NationStates Jolt Archive

The Pantocratoria First Party's branch meetings had never exactly been the most lively events even before it was swept out of office in a crushing landslide. Attendance had plummetted over the past two months, and was now at an all time low. At this particular PFP branch, in the Old Quarter of New Rome, it had fallen to just a dozen members. Before the catastrophic elections, the Old Quarter Branch of the PFP used to draw over one hundred party members at its monthly branch meetings. For Pantocratoria's ultraconservatives, these were tough times indeed.

The branch secretary looked across the nearly empty room, noting down who had attended. His eyes fell across somebody he hadn't seen before. He nudged the branch president, and pointed out the new attendee with his pen. The president shook his head to indicate that he didn't know her.

"I now call this meeting of the Old Quarter Branch of the New Rome Chapter of the Pantocratoria First Party to order. Unless I'm very much mistaken, we have a new face amongst us tonight." the president said, gesturing to the new woman. "Are you a new member, Mademoiselle? If so, would you like to introduce yourself?"

The young woman, in her early 20s, stood. Her features were French. She was fair-skinned with dark hair and rather pretty. She was dressed conservatively in a long blue skirt and white blouse that covered all but her face and hands. She blushed faintly as she stood as though she was unused to speaking before crowds. She spoke French as a native speaker. "Yes, Monsieur, I'm new." She said shyly. "My name's Marie-Hélène Pelay. I recently moved here from the country. I've always considered myself a patriotic Pantocratorian and a devout Catholic but I never considered it necessary to be involved in politics in the past. Things were going well under Her Imperial Majesty, the Most Pious Princess Irene. I couldn't imagine people would choose to abandon God and country for the Utopian promises of the reds. I realize now that I was lax and complacent to take the continued predominance of virtue in politics for granted." Marie-Hélène looked around the near empty room with a slight frown. "I want to help restore virtue and integrity to our country, my friends. Just tell me what I can do."

The president and the secretary smiled at the young lady's enthusiasm, and started clapping politely after she finished speaking. The other branch members soon followed suit.

"Would somebody like to move a motion to welcome Marie-Hélène to the branch?" the president asked. A branch member put up his hand, and the secretary wrote down his name. Another member seconded the motion.

"Motion passed and seconded." the secretary said. She was the branch's first new member since the election. "Welcome to the Pantocratoria First Party, Marie-Hélène! You couldn't have joined at a better time, we're about to have a municipal PFP conference this weekend. All the members from all over New Rome will attend to discuss the state of the Party and what we can do to change it. Most of the PFP members of the Imperial Parliament will be there."

A middle-aged man sitting near Marie-Hélène shifted a few seats closer to her, and introduced himself as the secretary moved on to the rest of the fairly mundane agenda.

"Hello, I'm Pierre." he said. "Welcome to the Party. Pardon me for asking, but you said you moved from the country. By your accent I guess you'd be from Montmanuel?"

Marie-Hélène blushed even more brightly. "I hardly know what I could have to say to Members of Parliament. I'm just a librarian." She sat down quietly, shyly averting her gaze from all the attention.

The young woman smiled over at Pierre. "Yes. I am from Montmanuel. I moved to the city just last weekened, actually."

"New Rome is all the more lucky for having you here, Marie-Hélène." Pierre said. "We need more good honest country folk like you in this city. God fearing, patriotic, French speaking, my dear, you're what every Pantocratorian should be! Don't be shy about this municipal conference, it's a great chance to meet people and find out what you can do to help the Party and the country. I used to be Isaac Comnenus' chief policy advisor when he was the Treasurer, you know."

Isaac Comnenus was now the leader of the Pantocratoria First Party, and had been the treasurer for both Irene's government and the United Christian Front government. Pierre had dropped the biggest name he could drop without mentioning Irene herself.

"I'll introduce you to him." he promised. "And it won't just be the MPs, you'll meet ordinary members like yourself from all over the city. It's a great chance to meet new people and network. Everybody will be very welcoming, I'm sure. We need more new members, especially bright young things like yourself!"

Marie-Hélène nodded a little, seemingly overcoming her shyness. "That's rather impressive. I would be beyond honored to meet him. He's a great man who's done great things for our country. So what are you doing now?"

The young woman looked at him with chaste and friendly interest, her eyes intent, convinced, passionate. She smiled lightly. "That does sound wonderful. It will certainly be an honor to be there with real champions of the Pantocratorian people against godless atheism, red mob rule, and the anti-Christian machinations of..." Marie-Hélène wrinkled her nose to daintily indicate utter disgust "...Elves and other animals of that sort."

"I'm working as a financial analyst for Peacock Motors now." Pierre said. "I couldn't in good conscience stay on in Treasury and help fabricate figures for the Bolshies."

(He was fired)

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it very much, and you'll be able to talk to others about how you can join the struggle. If there's one thing we can learn from the socialists, it's that we need to keep on going and keep on fighting even when we're further from power than ever." Pierre said. "It paid off for them, unfortunately, but it can pay off for us too. God will reward us for keeping up the fight, I promise you! One day we'll be back! When I was about your age my dear, the United Christian Front had been in opposition for six years. Nobody could've guessed then that in 1992 we'd win every seat! Just because the reds are in power now doesn't mean they'll be there forever, as surely as God led the Jews out of Egypt and into Israel, He will lead us back to the Government benches, and it will be thanks to hard work from new members, young faces like you! So come along and talk to people about how you can get involved. Anyway, I suppose we'd better pay attention to the agenda again!"

The branch meeting continued on for another hour. After it had been declared closed, the branch members gathered around the tea table for some tea, coffee, cake and biscuits, socialising.

Marie-Hélène nodded to Pierre with a smile, turning her attention back to the meeting. Afterwards, she gathered around the tea table with the others. She made idle chat with some of the others gathered. "I'm starting to like my job less and less with all the corrupt literature being allowed into the country. As a librarian, I used to be able to tell myself that I was helping people have access to wisdom and culture but...some of the books we carry now.The library where I work is ordering all kinds of blasphemous drivel now, books by Marx and Lenin and other reds, anti-religious and Protestant works, books with such disgusting scenes they might as well be pornography, even Elven propoganda..." She sighed and shook her head melodramatically.

"Those ingrates don't know how good they had it." Pierre complained bitterly over his cup of tea. "The Ministry of Cultural Development used to perform a vital role in the preservation of all that is great about Pantocratorian culture! Not just books, but music too! Why, just today I was in a music store to buy the Best of the New Rome Theatre Company's 2004 season, and not only did they have this pop music stuff on the shelves, but they were actually playing this... Elven filth, from Aelosia I think. Disgusting! Our children will be singing along to that godless nonsense before too long!"

"Disgusting!" Marie-Hélène proclaimed loudly. "One might as well play the barking of dogs or the quacking of ducks and call it music. I do hope things get better before before too long. Seeing human children with real souls and the ability to make real music with spirit in it wasting their talents singing along to Elven filth truly turns the stomach. Not just that, but they're letting all sorts of inhuman creatures into the country now, and not just as part of embassies either. I went shopping the other day and saw actual inhuman creatures walking about and browsing the aisles, almost as if they thought they people, almost as if they own the place. This isn't their country."

"It is so frustrating to see them shamble about the streets like they own the place." said another branch member. "We should do something about them, form groups and physically explain it to them..."

"Now now..." the branch secretary cautioned. "Becoming vigilantes is exactly what they want. The Government wants to portray us as extremist thugs, who resort to violence at a moment's notice. Going around bashing inhumans isn't going to help our image! We need to combat the subhuman influence through legal means - through regaining Government."

"That's all very well and good to say that, but in the forseeable future we'd need support from the Loyal Christian Front, and they're too soft to expel the subhumans!" said the first branch member. "Maybe drastic action is needed..."

Marie-Hélène did not partake in this argument. She was too well trained to let herself be openly involved with a pro-violence position at any even semi-public meeting. "I'd like to stay involved even between meetings." She said. "You've all been very kind to me and very welcoming. If I could get some contact information...and give some of you mine, I would truly be grateful."

The young woman passed around a pen and a sheet of paper. She noted the order in which people signed it to make sure she knew how many names from the top the advocate of violence was. She would have to be in further touch with him.

By the time people started making their way home, Marie-Hélène's list was complete. The conversation after the topic had moved away from the inhuman infestation of Pantocratoria had shifted to the Esperi war from a year before, the high point of the PFP's popularity. Pierre and the branch secretary had each reminded Marie-Hélène another time of the municipal conference and had again encouraged her to come alone. Everybody seemed very happy to have a young, pretty face as a new member of the branch, and almost everybody had told her that if she needed any advice, help, or ideas about how to get more involved, she could get in touch with them.

A few days later, Marie-Hélène called the man who had wanted to go fight non-humans in the street and several other people who had expressed a more violent attitude. She told them, in a frightened voice, near tears, that there was a strange Elven man who'd been walking around the neighborhood. She said he'd looked at her in a way that horrified her, as a chaste, Christian woman. She told the men that, while she had locked the door and closed the blinds, she would feel much safer with honorable, Catholic men around, at least until she could be sure the creature was gone.

Eric Benoit, Louis Picardie, and Jean-Manuel Marly responded to Marie-Hélène's plea and each man soon arrived at her home. Each man was middle-aged, and Eric, the one who had leapt to argue the case for vigilantism, looked like a particularly tough and bitter sort. He had told Marie-Hélène that he used to be a sergeant in the Imperial Infantry Legion of New Rome, but that he had been shot in the leg by an insurgent during the Esperi war and had been discharged from the army as a result. He walked with a slight limp, but was still an imposing looking man, with an enormous chip on his shoulder.

