The High Inquisitor

[Glenn]

Rumors could be stamped out. Questions were harder by far. The two dozen people in this room were formed from questions and theories and inquiries. They were creatures of logic and patterns and questions. They were Glenn Burnie's Inquisitors, senior and junior, young and old, even male and female. They were vexed.

The Governor had returned, had caused a scene at the most inappropriate time, had, with Rhaena Olwak, what even the most experienced in the room remembered to be their first argument in years. He had gone directly to this very building, had asked his own questions, had read files provided by his people, by these people, and then had simply disappeared. Now Miss Olwak, calling herself Mrs. Burnie, had sent a letter about announcing he was away again and none of them had any idea where. It didn't make sense. Nothing did, except for, of course, the very worst possibilities.

There were procedures in the case of the Governor's absence. Heads were to be kept down. Work was to be done in secret. The Bureaucracy could handle this sort of thing, could ensure that steps were taken. The biggest thing was not to cause a stir or bring attention down upon the organization.

Attention, however, was going to come one way or another. This morning, it came in the form of The Man in White.

He knew a thing or two about how the Inquisitory was run. He was there at its creation, even if it wasn't his idea. He helped recruit many in the room personally. Despite that, there were more than a few hushed whispers upon his arrival in the room. He was younger than he ought to be, significantly younger. He was in white and not black, of course. Most surprising, perhaps, was his vitality. They had some idea the deal he had made with the Storyteller, with the role he had been playing, with the needs that he possessed. Now he seemed as healthy as could be, too healthy. His skin had color. His eyes were bright.

His posture, though, needed some work. The Man in White slumped against the wall, looking at the assembled Inquisitors. When he spoke, it was with his usual southern accent, light and casual. "Hello, my friends. Good morning. It's good to see you all so alert and focused on your work, yes? So much to do. So many questions and little pokings and how-do-you say.. ah, inquiries." His smile was toothy, focused, his eyes alert, despite his otherwise relaxed nature. "Some of you, I think, have questions about the Governor, about Rhaena Olwak. Some of you have questions about pins, about Elliot Brown, about the fae, about the Storyteller being sent to Golben. Such questions. Such good questions. Such smart people in this room."

His tone darkened. His eyes narrowed. The smile became harsher. "That can be changed, you know. Not that you are people. Not that you are in this room. But that you are smart. It can be taken away. Not your jobs, no. Just who you are." There wasn't a person in the room that didn't understand the threat, that didn't understand the scrutiny that they had all just come under. "The Inquisitory is loyal to Myrken Wood. In the Governor's unfortunate absence, the Lady Burnie is caring for things in his stead. As the Inquisitory is loyal to Myrken, it is loyal to her, yes? Our dear, dear Glenn Burnie personally oversaw your operations. He is away, you see? Until he returns, someone has to fill that tedious, meticulous, quite vacant role. That is to be me."

Warmth reentered his voice as he pushed off the wall, walking towards the first row of desks. There, right in the front, sat the red-haired Mary Ford, youngest in the room, the most Junior of Junior Inquisitors. The Man In White took her hand. "There has been no need for a High Inquisitor before, bella. Now there is. Do not despair." He gave the hand a little squeeze as she squirmed uncomfortably under his attention. Releasing it, he looked to the rest of the room once again. "There is still much work to be done and so many questions to be asked. Catch has his horn. The Storyteller's magic still lingers. We find ourselves annoyed by Rodel. Thessilane looms. Moreover, I'm sure Lady Burnie will have specific tasks for all of us when it comes to further developing her, how shall we say it, curriculum for Myrken. I'll expect you to show the proper enthusiasm and focus on these tasks."

Giuseppe smiled to his inquisitors. "It would be best if you do not let that focus waver, yes? I do look forward to working with all of you." At that, he started the walk between those desks towards Burnie's office in the back of the building. "If you have any questions," he finished as he put his hand upon his doorknob. "Please do not hesitate to knock."

[Tolleson]

((please feel free to correct me if I have anything wrong, I'm still catching up and out of the loop))

Among her fellow Inquisitors, peeking from the back wall where she sat within her tower of stacked tomes, scraps, and scrawlings, the other redheaded woman watched the Man in White with fervor and suspicion as he entered and spoke. There were procedures, there were rules and methods to their madness, but this new installment was certainly not one of them. And it was not the appointment alone that seemed offputting, but rather Giuseppe’s very presence, let alone the sequence of events that had unfolded.

Of course, when last she saw him was near a year ago. Summoned to the infirmary in the pitch of night, he was but the bloody mess of a man who would be lucky to survive the night. And by his side she stayed for some days preceding her return to Thessilane. Now here that man stood, young, bright, hardly a mark of evidence to that night. This was vexing. One of many things.

