In front of him, a woman smiled broadly.  It was a tight-lipped smile, a politician's smile, one that gave no answers and made even fewer promises. It spoke of only one inevitable truth: that, without fail, the owner of the grimace was rapidly kennelling her patience and preparing to unleash the full frigid extent of polite dismissal.  He knew it well; he'd inflicted it upon a hapless victim himself in the past, although never to the degree that she was now.

Any minute now she's going to thank me for my concern and ask me to leave, he thought morosely, and then mentally added, with rising panic, Her pet brigand is still staring at my neck...!

The mayor's office was warm enough - the curtains had been thrown back and yellow mid-noon daylight fell in from the arching windows to paint the blood-red carpet with squares of light - and yet he couldn't stop a sudden chill from trickling down his spine.  Directly ahead of him squatted the woman's desk, heavy and black, like a sacrificial altar.  The papers he had brought to show her lay meekly upon it, untouched.  The woman had merely glanced at them when he had brought them to her attention as if regarding something distasteful.  Her own files, neat piles of notes and folders, sat squared off in businesslike stacks at one of desk's corners as if mocking his attempt.

She sat behind the massive desk, her hands positioned over its surface and her fingers pressed together, her frosty smile floating above them.  As big and imposing as the desk may have been, the mayor herself dwarfed it completely.

He felt obliged to say something; silence in face of her seemed prickled with threat.  "I really think our proposal is a reasonable one-" he began hesitantly.

The smile widened.  "And on that point I'm inclined to wholeheartedly agree with you," she replied smoothly.  Not a wrinkle of irritation touched her brow.  "I merely feel that at this point Muse will not benefit from the construction of a trade centre as you propose it will.  Furthermore, we simply haven't the available commercial space to build on - are you aware of the costs of extending the city limits to include the construction of new buildings?"

Wordlessly, he shook his head.  From the corner of his eye he noticed that the brigand seated behind him was still staring and grinning, unblinking, like a man posses-

"They're considerable, I'll assure you that," the mayor continued.  "And it does distress the citizens of Muse when we are forced to raise taxes in order to cover that sort of thing.  I'm sure you understand."  She stood abruptly - her leather chair creaked its relief - and placed her palms firmly over the top of the desk, flattening out her fingers.  The glacial smile hadn't budged.

He really felt he should say something in his own defence at this point and managed to whimper out, "I brought a petition on behalf of the merchants..."

The smile grew shark-like as she nodded her head slowly in a show of sympathetic understanding.  "I'd noticed such, and I do promise I'll look over it as soon as I have the time.  I really do appreciate your obvious concern for the economic welfare of Muse, however, and the-" She paused momentarily, carefully lining up her words like darts, "-boundless enthusiasm you've shown in regards to this project.  I would very much appreciate it if you would also thank any other responsible parties on my behalf, and perhaps pass on to them that I consider the matter closed while I reflect on a final resolution.  I promise you'll be hearing from me shortly."

And that, he decided despairingly, was pretty much the end of that.  To remain and argue the matter would only end in messy embarrassment.  The back of his mind pointed out the necessity of a safe retreat and so he stood, bowed once to her politely, and slunk as quickly from the room as dignity permitted.

The mayor watched the tail end of his robes disappear through her office's heavy doors with great amusement.  She straightened resolutely once they had clicked shut behind him and glanced at the only other remaining person in the room.  He was still smiling vacantly ahead, unblinking, slouched in his seat; a lanky, dishevelled man in plain clothing.  She regarded him for a moment in amused silence, and then cleared her throat once loudly.

"You're doing it again," she announced.

The man gave a full-bodied jerk at the sound of her voice and quickly sat forward, blinking owlishly.  "Eh?"  he managed.  His head rotated slowly as his wide eyes took in his surroundings.  "Oh, I guess I must have dozed off... oh."

He trailed off as he caught sight of her expression and his grin grew sheepish.  He rubbed the back of his head with one hand.  "I, I'm sorry, Lady Anabelle, I honestly didn't mean-"

"I really don't know how you manage to sleep like that," she interrupted, one eyebrow quirked.  "It's downright ghoulish."