As if it were a military operation, Benoit stayed with Marie-Hélène in her abode while Picardie and Marly patrolled the area, looking around for the elf she had mentioned.

"Damned subhumans!" Benoit cursed to Marie-Hélène as he looked out her window through her blinds, scanning the street for elves. "As if corrupting our children isn't enough, they start threatening innocent women? I promise you we'll find this... this animal, we look after our own in Pantocratoria First. And when we find him..."

Benoit produced a standard issue military revolver from his jacket pocket. Civilians weren't supposed to be allowed to own guns anymore, and ex-military personnel were supposed to hand their weapons over when they were discharged. Clearly Benoit hadn't done so.

"When we find him, we'll explain it to him in terms that even a pointy-eared dog can understand." he concluded.

Marie-Hélène sat down on the couch, her face white and her body shaking from fright. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come. The police won't protect honest Pantocratorians from these creatures anymore."

Picardie and Marly soon heard footsteps behind them. But what they saw when they turned was neither Elf nor Man. The being radiated a bright, radiant, seemingly holy white light that came with an unmistakeable impression of beauty and nobility. Blond hair fell in luxurious curls behind rounded ears perfectly identical to those of humans. Over his body, he wore golden plate armor than seemed to fit him perfectly without encumbering him in the slightest. In one golden, gauntletted hand, he held a sword that seemed to be made from pure fire, burning furiously and brightly. Perhaps the oddest thing about the being were the huge swan-like white wings that spread out behind as he approached the two men. "The Lord your God has dealt with the vermin you seek by His own hand! But listen, Sons of Adam, for He bids me bring you a message beyond the slaying of a single beast!"

Benoit set his revolver down on the coffee table and sat down next to Marie-Hélène on the couch. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her still.

"Here now, you're safe here with me. There's no need to be frightened anymore, we'll get the thing, I promise you." he said in a tone he thought sounded sufficiently sympathetic to disguise the lecherous look in his eyes. "Sssh, stop shivering... Here, why not do something to take your mind off it? How about you fix us both up a nice cup of tea or coffee or whatever you've got, eh?"

Picardie and Marly stared at the awesome sight, their jaws wide open. Surely it couldn't be... they couldn't really be looking at a real... angel??? In stunned silence, Marly fell to his knees, and Picardie, usually the cynical one of the pair, thought that he should probably follow Marly's example.

"Are... you... you really an angel?" Picardie stammered.

"I praise God!" shouted Marly. "Oh that He has seen fit to send us His messenger! We're neither of us worthy of such an honour!"

Marie-Hélène stared at the Benoit almost in disbelief. So unchivalrous to ask her to do it. Still, she just smiled weakly, looking every bit the trembling, meek, submissive, devout woman. "Yes...yes...of course." She rose and went into the kitchen, starting to make tea.

Meanwhile, Sebben's aura flared like the wrath of the Lord and the fires of Judgment Day as he glared down at Picardie. "Do YOU question?!"

Sebben then turned his eye to Marly. "None are. There is not a man or woman alive who deserves the grace of All-mighty God. Fortunately, God is love and forgiveness of sinners so long as they stay within the embrace of His Church and His law. And yet you shirk the law of God. You know what He commands you regarding these creatures which invade your nation, which God has given to the Pantocratorian people and yet you hesitate because unbelievers, sodomites, and other sinners of the vilest sort fill the halls of your government. Do you fear men more than you fear God?" He raised the flaming sword menacingly.

"No lord!" shouted Picardie, his initial cynicism overcome by a healthy fear.

"Never!" replied Marly. "We fear God! Oh angel, I pray you, intercede with the Lord for us! Beg Him to forgive us, and tell us what He would have us do to prove our penitence!"

Sebben nodded. "You must begin a crusade against the menace. Start with isolated individuals, tourists, and let them feel the wrath of the Lord of Hosts. Draw the issue of this filth to the public eye. Make them fill for their lives and recruit more to the cause of God. Once the enemies of God begin to die, I shall appear to you again with further instruction. Go now!"

"I knew it!" Marly declared to Picardie. He had been one of those most firmly in favour of violence against random inhumans. "We will do as you ask! Oh thankyou, and thanks be to God!"

Picardie and Marly made their way to their feet and then scrambled back to Marie-Hélène's home. After a few minutes they were banging on her door. Inside, Benoit put down his cup of tea and picked up his revolver. He made sure it was loaded, and gestured with his hand for Marie-Hélène to get back and stay clear of any danger. Then he unlocked the door and pulled it open while keeping the revolver trained on it with his other hand. When he saw Picardie and Marly, he lowered his weapon.

"Your patrol isn't supposed to end for another hour, what are you doing back here?" he barked.

"You wouldn't believe it, Eric!" Marly said excitedly, his face twisted in an expression of combined religious euphoria and severe shortness of breath.

"You were right Eric!" Picardie gasped.

"An angel of the Lord came to us!" Marly sputtered in earnest. "He told us to do exactly what you said! He said God wanted us to begin a crusade against the subhumans!"

"An angel?" Benoit scoffed.

"Yes, an angel!" Picardie said. "At first I couldn't believe it either, but I'm telling you, he was real! He had... gold hair, wings like you've never seen before, he glowed in holy light and..."

"It was the Archangel Michael!" said Marly. "He carried a sword, and called us to holy battle, it couldn't have been anyone else!"

"The Archangel Michael?" Benoit asked, incredulous. "Are you mad?"

"I know it sounds incredible but Eric, you've got to believe us! He came to us and told us that you were right, that we should visit the vengeance of God on the elves and other scum! He said that he'd visit us again once the enemies of God begin to die!" Picardie said.

"The Archangel Michael came to you and told you that I was right about what to do with that subhuman trash?" Benoit asked again.

"Yes!" Marly said.

"Honestly he did!" Picardie insisted.

"Well..." Benoit said, shaking his head. "Who am I to argue with the Archangel Michael! This is God's work, He has shown His favour to us, send us His messenger so that we know we're not alone, despite the socialists winning the election! Marie-Hélène, did you hear this? The Archangel Michael appeared to them!"

Marie-Hélène smiled. "It was an angel, but it was not Michael. It was the angel Sebben whose task it is to be the Sword of God in the coming conflict. I, too, have seen him and heard his voice, though he bid me to hold my tongue until you had seen for yourselves because you would not have otherwise believed. You have been chosen to aid his cause and shall learn a great many things in time. I suggest you go now. You might yet draw first blood tonight."

Benoit pulled the hammer back on his revolver.

"Repent, ye subhumans, the Sword of God is here. Come on then you two, we've got some elves to stomp!" Benoit said. He wasn't sure if he believed in this angel stuff, but he knew he was right all along about what had to be done with the inhumans, and if this angel agreed with him, that was all the convincing he needed to finally act on his convictions.

The men politely nodded to Marie-Hélène before heading off into the night, intent on visiting havoc on as many non-humans as they could find.

Caraga Spelloyal sighed slightly as she walked back to her hotel. She had been hoping to have a nice night on the town, but she hadn't had much luck picking up any local company. The Pooka swung her muscular, golden tale as she moved along at a bounce, her short skirt showing her shapely legs. She kicked her high heels lightly against the pavement as she surveyed the nearly abandoned late night streets of New Rome.

Behind her she heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

"Hey, nice tail!" called a deep voice behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Picardie a few metres behind her. He wasn't a particularly attractive man, but he wasn't bad looking, and he didn't look drunk or dangerous. He looked like a clean cut church-going professional.

Caraga turned around, wrinkling her nose. "Why, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me!" She smiled brightly, cutely, like a mix between a very pretty girl, a playful and affectionate puppy, and an adoring child.

Picardie caught up with her and walked alongside her.

"I aim to please." he said. "Skipping about alone tonight?"

"Like every night." She winked playfully.

"You know why that is?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"No. Why?"

"It's because you don't have a soul." came a new voice from in front of her. While she had been looking at Picardie, she didn't notice Benoit approaching from in front of her. He stood facing her a few steps in front, holding a revolver in his hand.

"Quick, into the alley!" Picardie urged, pointing Caraga in the direction of the dark alleyway leading off from the main street where Benoit was standing, as if to help her escape.

Caraga hopped swiftly into the alley, diving away from the revolver, stumbling slightly on her three-inch heels. Picardie ran after her as if he too were running from the gun man. In the darkness of the alleyway, Caraga never saw Marly standing there with a lead pipe. As she hopped away from Benoit, he swung the pipe into her midsection, cracking her ribs and knocking the wind out of her. Caraga grunted harshly, doubling over and clutching her belly.

Marly delivered a series of cruel blows to her knees and thighs, totally incapacitating her legs. Picardie grabbed her ankles and rolled her over onto her back, her broken legs twisting at all sorts of unnatural angles as he did so.

"You better hope he was right about you not having a soul." Picardie said, kneeling down next to Caraga to speak softly into her ear. "Or what Satan will do to you when you get to Hell will be far worse than what we're about to do!"

Caraga whimpered, her eyes tearing up as she looked up at the men. "Please...What do you want? You can have all my money! I won't tell anyone! Please!"

Benoit entered the alleyway and kept his revolver drawn in case somebody thought they would investigate the sounds coming therefrom.

"Shut her up, will you?" he snapped.

"No more talking now, little wallaby." said Picardie, holding his hand over Caraga's mouth. He looked intently into her eyes as if searching for her soul as Marly stepped in with the lead pipe.

"Mpphhhggg!!" Her eyes widened in absolute terror, deep brown eyes, like a wounded puppy's.

