Emil came back to the eastern district office a little after noon.
He had not been gone long. He had been somewhere else for the past three days — somewhere he was not currently in the mood to think about — and he had walked back through the front entrance with the specific quiet of a man hoping nobody would ask too many questions.
Nobody did.
Mostly because there were not as many people there to ask.
He stopped just inside the lobby and looked around. The signing desk was still manned. The records clerk was still at her cabinet. But the corridor leading to the duty assignments wing — usually full of armed officers moving in and out, signing rotations, filling shift slots — was empty. Of the ten standard guards who should have been at their posts, he counted four.
He filed it.
He went up to his floor.
The board outside the investigation room had a row of new names on it. Officers reassigned in. Officers reassigned out. The list was longer than it had been three days ago, in both directions.
He pushed open the door of the investigation room.
The room was empty except for one person.
Rafael was standing at the wall board on a small wooden step stool, a piece of chalk in his hand, writing something across the upper section. He had three books open on the floor at his feet, a coffee on the corner of the nearest desk, and the focused unhurried posture of a man who had decided he had time.
Emil looked at him.
He looked at the room.
The other four officers — the four corrupt ones — were not present. Their desks looked untouched. The other desks were also empty.
"What are you doing?" Emil asked.
"Looking into something," Rafael said, without turning around. "Not an assignment. Personal curiosity."
He stepped down off the stool, walked over to one of the books, made a note inside it, and then climbed back up.
"The Sanctuary," he added. "And the Cogwork people."
Emil pulled out his own chair and sat down. The chair felt strangely familiar. He had been gone for less than seventy-two hours. It already felt like longer.
"That Sanctuary mess caused a lot of damage, huh," Emil said. "Have you heard anything about the new city?"
"News came in yesterday. From Deputy Hale. He said he'd heard it from a council meeting at the Palace." Rafael wrote a name on the board, considered it, underlined it. "The city is called New Thalassia, apparently."
"*New?*"
"New," Rafael agreed. "There was a Thalassia, originally. Long before the Omens. Long before the gods went to war with each other. It was an enormous trading port — best natural harbor on the continent. The historical records say it was the first place Vorath built when the world was made."
"So here comes the straight A politic historical from cadet era huh?"
"Haha.."
Emil sat with that for a moment.
"They say a god is leading the new one."
"That's the rumor."
"Could be him?"
"Might not." Rafael paused at the top of the stool. "Except the records also say Vorath went into eternal sleep some time ago. So unless somebody woke him up..."
"Right. Unless somebody woke him up."
Both of them sat with that for a moment.
Then Rafael, without turning around: "Why aren't you at the new city yourself, hm?"
"Well, you see—"
Emil's hand closed slightly on the edge of the desk.
"Those three left a note," he said. "*Lovely time spent together,* it said. Then I woke up and they were gone. Every gate in the city closed less than an hour later. So..." He let his breath out slowly. "Yeah. I missed it."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
"Well." Rafael set the chalk down and turned around for the first time. He had a small wry smile on his face. "Since you're stuck and there's no real work, want to walk around? Get some air? Go on a little date of our own?"
Emil made a face. "Senior, please. Even though gay relationships have been legal since 1238, people *still* look at you dead in the eye. Don't say things like that."
Rafael laughed. "Joking. Joking. Come on, skip your shift with me. We'll grab food."
"...fine."
"And probably you want to know everything that's happened in the past three days, right?"
Emil paused.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do."
They left the office together with a flimsy excuse. The guard at the sign-out log barely lifted his eyes long enough to wave them through. He had clearly stopped caring about the sign-out log some time around the staff cuts.
---
The café Rafael led them to was the most popular one in the eastern district — a small bright place with mismatched chairs and a permanent line of regulars. He took the last table along the window, the one farthest from the counter, with the casual confidence of someone who had been taking that specific table for years.
A young waitress arrived almost immediately.
"What's today, Mister Rafael??"
"The usual, Erza."
She blinked at him. "I — even though I know what 'the usual' means for you, I have to ask. *What* is the usual right now? You order one thing on Mondays and a different thing on Wednesdays. Today is Friday—"
She made a small pouty face.
"It's confusing!"
"Hahaha — sorry, sorry. The fried chicken plate, eastern style please."
"Got it. And for you, sir?"
"Mac and cheese, please," Emil said.
"Oh — I'm so sorry, sir. Someone bought up all our macaroni this morning."
"All of it? Then... boiled milk and toast?"
"I'm sorry. We're out of milk too."
"What — there's no purchase limit?"
"I'm so sorry! A Palace Affairs officer came in this morning with a Rosier seal. He said someone in the palace really wanted our mac and cheese with boiled milk today and asked us to set aside everything we had. Once we saw the seal, we just—" She trailed off, helpless.
Emil stared.
"What in the world," he muttered.
"Then... honey toast and bacon, please."
"Yes! Right away."
She bowed and left. Emil sat back in his chair and looked at Rafael, who was very politely not laughing.
"Someone in the palace," Emil said flatly, "deployed a Rosier seal. To buy out a café's macaroni."
"That's what she said."
"That is — that is the most impressive misuse of royal authority I have heard about in my entire career."
"There are lots more to see, youngster."
The food arrived. They ate. Rafael complained about the chicken being slightly too oily today. Emil ate his honey toast slowly and tried, very specifically, not to think about how much he wanted the mac and cheese.
When they finished, Rafael waved off Emil's wallet.
"My treat today."
"Senior, I—"
"It's fine."
---
Their next stop was the entertainment quarter.
Rafael led them to a low pub Emil had not seen the inside of before — narrow doorway, smoke-stained windows, the kind of place where the regulars looked at newcomers exactly long enough to dismiss them. Rafael walked straight to the counter as though he had been here many times.
The bartender, a broad man with a permanent half-frown, glanced up.
"Two ales. Medium. And—"
Rafael leaned closer.
"My friend and I were hoping to ask about... opportunities for community involvement."
A small group of men at the end of the bar burst into laughter.
*"Oh, goodness, the do-gooder is back."*
*"Who knew? A drunk with a public conscience."*
Rafael's left eyebrow twitched once. He did not turn around.
The bartender simply leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"The market isn't open anymore."
"What?!"
"All the Exchequer informants have been swept up. The ones who weren't have already run. Most of them to the new city."
Rafael was quiet for a moment.
"But you're a regular. So I'll tell you someee—maybe would be useful for you. Word in the news lately is that the Cogwork people and the Palace are starting to back each other."
Rafael let out a long breath.
"There's been a lot of undercurrent in The State and the Palace recently, hasn't there..."
He leaned forward against the counter. He did not lean down lazily. He folded his arms on the wood and rested his weight there with the posture of a man who had decided that today was a day to give in to gravity.
"Well. If there's nothing else, I'll get back to work."
The bartender disappeared into the back room.
"Why don't you call the Palace by *The Crown*? we are officer eh, we should be professional."
Rafael just chuckled it off
"Chill youngster.."
Rafael turned his head and slid one of the ale glasses across the counter toward Emil.
"I don't drink." Emil said.
"Tch. Kid."
He took a long swallow of his own.
Then he set the glass down, looked at Emil, and said:
"Alright. You wanted to know what's happened in the past three days, didn't you."
Emil straightened slightly.
"Yes."
"Then sit down properly and listen."