He shrugged and stretched out stiff shoulders.  "It's a gift, I guess."

Anabelle chuckled and strode around her desk until she was standing in front of it.  Crossing her arms over her chest she leaned back, the edge of the tabletop digging sharply into the back of her thighs.  "Your little habit never ceases to genuinely surprise.  After the last House of Commons meeting the Finance Minister left fully convinced that you were some sort of homicidal maniac.  It took a great deal of effort on my behalf to assure him that you're actually anything but the kind."  She arched an eyebrow at him and caught him in mid-yawn.  "Please make an attempt to stay awake next time, Fitcher.  It puts me out when the Ministers have doubts about the sanity of my staff."

He flushed and grinned weakly.  "Of, of course, Lady Anabelle.  I only got back from the border an hour or so ago, else I would have caught some sleep before arriving here-"

She waved off his excuse.  "I'm willing to overlook it this time, Fitcher. It's not as if you missed anything vital anyway."  She made a face as memory of her meeting with the leader of the merchants union filtered back through her consciousness.  "Evidently that man has yet to learn that a firm "no" does not translate into, "please, feel free to return and discuss this with me at a later date."

"I'm a little surprised he came back to argue the point at all," Fitcher remarked, yawning.  He'd been fully awake when the businessman had made his previous appearance and remembered the encounter as being distinctly tedious.  "I was willing to bet that you'd scared him off the last time he came to fight for the trade centre plans."

And I really do mean that, he added mentally.  Lady Anabelle of Muse had a standing reputation among the people of the Jowston City-State of iron strength and resolve.  And not simply for her strength of character - the Muse mayor, with her flaming red hair and powerful six-foot frame, was a decidedly imposing figure both physically and politically.

She passed him a sharp glance.

"No disrespect intended, of course, Lady Anabelle," he hastily added.

The Muse mayor eyed him dispassionately until he could practically feel his hair sweating, and then smiled at his alarm.  A genuine smile this time, although still touched with the politician's restraint.  "None taken," she told him.  "To be honest, I'd been hoping that would be the situation anyway.  I really am growing weary of hearing his voice at my elbow every time I set to work."

He grinned his relief.  "Maybe this time he got your message."

She snorted.  "One can only hope.  But on to more important matters." She leaned back and looked down at him along the bridge of her nose. "How was your trip to the Highland border?"

Fitcher frowned and scratched his chin.  "Uneventful and edgy, for the most part."

Anabelle sighed.  "Specifics, Fitcher.  The last I heard were rumours of an attack taking place, and nothing more."

"I'm afraid to say that most of what I found out can only be considered rumour and speculation also."

She shrugged.  "It's better than nothing."

She did have a point.  Fitcher lounged back, extending his legs out lazily in front of him; a pointed look from his employer sent him abashedly straightening back to a respectable level in his chair.  "Well, from what I was able to gather a military action of some sort took place in Highland territory, and it looks as if it was a nasty one.  You could see the line of smoke all the way across the border."

Anabelle appeared nonplussed at the news.  "Involving whose troops?"

He shook his head.  "I'm afraid I'm not entirely certain myself, Lady Anabelle.  We couldn't afford to draw any nearer than we already had for fear of border violations."

"And because of the possible presence of Highland soldiers in the area," she added, amused.

Fitcher winced as her uncomfortably accurate speculation sparked off a stab of guilt.  "Yeah, that too," he admitted.

She grinned at him, a flash of white teeth.  "So I thought.  I certainly hope that the incident wasn't the result of yet another clash between Jowston and Highland.  I'd thought both sides had managed to work such things out of their systems thirty years ago.  And that's not taking into consideration the fact that the peace treaty signed should have put an end to such hostilities anyway."

"Evidently it hasn't, Lady Anabelle."  Fitcher frowned as a fresh memory suddenly nagged for his immediate attention and added,  "Although I'm willing to swear that there weren't any City-State troops assigned within six miles of the border anyway."