CRACK! The lead pipe made a sickening sound as Marly swung it hard into Caraga's right forearm. He then landed a blow on her left forearm with similar ferocity. He slowly worked his way up each arm, breaking them in multiple places. As Picardie held his hand over Caraga's mouth, and maintained his stare into her deep brown eyes, Marly kicked her mangled arms out of the way and landed a few more blows to the pooka's chest cavity, making breathing an extremely difficult proposition.

"Almost over now, little wallaby." Picardie promised in a soft voice, although his expression was totally devoid of sympathy.

Tears of pain streamed down her cheeks as she whimpered wildly into the hand covering her mouth, bone after bone being broken. Marly kneeled down next to Picardie and held Caraga's head tightly. Picardie produced a pocket knife with his free hand.

"We're going to cut out your tongue now, little wallaby." he said, pulling her jaw open. "And then we'll leave you to die alone. See? I promised it would be over soon, and it will be."

"Mppphggg!!!"

Picardie grabbed her tongue and cut it out crudely with the knife. The amount of blood was incredible.

"Get her up before she drowns!" barked Benoit.

Caraga gasped noiselessly and looked at Benoit wide-eyed, her expression pleading for death. Marly and Picardie pulled Caraga up by her tail. Benoit made his way over to the wall, shoved his revolver into his belt, and took out a hammer and a butcher's hook. He hammered the hook into the mortar of the wall. Caraga just begged with her eyes, unable to speak or even gesture.

"There. String her up and then let's go get you cleaned up, Louis." Benoit said, putting the hammer away.

Marly and Picardie lifted the end of Caraga's tail up and onto the hook. They tied it on, and when they were satisfied that she'd hang up by it, the men left her to die alone in the alleyway, just as Picardie had said they would. Her tail, the only still functional limb, thrashed feebly as they left.

The men had been silent until after Picardie cleaned Caraga's blood off his hands. The walked the streets of New Rome digesting what they had just done.

"I'm glad we did it." Benoit finally said, the first person to speak in some time. "And I didn't even see the angel."

"Did it have to be so brutal? You weren't the one who had to look into her eyes!" Picardie complained. "I know she didn't have a soul, but it still seemed a little too..."

"Easy." said Marly firmly. "Too easy for her. If she had a soul Satan would torture her for eternity, remember that! But Satan can't get her, so we have to, you understand? That wallaby cross-breed abomination had it too easy! You think Lucifer has pity on human sinners? He can't punish her, so we had to. The next one... won't have it so easy."

"We'll make a real example out of the next one." Benoit grinned.

"I suppose the angel did tell us to...." Picardie murmured. "You're right, of course. I promise I'll be tougher for the next one."

Imperial News Daily, the next morning...

FOUR BRUTAL MURDERS
Police are on the hunt for a killer or group of killers targetting non-humans after last night became the bloodiest night in New Rome for decades.

Detective Manuel Renard of the New Rome Police Department described last nights four murders as "the most brutal and disturbing ever seen". The victims were all non-humans, and while police will not disclose their identities until their families have been notified, they did disclose the species and sex of the victims.

The first victim, a female pooka visiting Pantocratoria on a tourist visa, was attacked on the outskirts of the Old Quarter in the trendy Riverside district. She was beaten and left for dead hung up by her tail in a poorly lit alleyway, police said. A lead pipe, found at the scene, had been used to break her arms, legs and ribs, and her tongue had been cut out. Police believe that she died from her injuries between twenty and forty minutes after sustaining them.

The second victim, an elven male, was attacked behind l'Huître Bleue bar, just outside the Old Quarter in the Lower Bank district. His ribs, arms and legs had been broken in similar fashion to the first victim, but the second victim's ears and genitals had been removed and placed in his mouth prior to death.

The third victim was a neko child, and was also killed in the Lower Bank district. She was last seen alive in the playground at a popular fast food restaurant while her parents ate inside, from which she was presumably abducted. Police believe that the child was murdered through the injection of a certain barbiturate, usually used by veterinarians to put down cats and dogs. The victim was left hanging by her tail outside the Lower Bank Pet Care veterinary clinic.

The fourth victim was a sidhe noblewoman, who was found dead on a yacht downriver from the Lower Bank wharf. Her throat had been cut and her arms and legs had been broken (although her ribs had nod), and her naked body was found tied to the yacht's mast.

"I believe we're looking at a serial killer, or group of serial killers." said Detective Renard, who urged anybody with any information at all to come forward.

A voice answered in perfect French, a man's voice. "Danaan Embassy. How may I help you?"

"Hello, this is Detective Manuel Renard from the New Rome Police Department. To whom am I speaking, please?" he asked.

"This is Jacques Vernier at the front office."

"Monsieur, could you please put me on to somebody in charge? Preferably the ambassador or one of her assistants? It's urgent."

"Very well." Jacques frowned annoyedly to himself as he hit the buttons on the phone. "Lady Ambassador, there's a Detective Renard on the line. He says it's urgent."

Elnor frowned to herself as she listened. "Put him on."

After Jacques put the call through, Elnor spoke. "This is the ambassador."

"Madame Ambassador, I've some rather bad news." Renard began. "Have you read this morning's paper?"

"Not yet. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Madame Ambassador..." Renard said. "There were... four brutal murders last night. Two of the victims have been identified from customs records as Danaan citizens. Mademoiselle Caraga Spelloyal, and Madame Breela ni Dougal."

"Dougal? You're fucking kidding me. What could a Dougal lady have done to get mixed up in a mess like this?"

"We believe the murders were racially motivated, Madame." said Renard, the ambassador's strong language going unnoticed after what he had seen over the past few hours. "None of the victims... did... anything as far as we can tell."

Elnor paused for a long moment, speaking in a strangely quiet voice. "I...see..."

"Did you know either of the victims, Madame?" the detective asked.

"No. I didn't."

"I'm damned well going to need them."

"Mademoiselle Spelloyal was murdered first. She was walking between two nightclubs, we believe. She was lured into a dark alleyway somehow. We believe one assailant held her down while another took a lead pipe... and..." Renard closed his eyes for a moment as he spoke, seeing the crime scene again in all its gruesome detail. "...broke her legs, her arms, and her ribs. Then they cut out her tongue and moved her to a hook in the wall, from which they suspended her by her tail."

"While she was...while she was still alive?"

"Yes." the detective said, his voice almost wavering. "She was very much alive. We believe it took her... another half an hour to die...."

"Shall I tell you about Madame Breela ni Dougal now, Madame Ambassador?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"She was taken onto a stolen yacht somehow. She was the last victim we've found so far." he said. "Whoever abducted her sailed downstream quite a way. We found some discarded clothes and the victim's wallet washed up on a bank near where we found the yacht - she was found naked. Judging from the amount of blood in the yacht's bedroom, her throat was cut inside. We believe that based on the lack of signs of a struggle, she was already dead when her arms and legs were broken. Her body was then tied to the mast of the yacht, and the yacht was abandoned. At first we believed that she'd been raped based on the location of the blood and the fact that the victim was naked. The medical examiner says that's not the case, however."

"Well...that's one tiny bit of good news. The High Queen is likely to...care rather directly about these murders, 'specially with a Dougal involved."

"Bad news from the perspective of evidence left behind I'm afraid." the detective said. "But... a small mercy at least. I want you to know, Madame Ambassador, that the New Rome Police Department will be treating these crimes very seriously. We've not had a murder in months in this city, and for us to have four in a single night is unheard of. We'll do everything we can to find the killers and bring them to justice."

"Four? You mentioned two."

"Two were your citizens, the other two were not."

"I understand."

"I will be sure to keep you up to date with details as they develop, Madame Ambassador." Renard promised.

"Of course." She said. "Is there anything else?"

"Will... erm... will your staff inform the families, Madame Ambassador?" he asked.

"I'll call Miss Spelloyal's family. Lady Breela's family will likely be contacted by High Lady Elizabeth, who I get to call."

"I'm very sorry to have had to call you with this awful news, Madame Ambassador. Unless you've any questions, I'll let you get about informing the Spelloyals and High Lady Elizabeth." Renard said.

"Thanks for calling." She hung up, fuming and glaring at the wall. "Fucking savages..." She muttered viciously under her breath before standing and walking into the garden.

The next few days were tense. Several Danaan newspapers suggested that Christianity was innately racist, going so far as to compare Pantocratoria with Iesus Christi. These comments were immediately attacked by conservative and liberal pundits alike, as well as the mainstream media.

The average Danaan citizen understood, if pressed, that the crimes were committed by an isolated group of criminals, that the Pantocratorian government was genuinely trying to apprehend them, and that the Christian religion was an honorable and moral religion that drew its inspiration from the Divine. Still, quite a few average Danaan citizens could be heard muttering things they didn't mean in taverns and elsewhere. Vandalism struck a number of churches. King Gregory ap Liam of Holista received a fair amount of hate mail, and a few radicals began to boycott Pantocratorian products and hold protests outside the embassy, claiming the government of Pantocratoria had encouraged and allowed heat to fester and was not acting proactively enough to arrest it.

Her High Majesty had taken some not so subtle steps to prevent this public reaction. She had attended services at a Catholic Church, been a guest of King Gregory at a formal ball, and made sure to mention in an address to Parliament that the Resurgent Dream's VERITAS ally, "the great, honorable, and just Teutonic Empire of Lavenrunz" drew "her strength and goodness" from "her profound Catholic faith."

Benoit hadn't felt as alive as he had these past few days since he was discharged from the Imperial Defence Legions. Picardie had been taking it a little hard, and Marly seemed to be wrapped in religious ecstasy. The three of them were sitting together at a table in Marly's comfortable home, where they had been interviewing people for the past few days - other extremist PFP members, rascist members of the congregations of the various churches they attended, some of Benoit's ex-army buddies, anybody they thought might help them in their work. They were careful not to disclose the nature of what they had been doing though; when pressed the furthest they would go was to say that they were thinking of setting up a vigilante group now that the hands of the police had been tied by the socialists.

