The Stage is Set

The Cafe

THE SILVER BELL above the cafe door chimed merrily. Its song became a soft symphony with the creak of the wooden steps as Zosia climbed downward.

She had come to this quaint little cafe nestled beneath the streets of Partyn on her first day in town and had fallen in love with the dark wallpaper and mismatched furniture. Heavy with their books, shelves towered over her like sentinels against the wall as she made her way to the bar. Zosia resisted the urge to run her fingers over the neat lines of worn spines, their binding long dulled by curious hands and coffee stains.

After a moment of consideration at the counter, Zosia ordered a spiced tea.

The young barista scooped a generous heaping of spice mixture into a mug. He then took a glass tea kettle, filled it with water, and placed it carefully over a metal plate with a small shard of red in its center—a small piece of a flame crystal. Not particularly powerful and not worth a grander name, flame crystals were a lesser type of star crystal that got just hot enough to cause a spark or boil water for tea. It was another nice touch that made the cafe feel special.

Across the counter, Zosia got a waft of warm herbs and fragrant seasonings. She waited patiently for the water to boil, occupying herself by looking around.

A board had been nailed into the wall next to the counter. From the amount of paper covering the bulletin, it was clear that customers and hopeful entrepreneurs alike had taken advantage of the free advertising space. Zosia spotted everything from crystal carving classes to notices about lost pets to guided tours at the Lorelain Ruins.

A large promotional poster in the center stood out from all the rest. Its bright colors and thick black lines depicted two intertwined figures dancing in a garden of roses. ‘The Lady’s Gain’ was written in bold calligraphy beneath the image, followed by ‘ Now Showing at the Grand Opera and Theater’ . The edges of the pamphlet curled around the pins holding it to the board.

“Your drink, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Zosia replied to the barista as she set a few coins on the counter. Made from packed crystal dust, they sparkled against the smooth wood.

With the spiced tea warming her hands, Zosia made her way to a back corner. The cafe was cradled in walls of thick, old stonework, but the ceiling was high enough to allow a few thin windows to let in light from the street above. Zosia sat beneath a window, setting down her mug and opening her bag to lay out the copies of her files. At ease in the low light of the cafe, the murmur of other clients and the distant hum of the streets outside were better than a massage. Zosia inhaled, then released, allowing the tension to seep out of her like tea in hot water. She felt far more relaxed in the cafe than at the police station, or even in the empty room she was renting. Here, despite her uniform, she was just one more face in the mingling crowd—as indiscernible as the code she currently studied.

She leaned over her papers as the scent of the tea filled the air. The steam tickled her nose and rose up to brush against moon crystals that dangled from a string above her head. Their gentle glow caused a memory to dredge up unbidden in Zosia’s mind. She recalled a similar scent in an entirely different place, which was quickly chased by that repeated vision of green eyes and the empty feeling of a sword teasing coldly against her thigh.

This is becoming ridiculous.

Zosia’s shoulders began to tense again. She willed them to relax, focusing instead on the curls of semi-transparent steam that rose from her mug. In them, she could almost see the shattered glass and that tall back disappearing into the blinding beacon. The woman’s words echoed in Zosia’s mind, just as they had haunted her restless mind all night: “I have a feeling we’ll meet again soon.”

But was Zosia ready to see her again?

What a pointless question. Zosia snatched her cup, nearly spilling it as she pulled it to her lips. The tea was scalding, but she swallowed it all the same. She had come to Partyn to do a job. Being comfortable with it—or rather, who it involved—was irrelevant.

Zosia shook her head, pushing the wispy memories aside in favor of the black and white text in front of her.

She flipped through the pages as she sipped her tea. After meticulously re-reading every document in her possession, she leaned her elbows against the countertop with a sigh. On top of the neat pile in front of her sat her copy of the mission report from last night.

Zosia traced her finger over the note about the wires, before moving slowly back to her mug. She picked it up, realized what little tea was left was already cold, and, with a slight frown, swallowed it anyway.

The complex cables had been strong enough to carry a fully-grown woman across the length of the museum courtyard. Perhaps something used in the mines?

Zosia had read that the moon crystal mines in northern Minsbale had a similar contraption they used to maneuver workers through the deep caverns, where explosive crystals were too dangerous and a non-magical approach was required. But there were no mines anywhere around Partyn that could supply that type of equipment.

There was also the matter of the sun crystal beacons. Their light was intense, and Zosia had had to squint to see wherever they had been pointed. Yet the thief had managed to step right into the beam, find the hidden wire, and use some type of apparatus to fly herself to safety. From this, one didn’t have to be a detective to deduce that she was experienced with the bright light of the nearly blinding crystals.

Zosia’s finger tapped faster, thumping against her mug. The dredges of spice left at the bottom sloshed slightly in reply. A crease furrowed on her brow.

It wasn’t just the complex wires or the lights. The flashy fencing, the showmanship… putting it all together, it didn’t take much for a certain place to come to mind.

Zosia sat back on her stool. Her heels tapped thoughtfully against the dark wood of the cafe floor. She glanced across the cafe to the bar. The colorful pamphlet on the advertisement board stared back at her.

Our thief is not being all that careful.

Zosia pushed the stool neatly beneath the table and headed back up the stairs. The small bell chimed as she left.