The mayor blinked and unfolded her arms, leaning back heavily on her palms instead.  "Now that's an interesting trick - a skirmish involving only one party of soldiers.  Are you absolutely certain on this point?"

"Of course, Lady Anabelle" he replied staunchly, his brow creased in thought.  "I always read the notices about troop deployment whenever I find... uh..."

Fitcher trailed off as his mind belatedly caught up to his rampaging error and silently damned his carelessness.  He offered her up a look of wide-eyed innocence and hoped like hell she hadn't caught the slip.

Judging from her rapidly souring expression he wasn't so fortunate.  "Those reports are available only to high-ranking figures, aren't they?"  Anabelle said quietly, each word dropping in place like a brick into cement.

Damn, he thought morosely. "Yes," he admitted aloud, shifting uncomfortably beneath the sudden ferocity of her gaze.

"I'm a high-ranking official, aren't I?"

Damn!  "Of course, Lady Anabelle,' he said, grinning feebly and blinking sweat back from his eyes.  His hands gripped the arms of his chair like a lifeline.

She fixed him with a stern and steady eye and pressed on mercilessly, a tiger stalking through the tall grass.  "You've been reading the papers on my desk again, haven't you?"

Right to the jugular.  A tiny voice in the back of his mind suggested several handy lies; the voice of reason sharply reminded it that those were the kinds of things that got men broken over Anabelle's knee.  Figuratively speaking, of course.  "Yes?" he finally managed weakly.

The Muse mayor sighed once heavily and a moment of awkward silence loomed overhead.  "I thought I'd already given you ten kinds of holy hell for reading my reports," she said.  "I distinctly remember having this conversation before."

Everything, he thought desperately.  The woman knows everything!  "Yes?" he offered faintly.

"Yes," she echoed ominously.  "Unless you were asleep the last time we had it.  Kindly take my advice and don't do such a thing again.  Snoop through the papers on my desk, I mean.  If not for the sanctity of your job then at least for mine.  The other Jowston mayors don't like it when unintended parties intercept their communiqués and are inclined to complain to me quite vocally to when they hear that they have. Please?"

He nodded wordlessly, wide-eyed, and she leaned back, for the moment satisfied.  "At this point in time, however, that's not particularly important.  Ignoring the means by which you came about the information, you're right about the fact that no Jowston troops were in the area.  If anything, the peace treaty forbade it.  What's your opinion on what you saw at the border?"

Feeling as if someone had just drained a pint of blood out of him, Fitcher sagged back into the chair.  "Uh, I really don't have much of an idea, Lady Anabelle..."

She eyed him dubiously.  "Of course not.  Unofficially, then, what sort of speculation might you be willing to part with?"

Everything, he repeated glumly.  She could see straight through even the most blatant stupidity.  Lacing his fingers over his stomach he carefully stared at a point just over her right ear and tentatively replied,  "Well, any and all evidence we ran across suggested that the Highland's new Unicorn Youth Brigade was in the area at the time, so I'd be willing to guess that they had a part in this somehow."

She nodded encouragingly.  Somewhat heartened by the gesture, he continued.  "A clash involving the Unicorn Brigade, and yet no Jowston troops in sight.  That seems rather suspicious behaviour to me, Lady Anabelle."

Anabelle's eyes narrowed and she tipped back her head to regard the far side of the room in contemplative silence.  "For the record I'm inclined to agree with you," she told him after a moment.  "I'll have someone keep an eye on this.  Not you, for now," she added after spotting a brief look of consternation cross his face.  "For the moment I'd rather you remained here in Muse."

Fitcher shifted his weight in nearly imperceptible relief.  For the space of a second he had feared she would suggest sending him back out towards Highland border.  The first time out had been a nerve-wracking enough experience as it was, one he had no desire to repeat anytime in the near future.

"File a report across the hall and head back home," Anabelle continued. "If I need you I'll send someone out to find you."