"Do you believe in angels?" asked Benoit.

"I suppose..." was the reply of the latest candidate.

"If you saw an angel, and it gave you instructions, would you follow them?" Marly asked.

"What is this?"

"We're only interested in good Catholics, and we want to know how far your faith goes." Picardie responded.

"Well, if I saw an angel, I suppose... but I don't think that I'd ever actually see one."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways!" Marly replied. "Even if the angel told you to kill somebody, would you do it?"

"Somebody? Like who?"

"Not a family member or a friend or anything like that." Picardie assured. "A criminal, a devil, some evil creature. You said you believed in devils earlier..."

"Erm... I suppose. But like I said, I don't know what an angel would want with a sinner like me..."

"God forgives those who repent their sins." Marly said.

"We just asked because we were interested in knowing how devout you were, that's all." Benoit asked. "Onto more practical things... ever fired a gun?"

The interviews had gone on for days. In just a week they had recruited half a dozen good, reliable men, and felt sure that they would assist them if only the angel appeared to them. Marly called Marie-Hélène to ask for her guidance.

Marie-Hélène was speaking with the very same "angel" when they called. She and Sebben were looking at all the information they had on security in places like Menelmacar, which their new lunatic followers would most identify with the "enemy"; the Resurgent Dream, where Sebben had a rather personal vendetta; Pantocratoria, home-sweet-home to Sebben's new terrorist cult; and the C'tan. The young Francophone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Marie-Hélène, it's Jean-Manuel Marly here." Marly said. "We've been recruiting assistants like the Angel Sebben told us too, and we feel sure that if he were to appear to us again, with our assistants they would do the Lord's work without question! You said that you have spoken to this angel before... did he give you any instructions about how to call him back?"

Marie-Hélène immediately screamed into the telephone. "Do not test the Lord, thy God!" Her lovely, French voice was twisted in absolute fury.

Sebben, watching her, tried to surpress a snicker. In truth, his mind was amused by his blasphemy and by the serious tone which the Pantocratorian woman managed to put into words she no more believed than he did. He quietly scratched another location off the map as he listend to the conversation.

The woman continued, speaking clearly and firmly. "Hear this! The Lord takes pity upon the weakness of their faith and yours and shall send His angel once more to speak with you in the park behind my home. This is the last time in your lives you shall see the angel of the Lord in person, but it is more than most men ever receive from the Lord."

She sighed a little, thinking about her next words. "There are other men and women of faith in other parts of the world with whom I am in contact. This is all part of a greater plan which God is using you to execute."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, blessed is the name of the Lord!" Marly replied. "We shall meet you there at the time you choose! Truly you must be beloved of God, Marie-Hélène! We have only seen an angel once, so blessed are you that you can tell us when he will appear! I pray that we are worthy of God's grand plan! Tells us when we should meet you, and I will be there in the park at that time with our new recruits!"

"Be there at twilight the night after the party conference. God is giving you that one additional opportunity to gather more forces." She hung up at that, looking to Sebben.

Sebben laughed slightly. "Alright, sweetie, you've got it. I'll be there that night. But that's the last appearance I can make in Pantocratoria. They need me in Marlund."

The woman smiled coyly, moving in and kissing him lightly. "I'll miss you."

Sebben kissed her back fiercely before shoving her away. "Too bad you don't make the calls, bitch. But I will stay long enough to trick a few more gullible Catholics. You have me that long, at least."

Marie-Hélène lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, my lord. I was presumptuous to presume upon my lord's attentions."

Sebben smiled faintly, kissing her on the forehead as he pssed back towards his basement hiding place. "Of course. Join me tonight." It was not a request.

OOC: Any way I could get involved in this? :)

Baron Wolfmar read the papers that day, and grimaced. One thing he had never been tough on was Lavenrunz' rather aloof attitude towards non-humans, but this sort of thing...and it smacked heavily of some kind of citizens' militia...or agents provocateur. One thing for certain: Pantocratoria was one strange place.

OOC: Any way I could get involved in this? :)
OOC: You're not going to quit NS half-way through are you? ;)

Imperial Daily News

SECOND NIGHT OF CARNAGE
Police are on alert after last night in New Rome, which saw the brutal murders of a further three people, exactly one week after last Friday's four murders. Once again the victims were all non-humans, and police are convinced that the murders are racially motivated.

The three victims included one male dwarf, one female elf, and a female pooka. All three murders occured outside the Old Quarter, in the Upper Docks nightclub district. The first two victims were both murdered by means of a brutal bashing which saw their limbs and ribs broken by repeated blows from a blunt object, and were both found in quiet side streets throughout the Upper Docks.

The third victim was found on-board a yacht at the Upper Docks private wharf, just as the fourth victim in last Friday's murders was found on-board a yacht. Police believe that the third victim was raped and tortured over a number of hours before her assailants tied her up to the mast by her tail and cut her throat.

"There was a significant amount of forensic evidence left behind [by the assailants]" said Detective Manuel Renard of the New Rome Police Department. "We are now absolutely confident that we are dealing with at least three different assailants, all men, probably all well-built, above average height."

...

***

Detective Renard rubbed his eyes, the heavy rings underneath them making it obvious he had slept very little for the last week. He picked up the phone on his desk.

"Get me the Danaan embassy..."

OOC: Syskeyia, certainly! Telegram me and we'll work out the details.

Sebben himself was not idle on Saturday night. Betraying one's own race, manipulating people's most deeply held religious beliefs, and inflicting great suffering on innocents was hardly an easy task after all. It was, however, one that Sebben enjoyed to the depths of what one could only reluctantly call his soul. His victim was a tourist from the Resurgent Dream, but a Human this time and a pretty blond at that. He left her naked, dead body in an alley behind her hotel. She hadn't been raped. Sebben's hungers were more perverse than even that. Fortunately for the girl, she didn't have to be alive while he was feeding them. The flesh had been slit with surgical precision in several places and the liver and kidneys had been removed. A watch stolen from a Redcap doctor (a rarity in himself), who was staying at the same hotel, was left near the body. None of Sebben's own fingerprints were anywhere on the scene. He couldn't wait to see what the locals made of all this.
...
Meanwhile, the very Human Thomas Jansen, Danaan Foreign Minister, sat at his desk with his head in his hands. "Jenny, make arrangement for me to go to Pantocratoria as soon as possible."

Jenny, his assistant, glanced up. "Sir, are you sure that's safe?"

Jansen laughed lightly. "Well, if they kill me, then at least it won't be another racial crime!"

Jenny shook her head firmly. "That is REALLY not funny, sir."

Jansen nodded. "I'll have security. From what we know, these are three very lightly armed men. I doubt they pose a threat to a visiting Foreign Minister. Still, they are terrorists by Danaan law and this is the kind of situation that will worsen our already challenging relationship with Pantocratoria if it keeps escalating."

Jenny nodded and went to make the necessary calls.
...
Marie-Hélène was doing her homework. Where else could Sebben seek to fool the gullible and recruit the violent? The map was full of nations who considered themselves Catholic. Some had already twisted their doctrine into something genocidal. Some were genuinely devout peoples who followed the Church's commands of Christian love. Some were thoroughly secular states that were religious only in name. Still, every nation has its idiots and its fanatics. Her mind went to Lavenrunz and Syskeyia. The latter was making her name fighting against fascistic pseudo-Christianity in the name of the true Church. The former had a long history of alliance with Menelmacar, the most prominent non-human nation on Earth, and was a fellow member of VERITAS with both the Menelmacari and with Sebben's own hated homeland. If Sebben's network could recruit in either country, the irony would be delicious.
...
Vernier answered the phone again. "Danaan Embassy, how may I help you?" He sounded much tenser than he had last week.

"This is Detective Renard, New Rome Police Department." the detective said, his voice strained. "I need to speak to the Ambassador, it is most important."

As he waited on hold, a uniformed officer approached him and handed him a watch in an evidence bag. He looked it over. He mouthed the word "Prints?", and the uniformed officer nodded, and handed him a sheet. A partial fingerprint match with somebody who had gone through the immigration system. He put his hand over the phone's mouthpiece.

"Louise, get the Crown Prosecutor to draw up a warrant for this man..." he said, handing the uniformed officer the fingerprint analysis report. She nodded, took the report, and raced across the road to the Crown Prosecutor's office.

"Madame Ambassador?"

***

Demetrios Raoul was smoking a cigarette in an alley outside the Pantocratorian Council of Trade Unions New Rome office, having just stepped out from making a speech at the Pantocratorian Socialist Alliance's municipal conference. His mobile phone started to ring, and he put his cigarette out on the pavement with his foot.

"Raoul here.... no I haven't heard that.... No, I don't think that's a good idea. It isn't going to.... I understand, Thibault, I just don't think... Well it isn't a good idea for the Danaan Foreign Minister to come while the investigation is still on-going! We shouldn't admit that there's even a probl... Yes I'm aware it is a PR nightmare overseas, but... Well frankly if they're worried about coming here they should issue travel advisories... No, I don't give a damn about the tourism industry, Thibault, just a bunch of rich fat cats, and they don't even have a union! Now listen... but... but I... Very well, you want to do this, on your head be it, Thibault... No, that isn't a threat, it is just, I don't think this is a good idea... Yes, Chancellor. Goodbye." Raoul's side of the conversation ranged from frustration to finally conceding to Drapeur's side of the argument. As he put his mobile phone back in his pocket he quipped to his aide.

