Time was running out. Speeding away from the rural property in Mather, they had seen the lights of the first arrivals tearing through the darkness. Later, the group had bundled the guards and the spoils of war into the Nox by the tradesman's entrance. The Nox was Elysium and a bastion of the Domain; the group needed a quiet place to look over their hard won information. But the guards would have to be moved: two were free thinking; a third was recovering naturally from blood loss and in possession of their faculties; the fourth was still severely injured. All were stretching the Elysium's resources and should their very presence tested the Masquerade to its limits.
This was the gamble. The Requiem's tempo had been ratcheted up by their own hand; this was the price of knowledge. They were playing a game on an unseen board, against an unknown foe, whose pawns were already in motion.
So the little conspiracy gathered in a private meeting room of the Elysian Field. Like the rest of the floor, the lights were dimmed to a tasteful and warm glow. The fresh scent of mint was absent, but someone had been good enough to place lavender around the room. The seating was stylish and low, as was the heavy dark table in the middle of the room.
The spoils of war marred the professional effect, however. The golden statue, sans an arm and a leg, was propped lasciviously in a corner; it glowed with a rich radiance in the warm glow. The lute sat in a chair. The table was covered in manilla folders, photographs, and tins of film. The captured projector had been attached to a tripod, ready for use. The white veil alone sat in a cheap box with an air of desperation; purple oil was perspiring through the board, staining it already. Another seat had been colonised by the stolen computer equipment, which tumbled onto the floor and appeared to making a move to acquire another seat.
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