Write the First Time

With Berto safely tucked away in the labyrinth of the Citadel, I threaded my way through the streets of the city. The address on the card led me to a small side lane that I had passed many times but never turned down before.  It was nondescript.  Just a dank side alley filled with overflowing garbage cans and the scuttle of small animals that took flight as I approached.  The alley had a few scarred doors on each side.  Every one had a patina of slime and disuse to them.  None matched the address I had so I kept walking, scanning ahead, ears perked for noise from behind, all the while the gloom of shadows lengthened.  The lane ended abruptly.  I don't know why I was surprised.  I mean, it wasn't like the Black Moths were going to have a welcome mat or placard announcing their presence but I did, at least, expect a door.  Forgive me my ignorance, it was my first time playing to this level of field.  I wasn't quite aware of how out matched I was.  But that sad realization was quickly approaching.

I turned around slowly at the dead end.  More rats.  More stink.  Less light.  But still, no sign of a door.  Just a solid brick wall ahead.  I stepped forward, my toes brushing the loose mortar that lay in front of the wall.  I could not see a since clue that there was anything other than brick before me.  It even smelled of old stone.  I glanced at the card one last time and notice something.  The dark winged moth was glowing.  It wasn't pronounced.  Nothing you could find your way by.  But the shine was there.  I lifted it closer to my eye and the glow intensified.  Clearly, something was happening.  I stepped back and scanned the wall.  Sure enough, there was now a slot, small enough for the card, appearing before me.  There were no instructions but it seemed pretty self evident.  I slid my card into the crevice and waited.

The bricks began to rumble.  It was low and quiet.  A smell of oil and sulfur tinged the air and suddenly my brick wall opened into a small lobby.  A man sat behind a desk directly before me.  He glanced up at me in irritation and waved me in.  I hesitated.

"Come now, mustn't tarry.  You are letting in the smell," he snapped.  His nose wrinkled in distaste.  I scuttled forward and felt the opening shut behind me.  The room was small.  Only a few feet wide with four chairs along the north wall.  The desk with the fussy man sat next to another door.  This one plane wood.  It was closed.

"Now, let me see," the desk man pushed his spectacles up his nose and shuffled some papers with gnarled hands.  "Ah yes, Miss. Raz?  Is it?  And your brother, ah, Umberto de la Torez?  Where would he be, um?" he peered over the rim of his glasses and tapped his fingers impatiently.

"My brother couldn't make it.  He had another engagement." I answered levelly.

"I see," the desk man sighed in disappointment and scribbled something onto the page before him.  "Take a seat please, they will be here for you shortly."  He nodded toward the row of chairs to my right.  I watched as he rolled the paper before him into a cylinder and then slid it into an opening behind him.  There was a woosh of air and it shot up the wall, through an opening below the ceiling and out of sight.  The man returned to his scribbling without further notice.  Warily, I took a seat and waited.