middle aged and well built, down on his luck if the condition of his clothes was any indication. Estus Rana Ingmar, eh? It says here that he was a farmer. Perhaps, perhaps. Let's see how he fights; study his character. Though he hated to admit it, Jul could not afford to be too picky.

There was a slender youth, tall for his age and, like many youngsters his height, slouching. Rich, tawny-brown skin didn't quite match his unruly fair locks and extraordinary amber eyes. The child had good lines––if he'd just fix that posture––and Jul could tell by the way those golden eyes moved that he was alert to his surroundings. But he was just that: a child, thirteen years old at best. Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb. I'll be sending that one home to his clan.

Here was another man, one with a rabid look to him that Jul didn't like one bit. It wasn't this candidate's intimidating stature or his sharp, predatory face. It was the way he stood with every muscle flexed, ready to snap to the attack. This fellow's eyes ranged, too, but furtively, as if from under those long, limp bangs he was watching for anyone who dared get close enough for him to bite. Orne Maninka Berhos, student to Hankad Inga Tyoshanal and Former Private Guard to Lord Nada de Zago. Well, well. One of Lord Bug's gladiators, hm?

Now what have we here?

He had overlooked one résumé. Far to the left, beyond the one-eyed man's field of vision, there stood a young man. On the tall end of average height, his figure was sparse but defined. Broad shoulders put him in his early twenties. Unlike the Kilahb boy, this black-haired youth stood gracefully, back straight with one hand resting on his sword's hilt. Jul took inventory:

A long sword in its scabbard, left hip. A sword belt and shoulder strap of black leather, stark against a light tunic which, while very appropriate for the weather that day and excellently tailored, would provide no padding whatsoever. Under the belt was a wide sash, dyed an exotic shade of red. Black traveling shoes, well-worn but of the finest quality, wrapped to mid-calf over dark trousers. Dark cloth gauntlets. Jewelry, lots of it; he wore his money. If there were knives, they were well hidden.

A swordsman, confident enough to forgo protective gear and walk around advertising his wealth. Assuming that the young man under all that gold was not an out and out fool, the whole ensemble screamed mercenary. And not just a foot soldier. This one's assassin grade. But surely no experienced fighter, especially such a young one, could have escaped his years of training with a profile like that.

At that moment, the black-haired man turned his head to look squarely at his observer. Jul had the distinct impression that this was no coincidence. He knew all along that I was watching, and is deliberately telling me so. Why? To warn me off?

Unperturbed, the old man continued to stare, meeting what could be interpreted as a challenge. He did not expect to see the corners of the swordsman's mouth tilt up ever so slightly, forming what may have been a smile. The dark eyes flickered momentarily to the file in the sergeant's hands, then back to his face. In the next instant, the smile disappeared. The swordsman looked away.

Quickly, Jul checked the application. Yes, here was the sketch, as accurate as the rest. Izark Kia Tarj. Former Private Mercenary to the Cities of Calco and Ennamarna... various merchants… As he read down the list, the grizzled guard's eye widened– the Family de Gilenee of Zago –and widened– Zena Il Pisca,ActingState Seer of Guzena; Dr. Clairgeeta, Former Chief Cabinet Secretary of Aibisk. His jaw fell open. That made a total of three titled employers, two being individuals whom Jul knew would have needed highly professional guardians within the last few years. There were also four letters of recommendation, two written by a hand that Jul recognized immediately. But no, Alef had written only one recommendation. The other paper was a note to the sergeant that had been made to look like a reference. It read:

My Dear Former Captain,

Absolutely do not make a scene over this. Izark is here to lend you a hand, but he can do this best if you don't give him any more special treatment than his talents deserve. Just act like you mean to hire him. Trust me–– this man is an army of one.

Then, in a flourishing signature, Alef de Elazard, Chief Commander of His Grace's Royal Guard, followed by the Grand Duke Jeida's personal seal.

The message began with 'Absolutely do not make a scene over this.' The former captain addressed schooled his features into nonchalance, then turned toward the recruits and growled, "Hand over your weapons and pair up. We'll see how you do with short staffs."