"I bet he's having fun up at Chantouillet with the Knootians and Burungis, living it up in the lap of luxury..." he murmured angrily, heading back into the building for the rest of the conference.

OOC: Thomas Jansen is welcome to visit Pantocratoria. ;)

OOC:Heresy is the obstinate post-baptismal denial of some truth which must be believed with divine and catholic faith, or it is likewise an obstinate doubt concerning the same
Catechism of the Catholic Church 2089

Wheres the heresy in these actions?

OOC: Presumably it is believing the "angel" Sebben to be the messenger of God and interpreting his commands as the Divine Will; the concept that God wants man to sin.

OOC:Certainly that last point IS heresy, (and thus they are in latae sententiae excommunication canon. 1364)
But I do wonder if that forementioned heresy. combined with fillfull acts against the faith actually crosses the line and enters into apostasy. ie: total repudiation of the christian faith.
-Sorry is this is anal, but I've been folliwng this thread and am actually really kinda enjoying it....just curious being r/l catholic about the definitions:)-
mea culpa

OOC: I'm not going to pretend that the title was picked on anything more than what sounded the coolest, but it certainly walks that line between heresy and apostasy, in which case I would think that "Heresy Most Dire" is a pretty appropriate title. :)

IC:

The Pantocratoria First Party municipal conference had a depressing overtone, despite being held in a lavish dining hall in one of the Old Quarter's best hotels. Hanging on the wall behind the conference chair was a large banner with the logo of the Pantocratoria First Party, flanked on one side by a portrait of Princess Irene, and on the other side by an icon of Christ as Pantocrator. Despite the pictures, neither the presence of Princess Irene or of Christ was apparent in the conference room.

Isaac Comnenus, the leader of the Pantocratoria First Party, could be seen moving about the room, shaking hands with old friends and new faces, keen to keep the level of enthusiasm as high as it possibly could be in the wake of the Pantocratoria First Party's crushing electoral defeat. The man who had been so friendly to Marie-Hélène at the branch meeting, Pierre, was eagerly looking about for her fresh young face in the room of haggered looking political hacks who knew that their time was passed. Among the haggered faces were Marly and Picardie (Benoit was missing), of whom Picardie looked much more haggered than he did when Marie-Hélène had first met him.

((OOC: Theologically, the story is about overt idolatry directly leading to many other sins, which is somewhat symbolic of less overt idolatry leading less directly to immorality as it so often does in the real world. Character-wise, it's about how otherwise ordinary (if prejudiced) people come to find themselves working for the truly evil. And, plot-wise, well, wait and see. Anyway, that being said, let's try to keep this thread ic. If people want to keep talking about this, someone could always start an OOC thread.))

Jansen sat quietly on his plane, sipping wine and reading over the pertinent papers. He had mixed thoughts about this meeting. So far, there had been five Danaan citizens killed in Pantocratoria. A quick call to a friend in Justice had revealed that the number of Danaan homicide victims this year was much higher, most of them having occurred in the High Kingdom itself. So he didn't want to blow anything out of proportion. At the same time, these weren't just murders. They were political acts designed to create terror, crime committed for a political purpose, terrorism. That was part of why he hadn't shut down travel to Pantocratoria, though the rate had dropped through the floor. The Danaan High Kingdom did not give in to terror. He glanced over at an aid. "So who do the Pantocratorians expect me to meet with?"
...
Elnor answered her phone. "Dammit, Detective, you'd better be calling to tell me you have a lead."
...
Marie-Hélène stepped quietly into the room, dressed in the nicest dress a hard working librarian could afford. She smiled prettily and kept her eyes demurely lowered as she found her seat and folded her hands in her lap, not going out of her way to acknowledge her partners in crime.

Demetrios Raoul paced about his office murmuring under his breath about Drapeur's idea to invite his counterpart from the Resurgent Dream to New Rome to publicly address concerns about the recent murders.

"The car is ready, Demetrios." said one of his aides, popping his head in the office door.

"Very good." Raoul replied, and followed him out to the Peacock Motors limousine waiting on the street below, which sped out to New Rome's International Airport, so that Raoul could greet his Danaan counterpart the moment he stepped off the plane.

***

"Actually, Madame Ambassador, I do." the Detective said. "But I have more bad news first. Two more of your citizens may have been murdered. I'm not entirely sure that both of these murders are connected, in fact at this stage I don't believe they are. The first was of a female feline pooka, from whom we've only partial finger prints because... of the injuries she suffered during the attack. The story was already in the paper. We believe this particular attack was part of the on-going... pattern. We'd like somebody from your embassy to come down and identify her, because we only have a 60% certainty based on the immigration records. We suspect her name is Chantelle Taringa."

"The next murder might be entirely independent of the pattern. Another Danaan tourist, only this one was a human woman, Elizabeth Brindingford. We've positive identification on her. This time, we've several leads, they're being investigated right now. The killer left something behind at the scene. I must stress that we've no reason to believe at this point that Mademoiselle Brindingford's death is in anyway related to the other murders." Renard concluded.

***

Two uniformed police officers knocked on the door to the Redcap doctor's hotel room.

"New Rome Police Department." said the female officer, Louise. "We've some lost property to return to you, monsieur."

She held the watch in a clear plastic bag, and jiggled it in-front of the door's spyhole. Her partner in the meantime had drawn his revolver, and was holding it behind his back, out of view.

***

"Marie-Hélène!" called Pierre as he caught glimpse of her. He went over to where she was sitting. "Hello again! Come on, I'll introduce you to Isaac Comnenus! And I don't want to hear any modest assertions that you won't know what to talk to him about, just be yourself, he'll be very pleased to meet you, my dear."

Thomas Jansen was a man in his late 40s with wavy brown hair and a trim, fit figure. He was handsome by most standards, though age was slowly beginning to take its toll on him. He wore a black suit and tie and carried a small, personal case as he stepped from the plane, extending his free hand to Raoul. "Thomas Jansen."
...
Elnor sighed. "Oh, Dana, do I want to know? What happened to the poor girl's fingers? I'll have to fly in a family member of a seer. I don't think anyone here knew the unfortunate young lady."
...
Dr. Crews buttoned his shirt as he moved for the door. "Is it my watch? It was stolen the other night. I was planning to report it to local authorities today but I didn't get a chance. Busy vacation. Where was it?" He smiled a grotesque smile that could not help being menacing as he opened the door.
...
Marie-Hélène blushed deeply. "But I really do have no idea what I would say to him. I'm just simple country girl."

"Demetrios Raoul." replied the foreign minister, shaking Jansen's hand.

Raoul had big, strong hands, and an even stronger grip. He looked like a blue collar worker in a suit, which really, was what he was. Nevertheless, his expression was welcoming enough. He gestured to the black limousine.

"Welcome to Pantocratoria. After you, monsieur." he said.

***

"We thought you might be able to identify her from photographic records, from her passport. Our immigration database doesn't keep photographic records, just fingerprints, and DNA samples from back when we took DNA samples from non-humans. Unfortunately we don't do that anymore, so we're forced to rely on fingerprints..." Renard explained, the exhaustion clear from his voice. "She had severe burns on her fingers... we think her hands were held down onto the yacht's hot plates, on the stove, although the forensic examiner hasn't given his report on that yet."

***

OOC: I think you mean he buttoned his shirt!

IC:

"Is this your watch, Doctor Crews?" Louise asked, holding the bag just out his reach, but close enough for him to visually identify it.

***

"There's nothing wrong with that!" Pierre said dismissively as he led her towards Isaac Comnenus.

"Pierre!" Comnenus said when he recognised him. "Good to see you again, old boy."

"It is good to see you again, monsieur." Pierre replied, nodding in acknowledgement. "I wanted you to meet a new member of our branch, and of our great party, Marie-Hélène. She's a librarian, just moved to New Rome from Montmanuel."

"Charmed, mademoiselle." said Comnenus, nodding graciously to Marie-Hélène. "Why Pierre, what a change from the rest of your branch, a lovely young thing like this! I trust, mademoiselle, that you've been made to feel welcome?"

Jansen climbed into the limousine. "Thank you, monsieur. I only wish I were here under more pleasant circumstances."
...
Elnor's scowl was almost loud enough to hear. "You consider it unfortunate you no longer treat people as probable criminals on the basis of race, Detective? Perhaps I am beginning to understand where these crimi..." She sighed. "It doesn't matter. Pooka don't have DNA anyway. I'll send someone down."
...
Crews nodded. "Yes, it is. May I have it back now, please?"
...
Marie-Hélène extended her hand to Isaac, palm down. "Charmed, monsieur. It is quite an honor to meet you. And, yes, I've been made to feel very welcome indeed. The Party has managed to live up to everything I expected of it, despite the rather unfortunate political climate of the moment."

"With respect, monsieur..." Raoul started as the car headed back through the city towards the Old Quarter. "What are you doing here? I know we've scheduled meetings and talks and other things, but you and I both know that those didn't precipitate this visit. So, what are you doing here?"

***

"I was talking from an evidentiary standpoint. I'm a detective, it's what I do." Renard replied. He had hardly slept all week, and every time he closed his eyes the various crime scenes came back to him. The exhaustion and the stress had him at breaking point. "And I resent what you just suggested very much, Madame Ambassador. When you've seen what these people have been put through with your own eyes, when you've seen the looks frozen on their dead faces, then maybe you'd wish they'd had DNA or whatever samples taken from them like probable criminals, maybe you'd wish for anything that made it easier to find the..."

He held the phone away from his head as he frowned, squinted his eyes and rubbed his nose, suppressing it all again, trying to detach himself emotionally so that he could do his job.

"...I'm sorry, Madame Ambassador. My job is to find their murderers, and you can rest assured that I'm working as hard as I can at it, everyone here is."

