The Shards Of God's Eye

Leon woke after two days of unconsciousness. He felt hollowed out and sluggish; the power his limbs held during the night he nearly lost his soul depleted and gone.

Granny Gorgeous visited and brought him tea. The tea set was exquisite, according to Appraisal.

"Another group," Granny Gorgeous said, referring to the people her own had fought against. "There are a few hundred coalitions under the Tribunal. It would be impossible to know for certain. However, those who would listen to rumors in a small town such as this are limited. It is being investigated."

Unsaid was that it could be the Tribunal itself, that body which Leon understood to be the administrative and judiciary arm of the kingdom for fae matters. The ten tribunes were shadowy figures and nominally only under the ruler's authority.

A thanaturge in the kingdom was something worthy of shadowy agents, apparently.

"Falkin Greve's properties and his office have been searched, with nothing found of his research. You knew him?"

Leon shook his head. "He thought I was a drunken wastrel, but tried to be kind. I didn't know him enough to talk about secrets. He mostly talked about his grandchildren and the grandchildren of his sisters." And there were the times Falk talked about antiques and how to go about robbing tombs, but he thought the woman was well aware of that already.

"He attempted to save you from his madness." Granny took a sip of her tea.

"The man had a conscience. He probably did the same to everyone else." Leon wrapped chilled fingers around the warm cup in his l.a.p. He lifted it but did not drink. His shoulder only twinged a bit; their healing was impressive. The fragrance of the tea calmed him. "He was a teacher, after all."

The ritual had required young and healthy people, with plenty of spirit.

Falk's funeral had happened when he was still sleeping. Leon felt relieved that he couldn't possibly have gone, since there was still a part of him that had liked the old man. The story the town was told was that he'd been out walking and fell into the lake by accident. The police and the fae police, who Leon learned were called sentinels, were already looking for the rest of the twelve victims.

Granny asked a few more questions, gentle and incisive, then left him with the steaming pot of tea.

Others came to visit over the course of the day. Robere, Elson the carriage driver, the blade-twirler who danced with ghouls – his name was Stokes, and the detective with her gaggle of constables though that was more an interrogation.

It was another day before the doctor allowed him out of bed. Leon cringed a bit as he put on the clothes left for him. His jeans had not survived the night and the ghoul's attacks. His t-shirt and buttondown likely had a bullet hole in the shoulder and a few rips. Everything had been trashed.

"May I assist, sir?"

He jumped. Bloody shifters! Couldn't they knock?

"I am Janset. Are the clothes satisfactory?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Something softer, not with whatever this is. I don't care if it's been used before. Probably better that way anyway."

The man's eyes lit in realization. "I see. I had thought humans liked their clothing starched?"

Starch?!

"I'm not pastry," he sputtered. "Just…plain cloth, please. Without additives." Gods, even the clothing here should come with warnings. Beware, textile MSG included, or something similar.

Janset came back with several shirts. He sighed in relief as the first one slid on nicely, comfortable and smooth. The tails were long enough to almost reach his knees but at least it didn't dig into his skin.

"Thanks."

The man nodded and swept back out with the discarded starched shirt and the rest of the outfit that Leon suspected they thought was 'human' wear.

Was the suit starched as well? He shuddered.

The high waist of the trousers was...truly, he was grateful it was mostly covered by the waistcoat and jacket. The trousers were finer than expected, thick and soft, but he was still relieved that the cooler weather gave him silk leggings to wear underneath because his boxers had not been returned.

He tucked in the edges of the cravat carefully to not show any ruffle, ignoring the other's reproachful look. He looked less an idiot in it than the offered bowtie. Surprisingly, the boots were only a little less comfortable than modern military issue. The cheap ones.

He left the house. There was only so much confinement he could take, even with the lethargic feel of his body.

"Sir?"

"What is it?"

"Your hat, sir. It would be inappropriate to go without."

He grimaced but accepted the hat, which looked like someone melted a tophat into crooked lines and expected people to wear it. In the time he took to put it on, Janset had twirled a cloak over Leon's shoulders and deftly placed a walking cane in his hand.

He stared flatly at the man, who only bowed. "Have a good walk, sir."

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, but the man had already melted into whatever background Granny's servants usually melted into when not forcing accessories on innocent people.

He quickly rounded a corner, pulled off the cape and folded it over an arm. As for the cane, he looked around casually, then tucked it under his arm like the other worthies strolling around. The folded cape hid most of its length. All set, he headed to Onderstreet.

He'd half expected it, but it was still a regretful surprise. When he got there, Gurna Srawak Cartor and the urn were gone.

He sighed and made his way to the underground park. Leaning back on a wooden bench, he contemplated what to do next.

A flutter of skirts in the periphery of his sight broke him out of his descent into brooding. The ghost sat down. Leon stared.

"You have feet," he said, incredulous.