V V V V V

Rottenina scowled. It was incredible how a few stubborn spots could ruin the effect of an otherwise pristine glass mirror.

Pausing for the moment, the young seer turned to look over the rest of the filthy room.

When they had returned to Selena Guzena two years ago, Zena, her assistants, and Gaya had found the house in ruins; the doors and windows smashed in by looters. The passing seasons had blown in street dirt and rain, so that layers of mud and mold covered everything. The furniture was either stolen or destroyed.

The thieves had missed this room, partly due to a stroke of brilliance on Anita's part; partly due to the stupidity of your average criminal. Before leaving, Zena's assistants had done their best to hide those of their mistress' most valuable possessions that could not be taken with them. All of the other rooms had later been thoroughly ransacked, but Anita had been clever enough to hang one particularly unmarketable old tapestry over the door to this, the most important of chambers. By sheer luck, no one had realized that the small high windows on the second floor opened to a hidden compartment.

Even so, two years had found Zena's workroom and all its contents coated in dust and mildew. Still, its condition was far better than that of the rest of the house, and since Miss Zena had access to fortunetelling instruments at the palace, the girls had agreed to concentrate on making the living quarters fit for humans before setting the workroom to rights.

Gazing around her, Rottenina could remember the first time she had stood here. Mirrors of every make had shone, promising answers to every question. Basins of stone, glass, and metal had begged to be filled from the vials lining the shelves; globes and crystals had sparkled with the same potential that the young girl saw in the mirrors.

Now two-thirds of the mirrors had yet to be freed from their two years' worth of grime. Many of the seals on the scum covered potion bottles were cracked; the liquids inside turned murky and useless. Spheres and bowls stood on tables and shelves, blanketed in dust like everything else. Something small and bewhiskered had made off with a good deal of the stuffing in the upholstery, while insects had eaten through most of the rugs.

Even so, the room still held that magic aura, that sense of potential. Perhaps that was why Rottenina had chosen, somewhat illogically, to clean the mirrors first of all. Once that was done, she would have Anita assist her in the removal of the ruined furnishings and potions. The vials could be emptied and refilled. All the instruments would be taken down and cleaned. All the surfaces––the ceiling, walls, shelves, and floor––would be scrubbed and repainted. By then the rugs would have been trimmed down or replaced; the furniture reupholstered.

The mirrors would confirm that future.

But it won't be a near future, she thought, if I don't get to it. Briskly, the girl shook out her dusting cloth and moved to the next mirror down the wall.

Noriko peeked through the doorway.

"May I help?" The older girl's tone was a touch too bright.

Rottenina nodded, indicating her basket of supplies. "Certainly, and thank you. What is everyone else doing?"

"Oh, plenty of things. You know that Banadam left with Master Jeida and the rest to go to the palace––well, except for Alef; he went with Izark to see Sergeant Jul. Auntie Gaya is showing Ojii-san around the garden. Otou-san seems to have shut himself away in the library with my translations. Katarina is in the courtyard with Chiya-san; did you know Auntie's been teaching her sword fighting? I think Akane's in the kitchen with Anita. Danjel and Dr. Clairgeeta took Jinta to see the market; I think Lori went with them; and Wei––"

"Is here." The young man entered with a comic, yet still somehow elegant, bow. "I'm housebound until further notice. Set me to work."

Rottenina smiled at him, and pointed to a small table cluttered with dusty objects. "See that big crystal? Take that to the kitchen, and Anita will know what to do with it. Also, the boiling sand is in the standing cupboard. Bring back as much as you can."

Wei took the hint and left, looking just a bit disappointed.

"You were saying?" Rottenina prompted, but Noriko did not continue. Sensing that this was important, she tried again. It had not escaped her notice that Noriko had not mentioned her mother's present occupation. "And Yuri?"

Noriko blushed lightly. "Mama is probably looking for me," she answered honestly, apparently concentrating all her attention on the glass under her cloth.

Rottenina finished a small mirror and lifted it off the wall, pretending to inspect it for dust. In reality, she turned the glass in order to observe Noriko's profile. "You don't sound very happy about that," she commented gently.