***

"Certainly... after say, twenty five years." Louise replied. "Doctor Crews, by the authority of His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty the Emperor, I am placing you under arrest..."

Her partner drew his gun and barked for Crews to keep his hands where he could see them, as Louise produced her handcuffs.

"...on the charge of murder. Hands behind your back, now! You have the right to answer the charges against you at trial, you have the right to retain legal counsel, you have the right to contact your embassy. Should you wish to waive any of your rights, you may do so." Louise said as she put on the handcuffs. "Up against the wall!"

Louise 'guided' Crews into the wall, and began to pat him down, searching for weapons.

"Search teams, we have apprehended the suspect." Louise's partner said into his radio, keeping his gun trained on the suspect. Soon afterwards more uniformed police were pouring all over the corridor and into the hotel room.

***

Comnenus took Marie-Hélène's hand and nodded courteously.

"Most unfortunate indeed." he nodded. "But we still have hope, and new members like you will reinvigorate us, prepare us for the long fight ahead. You're a librarian, you say?"

"She is." Pierre nodded, answering for her.

"You know, we really need a new research assistant at my office, a party member with experience as a librarian would be ideal." Comnenus continued on to Marie-Hélène. "Why don't you come along on Monday for an interview, my dear?"

Jansen frowned deeply at the question. "With respect, monsieur, you know exactly why I am here already."
...
Elnor paused. "Do you have DNA from the perpetrators?"
...
Crews snarled, tugging at his cuffs. "What is the meaning of this? What murder? What the hell are you people talking about?"
...
Marie-Hélène inclined her head. "I'll certainly make sure to be there."

"A few murders, however horrific, shouldn't be cause for Foreign Minister to go rushing back and forth willy nilly." Raoul muttered. "It could compromise the investigation - it certainly won't help."

***

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of the investigation with you Madame Ambassador, beyond discussing those victims who were Danaan citizens or potentially Danaan citizens. Without going into details, we do have some leads, and we are working night and day following them up." Renard replied.

***

"Shut up!" Louise snapped, finishing her search without finding anything. "Do you understand your rights?"

The other uniformed officers grabbed Crews and dragged him out to the police cars outside the hotel, followed by Louise and her partner. They got into the car and headed to the station while the search teams poured over Crews' room, searching for anything which might be even slightly incriminating. They searched for his medical bag and any equipment.

***

"Good, good, marvellous." Comnenus smiled.

"Order! Please be silent for the Imperial Anthem!" the speaker said into the microphone. The conference fell quiet, and then began to sing God Save the Emperor.

"I now call this New Rome Municipal Conference of the Pantocratoria First Party to order! Let us start the meeting with a prayer..." the speaker began.

Jansen frowned, stiffening visibly. "Terrorist activity targeted at the Danaan High Kingdom is more than enough reason to actively involve the Danaan government at the highest levels."
...
Elnor's response was a simple "Thank you, detective."
...
Crews snarled under his breath, red eyes glaring dangerously as he was forced into the police car. "Do I at least get to know what murder I'm being charged with?"

There's nothing incriminating in the hotel room. There's no operating tools, knives, or other sharp tools. No personal items of the victim's. Just clothes, toothpaste, toothbrush, and whatever came with the room.
...
Marie-Hélène sang the anthem and joined in the prayer.

"Terrorist activity?" blurted out Raoul, surprised. "Terrorist activity? We're talking about a few murders here! A serial killer certainly, but terrorism? Oh please, monsieur, you've been watching too much cable news! We're dealing with a serial killer, not a terrorist."

***

After concluding his phone call with the Danaan ambassador, Detective Renard rubbed his red eyes again and walked over to the big board against his office wall, covered in photographs and forensic reports, pouring over them all again as he looked for more clues.

***

"Do you understand your rights or not?" was Louise's only reply.

Before too long the squad cars pulled up in front of the station house, and Crews was dragged out of the car, up through the station, and into an interrogation room. Here he was allowed to sit and wait alone for half an hour, to give him a chance to appreciate his situation. In the room there was a metal table, bolted to the floor, and a few chairs. Along one side of the wall was a huge mirror, on the otherside of which, unobserved by Crews, stood some police officers.

Finally, he was rejoined by the officer who had arrested him, Louise Tripoli, who carried a legal pad, some pens, and a folder. Quietly she pulled up a chair across the table from Crews, and sat down. She sat down and motioned for Crews to sit too if he wasn't already, before sliding the legal pad and pen across the table to him. She took her pen in hand and leaned across the table to talk to him.

"The Crown Prosecutor's a reasonable guy, Doctor Crews. With a confession I'm sure he'll keep the death penalty off the table." she said. She gave it a few moments to sink in.

"Tell me, did it make you feel like a big man, murdering all those defenceless women?" she sneered. They only had evidence connecting Crews to the one murder, but she thought it was worth a shot anyway. "Did it? How does being arrested by a woman make you feel then?"

***

The municipal conference itself was fairly boring, and most of the items of discussion were self-recriminations for the PFP's electoral defeat. The conversations during the breaks were more entertaining however, because they got the rank and file in touch with the senior party officials.

Jansen's expression tightened. "We're talking about murder to instill terror for political purposes and you know it."
...
"Yes." Crews replied.

After being hustled into the interrogation room and made to wait, he just looked at Triploi. "I didn't kill anyone. Who am I accused of killing?"

"No, monsieur, I do not." replied Raoul in a cool tone. "There have been no demands made, no threats, not a word. This is a serial killer, targetting non-humans."

The car pulled up outside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs head office. The driver got out and opened Jansen's door for him. Raoul got out from the otherside, opening the door himself.

***

"It's like adding a final insult to injury, claiming you don't know." Louise Tripoli said as she shook her head. From the file in front of her she removed several large, glossy photos of the crime scene, including some very graphic ones of Sebben's victim. She laid them out in front of Crews, and then leaned back, closely observing his reaction.

Jansen stepped out of the car, saying nothing for the moment, though he doesn't look in any way convinced by Raoul's statement.
...
Crews looked at the picture, frowning in disgust. "Poor girl..."

Raoul led Jansen up through the Foreign Affairs building. Hanging over the main reception was a huge painting of Christ as Pantocrator, looking down over the world, and hanging on the wall behind the receptionist was a large coronation portrait of the Emperor and the late Empress from thirty years ago. Most of the rest of the building was fairly bland in its decoration, although quite comfortable and stately. The two men finally arrived in Raoul's offices.

"The press is waiting for us in the conference room when we're done." Raoul said. "Please, sit down."

Raoul sat on one of the three lounges in his office, and his receptionist came in with a tray of tea, coffee, and biscuits, which she set down on the coffee table between the two men. When she left, Raoul poured himself a cup of black coffee.

"Tea or coffee, monsieur?" he asked. "May I ask, why do you believe these crimes, terrible to be sure, constitute terrorist acts?"

***

"Poor indeed. What did she do to deserve it?" Louise asked with an accusatory tone. "Did she turn you down? Is that it? Did you know her, or was this... random selection? If you cooperate with us, we'll get the Crown Prosecutor to take the death penalty off the table..."

Jansen sat quietly. "Coffee please."

He then looked to Raoul. "I define these acts as terrorist acts. There's no hidden knowledge involved."
...
Crews sighed. "I Did Not Kill Her.":

Raoul poured Jansen his coffee, and handed it to him.

"But what def... oh pardon me, did you want milk or sugar in your coffee?" Raoul said. "Anyway, what makes these murders a terrorist act? Frankly, to me, they're just murders. Brutal, vicious, deplorable. But terrorism?"

***

"Your watch was found at the scene, doctor. Yours were the only fingerprints. We know you killed her, we just don't understand why. Take my word for it, the Crown Prosecutor will nail you to the wall for this. What with all the murders in New Rome recently..." Louise said. "...the Crown Prosecutor will want to make an example out of you. So will the courts. You don't stand an ice cube's hope in Hell if you keep on denying what you did. Your only hope is to throw yourself on the mercy of the court, to cooperate! You could get away with twenty years or less, that's a lot better than hanging, don't you think? For your own sake... do you have any children, doctor? A family back home? Confess, and you'll get the chance to see them grow up!"

"Sugar, please." Jansen sighed. "What is terrorism but murder for political ends? And what end could be more political than racialism, pure and simple?"
...
Crews snarled slightly. "I didn't kill this girl."

"Bah!" Raoul scoffed. "Serial killers pick victims which match the same profile... blonde women, black teenagers, people who resemble somebody the killer knows, and so on. In this case the killer is targetting non-humans. That doesn't make it terrorism! We have no idea who is behind these crimes, we don't know their motivation... if this was a terrorist group they'd be claiming responsibility and making demands and doing the rest of it, for political reasons as you say. To say that there's terrorist activity going on in Pantocratoria on the basis of a few murders is just over-reacting!"

***

"Fine." Louise snapped. "So what were you doing in Pantocratoria, doctor? What's the purpose of your visit?"

Jansen shook his head. "A Sidhe hardly resembles a Pooka, sir."
...
Crews responded curtly. "I'm on vacation."

"You miss my point entirely, monsieur!" Raoul said. "Serial killers kill people in a pattern, all sorts of patterns, any way you like. Just because this one is killing non-humans doesn't make him anymore a terrorist than a serial-killer who goes out and about killing blondes!"

***

"In case you didn't notice, moron, you're in quite a bit of trouble." Louise growled at Crews. "I suggest you answer my questions thoroughly. What are you doing on your vacation, how long are you here for, when did you arrive, when do you leave, how do you like your hotel, what sights have you gone to see, what days did you go see them, who else saw you there, do you like the taste of the coffee your hotel's room service serves? Thorough!"