He spoke, he threatened, he instructed them to put their heads down and amble on and left them to do so. Perhaps it was in her infinite naivete, simple curiosity, or the nagging suspicion of questions unanswered and the stupidity of ignoring warnings that lead Genny to leave the shelter of her book fortress and follow the man to Burnie’s door. There, as if by habit, she straightened her wrinkled skirts, twirled her hair into a tight bun where a pen was stuck through to hold the mess in place and gentle rap given by ink stained fingers curled into a loose fist.

“Giuseppe? It’s Genny… if I may… I do have, I… there are some questions I would like to ask you.”

Questions were harder than rumors, and the ones that people were told not to ask were precisely the questions that usually needed asking. Urgent as her questions might be, she was ever patient and polite, waiting for his reply.

[Glenn]

The Man in White laughed. It was a lyrical thing, all awash with his strange, Southerner accent. "Come in, bella, come in." He'd stopped at Mary Ford's desk when he first arrived, but he cold have well sought her out. Perhaps he wanted to. "Sit down. Burnie always kept an uncomfortable chair in here to move people in and out briskly. I'll have that replaced. For now try not to wince too much. Your features are far too nice for that, yes? Ah, but why am I telling the workings of the Inquisitory to an Inquisitor? Genny," not Genvieve, like Glenn called her, Glenn and almost no one else. "things are different, but I see no reason why you, of all of them," a wave of his hand and a nod for those out in the main room. "might not gain the most from it. I like you. I respect you. For you, I have, how do you say it, regard, yes?"

He smiled at her, but there was a sad little undertone to it, a weariness. "I hope you understand, Genny. I hope you think about your own happiness now, about what you deserve. Now then, keep all that in mind when you ask your questions." He clapped once, slumping down into his own chair with questionable posture. "You may begin."

[Tolleson]

Her smile was a meager and beautiful thing, lopsided, crude, unpracticed but not entirely out of place and offered so willingly to almost everyone. Most especially Giuseppe, who had such sweet words that made her smile broader and color rise in her cheeks. But beneath the subtlety she heard his warning and read his sadness.

And it was for a long moment, stepping in and the door closing behind them, that she was silent. Even longer still as she brushed a strand of hair from her face, watched Glenn’s former body-guard of sorts slouch into a chair that was not his. She would not take the God’s forsaken interrogation chair, instead her long fingers wrapped delicately around the chair back and she stood, tall but unimposing with her gentle smile.

“I think... you flatter me,” briefly she looked down, as if just to find somewhere to look away.

Another moment and there is a small shrug, “happiness is… good friends,” her smile refreshed then, genuine, bright, pushing freckles on pillowed cheek tops to the bottom of her eyes. “And it is good, it… makes me happy to see… that… see that… see you well again,” and as to her questions?

“I... perhaps the doctor never said, but I came to see you… when you were hurt,” her smile dropped with the gravity of remembered concern, it was as if she addressed an old friend. “I was… when I saw you, I did not think… there... there... it was so much blood” she couldn’t finish the thought, but it was apparent that she thought he might well have died that night. And now, healthier than she had ever recalled him being before, it had to be good to see him recovered. Surely.

[Glenn]

Ah, Genny Tolleson. She was as a breath of fresh air, a friendly face amidst the fear and suspicion and paranoia emanating from the rest of that main room. If one could bottle such a thing it would be wonderful indeed. She was, in some ways, a poor fit for Rhaena Olwak Burnie's Myrken. She had a nice enough smile but it was pointed quite the wrong way. No, she would be like Dulcie was, a tweaking. He rather liked her as she was. "It would be best for you to keep some distance from Lady Burnie, perhaps, between us. Of all the people in that room to keep their heads down, it is you first and foremost that i would want that from. Show some care around your brother as well. We also didn't have this talk, or that talk."

The words continued and he smiled on. "We can have this talk. My recovery is entirely unnatural. There was a power, let us say, one that has been dealt with. Before it was dealt with, I made a deal with it. My life was saved. The cost was terrible. We are past that now, so all is well. Thank you for your concern."

[Tolleson]

Long, sleepless nights came from the lingering nightmares of Catch’s mind. In their wake the once cheerful and often indignant redhead was left an exhausted, unsocial; a pale, half starved husk of her former self. Yet still she carried on. Perhaps entirely overlooked – opting to barricade herself in a mountain of research and books, reading until her pathetic human body could withstand no more and she simply lost consciousness. But even in such sleep she could not rest, delving deeper, building the labyrinths within her mind to lose the nashing teeth, the scraping claws, the low and thunderous growls of unimaginable horror.

And when she woke, every different part of her and all their voices seemed to whisper, and where once she spoke without thinking or even had the energy to, listening came easily. Much more easily now.

The nod that follows his words regarding ‘Lady Burnie’ and conversations never held is a gentle and almost graceful expression of understanding. Whatever grave solemnness there might have been in comprehending his answers to unspoken questions was masked by the return of a meek smile, only her eyes betrayed her as she watched the man carefully.