"I––" Noriko stuttered, then rushed on, "I feel awkward. I feel as if I've changed too much, and I wonder if my family even recognizes me. I feel like I know them, even Akane, who was only five when I came here, but I'm not sure if they know me anymore and––and I'm afraid Mama has some questions and I just don't know how to answer."

Rottenina was silent, considering how she should respond to such an outburst. She watched for a moment as Noriko scrubbed at the tarnish on a silver mirror. Questions she doesn't know how to answer? she wondered. No, no, best stick to what you understand. Time… and change. I know change. "My parents died when I was twelve, from the Blue Scar Plague."

This statement had the effect of making Noriko whirl around, a deeply sympathetic expression on her face.

"Since then," the young seer continued evenly, "I have often wondered, if they suddenly appeared again, what they would think of me. Would they be proud? Would they be disappointed that my ability as a seer did not prove stronger, making me fit for more than an 'assistant'? I will never know, but I can tell you this: all living things change. In that light, your family should be very happy that you've changed, Noriko. If they ask you questions, it means they want to know the person you are now. And I think," she added with a smile, "that some of them have done some changing of their own. What did Chiyako say last night?"

She was rewarded with a small smile as Noriko tallied yet another remark on her aunt's talkativeness. "Chiya-san finally left her husband. Divorced him, actually."

"Oh! Is that a good thing?"

"I think so. It was an arranged marriage," Noriko explained. "I'm glad, because her husband was not a good person, let alone a good parent," she said, never once referring to Chiyako's former husband as 'Oji-san'; Uncle.

"And she stayed with him for what, ten years? I should think"–

There was a polite cough from the door, and Rottenina stopped speaking. Wei looked to her for permission before bringing in the now shining crystal and a small parchment packet. "I asked Anita if there was any more than this, but she said no," he explained, holding up the envelope. "Oh my, you shouldn't make that face. It is not at all becoming."

His comment pertained to the grimace that pulled at the young seer's mouth and furrowed her brow. She sighed. "This is depressing."

"What?" chorused Noriko and Wei.

"This stuff is called boiling sand because of the way it bubbles when first mixed with water," Rottenina explained for Noriko's benefit. "It's a strong cleaning agent, but it's from far to the east, so imports only arrive every other month or so." She shook her head. "There is no telling when I'll be able to buy some more."

"So?" the Gray Bird questioned her. "What's so depressing about that? Oh," he groaned, realization dawning on his face.

"What?" Noriko insisted.

"It's depressing," Rottenina said slowly, "because I'm going to have to clean this entire room with just soap and water. You may be aware, but soap doesn't perform very well on glass. As you can see," she jerked her head at the mirrors, "we have quite a lot of very dirty glass."

Noriko's frown was puzzled. "Can't you just use vinegar?"

"Vinegar?"

"Well, you'd probably want to keep it away from the metal stuff, but a half and half mixture of vinegar and warm water is what Mama and I always used to wash windows and mirrors. It worked as well as anything we could have bought."

Wei looked at the seer. "I take it you did not know that trick?"

"I am an assistant seer first, then a housekeeper," came the prim retort. "Don't try to tell me you knew about it."

"I did not," the Gray Bird admitted, "but it's worth a try. Shall I go mix some up?"

"No, I'll do it," Noriko said quickly, and left the room at a trot.

It was Rottenina's turn to look perplexed. "Why was she in such a hurry?"

Wei shrugged, his face a study of innocence. "She probably didn't want me to try mixing it in a metal pan."

"And you would do that why?"

"She said to keep it away from metal, right?"

"Yes, well, some cleaners can corrode certain materials."

"They can also explode."

The dark-haired girl looked up at the young Gray Bird, startled. "And how would you know that?"

Again, that studied virtue. "When one pretends to be a housemaid, one makes the most exciting discoveries about flour."

xxxxx

Author's Note: If my reference to the Japanese divorce procedure is inaccurate, please let me know. Also, I am worried about inconsistencies, since I haven't updated for so long. Please review.

~ Muse