Jansen shrugged. "I'm not convinced."
...
Crews snarled. "I'm visiting New Rome. I'm here for two weeks. I arrived last Thursday. I leave the Thursday after next. My hotel sucks. I saw the Cathedrals. The tour guides and other tourists. And I'm a Redcap. I'd eat this fucking table. What else do you want from me? I didn't do it and nothing says otherwise besides one stolen watch."

"Well, we're going to go out there to talk to the press, and you're going to create some sort of panic by spreading baseless allegations about terrorism in Pantocratoria, can I suggest you either get convinced or convince me that you're right?" Raoul asked, annoyed. "We're the first Pantocratorian government to approach nations like yours in the same spirit of friendship as we do others, we're the first Pantocratorian government to treat non-human visitors with the same respect we afford to human ones, and thanks to you we're about to be the first Pantocratorian government to be painted as being soft on terrorism. Throwing words like terrorism around doesn't help anybody, if anything, it will only add to the hysteria and further frustrate the investigations! So I ask you again, monsieur, why did you come here? Because from where I'm sitting it looks very much like you're smothering a few lousy sparks with petrol in the hope that it catches fire!"

***

"If the watch was stolen, doctor, why did it have nobody else's fingerprints on it?" Louise asked, smugly. "And what do you think the coroner is going to say about the precise, surgeon-like incisions on the body? What do you think the jury is going to think about the fact that whoever removed the victim's organs knew what he was doing? And do you really think nobody saw or heard you? Ask yourself, are you sure you didn't see anybody else around?"

Jansen sighed heavily. "Dammit, man, just because I say something to you doesn't mean that I'm about to announce it to a press conference. And I didn't accuse you of being soft. I came here to cooperate in apprehending these men. And, by the way, I don't think I need to remind you that we are the first and, so far, the only sizable nation of 'our type', as you put it, that has been willing to extend a hand to Pantocratoria after the old regime."
...
"I think that a murderer operating with surgical precision would also know to wear gloves. I think any coroner who knows shit about Redcaps would say that no Redcap would have left so much of a body behind if they did commit murder, which I didn't. And it doesn't matter who was around the murder scene. No one saw me there because I was, in fact, not there."

"So what do you intend to tell the press, monsieur?" Raoul asked.

***

"Oh really?" Louise clucked. "Excuse me, doctor."

She rose, taking her files with her, and left the room. In the next room Detective Renard was looking on with some other officers, watching the redcap through the mirror.

"Let's fake a line-up." said Louise. "Make him think he's been picked out by an eye-witness. If he thinks we've got a witness, he'll crack for sure."

"We don't need to fake anything." Renard said quietly, the fatigue evident in his voice.

"But how will we get a confession out of him, he thinks we've nothing on him!" Louise protested.

"We have a real eye witness." Renard said. "I just talked with him. He says he saw a redcap gentleman hunched over our victim's body, making surgical incisions with what looked like medical equipment. He's ex-army, he ran back to his car to grab his pistol from the glove compartment, and raced back, but the perp was gone. He said he raced down an alley after him, thinking he was following him, but he lost him. He wouldn't have assumed of course that our perp was staying in the hotel right next door. I'm having some officers bring in some other redcaps matching his description for a line-up. We should be ready very soon. Has Crews asked to talk to his embassy or his solicitor?"

"No." Louise asked, confident now that the eye-witness would finger Crews.

"Get back in there and tell him about the witness before he does." Renard said. "See if you can't get a statement out of him before anybody shows up. I'm heading back up to organise this line-up. Good work, Louise."

"Thankyou, monsieur!" Louise smiled back, and then headed back into the interview room. She sat down across from Crews.

"Turns out you were seen after all, doc." she said smugly. "We're organising a line-up right now. Once that witness fingers you, your goose is cooked. Your best hope is to make a confession now. We can ask the Crown Prosecutor to take that into consideration for his sentencing recommendation..."

***

Renard returned to his office where the witness was waiting for him.

"Ah, Monsieur Benoit, we're organising a line-up as we speak..." he said.

"Wow, you've caught him already?" Benoit asked. Of course, he already knew - one of his new recruits was a member of the New Rome Police Department, and had been the one to let him know that an eye-witness might be required to put this human woman's "killer" away. "You guys work fast!"

Jansen shrugged. "That depends. What's the situation with regard to these investigations?"
...
Crews shrugged. "I'd say you made it up to try and get a confession. But, since I really didn't do it, I know it isn't true. So I'm less than worried."

"They're proceeding." Raoul replied curtly. "There's been nothing to suggest this is part of a terrorist plot."

***

"We can't flat out lie to you like that, doctor." Louise said. "I'm not making up this eye-witness. If you want to wait for the line-up and see if the witness spots you, then fine with me, you'll see soon enough I'm not lying. You're dead to rights, doc... and if you don't smarten up soon you'll be just plain dead. The death penalty can be handed out at the discretion of the judge upon the recommendation of the Crown Prosecutor here in Pantocratoria, doc, you're taking your life into your hands. Don't say that I didn't warn you."

Jansen arched a brow. "Oh? You have leads then?"
...
Crews snarled again. "Then he's lying. I'll stand in the line-up. Then I want to talk to my embassy."

"I'm the Minister for Foreign Affairs, monsieur." Raoul replied, still obviously very annoyed. "I don't make it my business to interfere in police investigations."

***

"Fine." Louise said, and reclined in her chair. She took her pen and paper and started drawing pictures of a redcap being hanged. After ten minutes or so passed, there was a knocking noise on the mirror, and she got to her feet, picked up her files, and headed out. Officers came in and grabbed Crews, pulling him to his feet and marching him up the stairs into a room with five other redcaps dressed similarly to him. He was marched to position number three, and then the officers took their places on either side of the line-up. The men faced a mirror, through which they could be seen, but could not see the people looking at them.

***

"Detective, they're asking for you in lock-up." said a uniformed officer as he ducked his head into Renard's office.

"Damn... well I'll get down there then. Could you escort Monsieur Benoit to the line-up, Thibault?" Renard replied. The officer nodded. Renard turned back to Benoit. "Sorry about this, monsieur."

"Not a problem." Benoit replied.

Renard grabbed his jacket and left the room, and Benoit got to his feet. He slowly strolled over to the officer.

"How are you, Eric?" the officer asked. He had been recruited to join Benoit's little group of vigilantes.

"Good, good. So which one of them is your perp?" Benoit asked quietly.

"Number three. I swear, we know he did it, we just don't have enough for the court. Bloody legal technicalities, stopping us from putting people away!" the officer replied.

"Well I'm happy to help, happy to help." Benoit said, as if he was doing the officer a service by lying. The two went to the line-up room.

"We're just waiting for a representative from the Danaan embassy, and then we'll begin." said the officer. They couldn't see any of the redcaps yet, the lights being darkened so that they were still obscured. An assistant crown prosecutor stood in the room with them.

Jansen scowled now. "So you're telling me that you won't cooperate in this matter?"
...
Crews stood in the line-up, the other Redcaps also growling about being taken in for doing nothing.
...
Veronique Bastien arrived at the police station from the Danaan Embassy, a forty-something year old lady in a rather conservative dress. She idly ran a finger through her blond hair as she approached the room where the others were waiting. "My name is Dr. Veronique Bastien from the embassy of the Danaan High Kingdom of the Resurgent Dream. I'm the official advisor on judicial matters. I have a law degree and a PhD in criminal psychology. I worked for seventeen years as a profiler for the Danaan Bureau of Investigation. And I would like to start off by saying that I consider it improbable to the point of being essentially impossible that a Redcap would have committed a murder of this class."

"What's to cooperate about?" Raoul demanded. "It's a Pantocratorian investigation. The good officers of the New Rome Police Department are more than equipped to deal with it. I don't see what it has to do with us, as the foreign ministers of our respective governments, monsieur. The best thing we can do is to sit back and let the police do their jobs without political pressure from us."

***

"Dr Bastien." replied the prosecutor, nodding in greeting. "I'm Jacques Perot, assistant Crown Prosecutor. I must say, I didn't expect racial profiling out of somebody so eminently qualified as your good self. Shall we begin?"

The lights in the line-up room went on, and each of the redcaps was visible to the people on the otherside of the one-way mirror.

"Take your time, if you want a better look at any of them, ask me, and I'll direct the officer to ask him to step forward." Perot said to Benoit.

"Yes, monsieur." Benoit said, and looked thoughtfully. His gaze slowly passed over redcap one and two, before reaching Crews. "Can you get number three to come closer?"

"Certainly." replied Perot, and nodded to the officer.

"Number three, walk up to the white line please." the officer instructed through the intercom.

Jansen remained tense, saying nothing for the moment.
...
Bastien arched a brow ever so faintly. "Racial profiling? Monsieur, Redcaps are biologically different and would be essentially incapable of leaving a body behind after a murder. That isn't a stereotype. It's a fact. It's like calling someone a racist for suggesting that blacks were likely to have higher concentrations of melanin or that whites have a greater propensity for skin cancer."

She turned her attention to Benoit, frowning sceptically before she looked to the men in the line up. She crossed her hands behind her back.

Crews stepped to the white line.

"Well, what do you mean cooperate, monsieur?" Raoul pressed.

***

Benoit studied Crews carefully.

"Yes... yes... that's him alright." he said. "That's the one I saw cutting into that poor girl!"

"Thankyou, Monsieur Benoit, that will be all. We'll be in touch if this case goes to court." Perot said. Benoit was escorted out by the crooked officer, and Perot turned to Bastien.