“I-I… I have faith in Miss Rhaena,” and her words were spoken with the absolute conviction of someone who believed in the very fabric of a person, affection even. Faith. It was no secret that Genny thought the woman a beautiful, intelligent, capable, an idol in almost every way. Even if they were never close, they were friends – she’d seen, touched, walked inside her deteriorating mind. Rhaena knew her in a way that perhaps only Zilliah and James knew better.

As for her brother she had no words. Tennant was a criminal, she had no reason to seek him before and she had no reason to seek him now, therefore no care seemed necessary. Still, she nodded again, more slowly, listening - trying to understand or even fathom what the cost might have been to spare a life without being so impudent or naive as to ask.

“I am glad… you are alive,” as well as confused, suspicious, curious as to the how or why, certainly. But genuinely glad.

“I did want to… my question for you… I,” there was a pause as her weight shifted and she seemed to carefully consider her words.

“Do you remember… I… when I returned to Myrken you… you were standing on the Dagger’s porch. I… you were the first person I spoke with… and,” there was a small smile, almost remembering it fondly. As if laughing at something that was not funny, but hindsight made it so. “You frightened me… Glenn was so… he had changed so much from when I’d left … and-and-and you… were all in black!”

“Why the… the white?”

[Glenn]

Faith in Lady Rhaena Olwak Burnie. She was not the only one. That she naturally had that might protect her after all. Still, his company was getting increasingly ornate. He knew that his Lady saw herself a matchmaker and his time might be taken up more and more in the company of trussed up, begowned bores. It was rather nice to take in Genny's rather-maligned form. You get to miss dirt almost, when you walk only in crystal. They did not look that different agewise anymore either. He laughed again. The Man-In-White couldn't help it. "Oh, it's been a week, bella, such a week. Still, you are a sight for sore eyes, yes? Do know that, and heed me." In all things, but in this especially. "Keep your distance but pronounce your faith. This is good. You will rise far."

Why the white? "It pleases her," there were no more coughing, hacking laughs. There was nothing to get in the way of his accent but energy he did not wish to possess. "It is a symbol. Purity. Rebirth. You may look at it like that if you would like. There was a rebirth before and it was symbolized in black, yes? Now, there is another and it is symbolized in white. There is that much change. You may look at it that way. I wouldn't, but if you wish to, who am I to stop you?"

[Tolleson]

Faith was a strange thing, resolute and yet vague as it clung to some indescribable fabric of a person. Faith in compassion, in the personal strength, ability, and wholesomeness of intent was an entirely separate faith than that prescribed to a person’s vision. And Rhaena’s was a grand one, if the charitable history that gave Genny so much faith in her was any example.

Only a week indeed and in a month the streets may be gold and shadows of blight obliterated by the light of her majesty’s grace. A great many mysteries had revealed themselves, and such a stunning array of unlikely coincidences, all while the town as a whole seemed to beam with happiness. Myrken was not herself and thus far the sore thumb of evidence was Giuseppe’s presence, The-Man-In-White sitting in his former employer’s chair, laughing, speaking kind words masked with warning.

If Rhaena had wished to put Genny in a dress it would be as simple as asking, she’d done it before and may well do it again. The studious Inquisitor had no mind, talent or care to be a silk swaddled flower with jems on every finger or dangling about her person. And for the time at least, had avoided her gaze and remained an unfashionable mess of ink and unruly red hair.

“I will do my best,” was the only reply she could craft for his request to heed the warning. Genny had intended to rise, but her goals had never been so singular or well defined. And certainly not like this, not to mention, whoever wanted to be in charge of Myrken was either a monster or mad. Glenn may well have been a bit of both, but as with all things it was a matter of balance.

“It is handsome.” An agreement like a statement of fact as her almost jovial smile lingered and she failed to address the symbolism, purposefully or not. ‘It pleased her’ and that was answer enough.

“But… It-it doesn’t suit you,” informed by a strangely fond memory, frightened by a frightening man who somehow seemed frightening now in an entirely different way.

Fingers uncurled and she took a step back from the chair as if finished, for now, with her questions and intending to depart. “All I can do… to help you, I… please tell me and I will” not his lady, not Mrs. Burnie as they had all begun to call her; but him.

[Glenn]

There was no better time to rise than one of upheaval and change. Look at him. He was a derelict just a few days before, close to death's door, abandoned and near-forgotten. Now he was the high inquisitor, whatever that meant. Where could a bright young lady like Genny be in a few scant months.

She speaks, she uncurls her hands, she starts to move. He smiled in response. "Oh, I like this, Genny. You shall scratch my back, I shall scratch yours. We'll both be better off for it." He could protect her from Rhaena to some degree and she could show him a loyalty that none of the rest there would. there was much to like, so long as she didn't betray him.