"You can try to present that theory to a jury, I'm not buying it, Doctor." replied Perot. "A redcap is a sentient being, they have control over their actions just as much as any human or elf. I put my faith in eye-witness testimony over behavioural profiling any day, and when I'm done, so will the jury. Are you going to be representing Doctor Crews yourself?"

"I mean help bring these terrorists to justice." Jansen said again.
...
Bastien's reply was curt and not at all the one she normally used when simply dealing with the representation of Danaan citizens accused of crimes in Pantocratoria. "I have to call the ambassador." She left the room and went to a private area and spoke on her cellphone. She went to the restroom and stood in the middle of the room, turning her faucent on to make the call. She returned a few minutes later. "The ambassador is calling the Prime Minister. She's supposed to call me back when she's done."

"How do you plan to do that, monsieur? This is a Pantocratorian investigation. There's no need nor basis for Danaan cooperation." Raoul replied.

***

"Your Prime Minister?" scoffed Perot. "Are you trying to intimidate me, Doctor Bastien? What does this have to do with your government? You're not going to try claim jurisdiction are you? I can assure you that if you are, you won't get it, the crime occured right here in Pantocratoria. Just because both the victim and the perpetrator are Danaan citizens doesn't give you automatic jurisdiction."

Perot calmed down a little.

"Look, are you representing Doctor Crews, because I'd like to talk to him now, and I wouldn't want to talk to him without counsel." he said.

Jansen nodded. "I'll take that as a no."
...
Bastien shook her head. "I'm following my orders. And you look. I can't answer that question until the Prime Minister has issued his instructions. It's quite possible the Justice Ministry will fly someone in and, if I do take the case, we'll need to make arrangements to fly in quite a few beat cops, profilers, criminologists and the like."

"Take it however you want, monsieur, the best thing we can do for this investigation is to leave it out of the political spotlight. We both want the killer or killers to be found as soon as possible, after all." Raoul insisted.

***

"Beat cops? What possible relevance..." Perot started. "Doctor Bastien, at this moment, Doctor Crews is without legal representation. I strongly urge you to talk to him about him retaining a solicitor. I want to talk to him, and unless he retains a solicitor, I will have to talk to him without representation, and I'm sure that someone of your credentials knows how disastrous that is likely to be from his perspective. I'm going back to my office now, I'll be back here in three hours to speak to Doctor Crews. I strongly urge you to take the chance to talk to him and convince him to retain counsel. Good day, Doctor."

Perot nodded politely again, and left the room to return to the Crown Prosecutor's office. Bastien was led to a small room with tables and chairs and stationary, and was soon joined by Crews.

One of Jansen's aids knocked on the door rather urgently. "Come in."

The man walked in, handing the Minister a sheet of paper which he read with a deep frown. He didn't say anything at first, requiring some time to digest it.
...
Bastien's phone rang before she was escorted to the holding cell. "Madame Ambassador..." She blinked once. "Your Majesty!" The woman bowed instinctively, though no one could see it through the phone. She listened for some time, simply nodding. "Yes, Your Majesty...Of course, Your Majesty...as you wish, Your Majesty...Thank you, Your Majesty."

Bastien finally hung up, meeting Perot's gaze evenly. "The Danaan High Kingdom of the Resurgent Dream, at the highest levels of government, does not consider this prosecution to be legitimate or in accordance with the rule of law. A more formal and elaborate communication will be issued from our government to yours in the near future. The Danaan Embassy to Pantocratoria is under orders not to lend this trial legtimacy by participation in any capacity or on any level. Good day, sir." She turned on her heel and walked out of the station.

"Well, I think our private positions are abundantly clear." Raoul sighed. "But it wouldn't do to present this argument publicly. What shall we tell the press, I'd like to present a united front, so, what can we agree on to say?"

***

Perot's eyebrows couldn't possibly have gotten any higher on his forehead as he listened to Bastien's side of the conversation. He couldn't believe it when she left the station.

"You're leaving Crews utterly defenceless!" Perot shouted after her as she left. "In the interests of justice, please..."

It was no use.

"Blasted Turk foreigners!" Perot cursed under his breath. There was no point in waiting then. He went into the meeting room where Crews was waiting.

"Doctor Crews, I'm Jacques Perot from the Office of the Crown Prosecutor." he said. "I regret to inform you that your embassy wants nothing to do with you. I would strongly suggest to you that you retain a solicitor to act in your defence. Since you are not an Imperial Citizen, we cannot provide you with one free of charge, however, if your funds are limited, there are a number of charitable organisations which retain solicitors for foreign nationals without embassy representation... I could put you in contact wtih some of them. What I propose you do is to go through the phone book and speak to the various defence attorneys here in New Rome, find one, and retain him or her. In the meantime I will leave and return in the late afternoon for us to have this discussion. If you wish to waive your right to representation, which I strongly suggest you do not, please say so, and we can continue right now."

Jansen shook his head as he stared at the paper. "Not only have the murderers not been apprehended yet, but you're arresting Danaan citizens on self-evidently false charges and seeking the death penalty now? I have to consult with my government. There may not be a common theme we can both agree on."
...
Crews shook his head. "I doubt very much that's what they said. But you have the witness of one man and a watch. You've made it clear that's enough to take a man's life on. This trial will be a formality anyway. However, I don't want a lawyer. I'd rather just answer your questions on the stand. I've committed no crime and have nothing to hide."

"I beg your pardon? There's been an arrest?" Raoul asked.

***

"Doctor Crews, you may think you're martyr, but the jury won't see it that way." Perot cautioned. "The victim was cut up and had her organs removed by somebody who understands anatomy, who knows how to use a knife, somebody very close to a skilled surgeon, right outside your hotel. You had the opportunity, she was right there. You have the skills. Your watch was found on the scene, the only piece of identifying evidence. An eye-witness saw you remove one of the victim's vital organs! Eye-witness testimony, the forensics, we've got everything except motive. You haven't even offered the police an alibi! You aren't doing yourself any favours by refusing legal assistance! We've got an eye-witness, and a reasonable amount of circumstantial evidence besides. I'm telling you, if this goes to trial, and you don't have competent representation... there's a good chance you'll be in prison for the rest of your life, maybe even executed."

Perot let it sink in. He had no idea why the redcap seemed intent on getting himself hanged, nor why his embassy had abandoned him.

"So, you don't want a solictor." he confirmed. "Then I'll make this offer directly to you. Plead guilty, I'll recommend a sentence of fifteen to twenty years, after which time you'll be deported to the Resurgent Dream. The maximum penalty for murder in Pantocratoria is death. The usual penalty is life in prison or twenty to thirty years. It's a good deal, but if you don't believe me... retain a lawyer."

"Yes." Jansen answered. "Though, according to my orders from my government, not one the Danaan High Kingdom recognizes as legal. So, you see, I really do need to confer with my government before I say anything else."
...
Crews shrugged again. "You have no viable evidence, really. Just one liar. I don't care if you hang me. That girls family is going to want to know who really killed her, though. Like nearly every Danaan, they're bound to know it's pretty much impossible for any Redcap to leave a body like that."

"I beg your pardon?" Raoul asked, astonished. "We've arrested a suspect and you are declaring that arrest illegal? I think we had better get this cleared up before we go speak to the press, don't you monsieur?"

***

"You don't... care... if we hang you?" Perot asked, astonished. "You are aware that you'll be dead, aren't you? Are you some kind of nut? You'd rather be dead than alive? Doctor Crews, if you are refusing this deal, and refusing to retain a solicitor..."

Perot shook his head.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain why you'd rather be dead than alive? Or, let's make it more simple, would you like to explain why you don't want a solicitor to defend you? You say you're innocent, and yet you wish to present no defence?" he asked earnestly.

"That would be why I need to confer with my government." Jansen said tersely.
...
Crews shrugged once more. "Yes, I am refusing this deal and refusing to retain a solicitor. I don't need clever arguments to get me out of this. There's no case against me. I just have to honestly answer the questions and I'm clear before Dana."
...
To: Jacques Perot
From: George and Sarah Brindingford

Sir,
While our government tells us that they have not yet released information regarding the trial of a Redcap named Dr. Crews for the murder of our daughter, fearing the possible end of friendly feeling between the people of the Resurgent Dream and the people of Pantocratoria that such news might bring about, they did feel it only proper to inform us that the Pantocratorian government has abandoned the search for our daughter's actual murderer to prosecute a Redcap who would, by his nature, be nearly incapable of leaving our daughter's body behind, as it was, fortunately, left behind. We do not know why or under what motivation you persist in this action. Nonetheless, as parents of a murderered girl, we much beg you to please try and find our daughter's actual killer. We cannot bare the thought that the man or woman who has brought so much suffering to us is being left at large to bring it to other families.
Sincerely,
George and Sarah Brindingford

"Well..." Raoul started. "Can you do it without leaving the premises... those vultures in the press gallery will think something is very much the matter otherwise."

***

"You are going to need to refute an eye-witness and compelling circumstantial evidence, doctor." Perot said. "But I give up, I have desperately tried to convince you to retain a solicitor despite the fact that you doing so would make my job harder. I have tried to explain to you how desperate your situation is, but you don't seem to care. And your embassy... has just walked off, leaving you in custody... it isn't my job to look after your defence, that isn't my concern, even though it seems that everybody whose concern it is isn't interested in the slightest. Good day, Doctor Crews, I'll try to schedule your arraignment as soon as possible for your convenience. Maybe the inside of a court room will get you to smarten up your act..."

Perot got up and left the station in disgust. Some hours later, he received a letter from the victim's parents. He wrote back to them at once, bewildered as to how they had been notified so soon.

Monsieur and Madame Brindingford,

My sincerest condolences on the loss of your daughter. Please be assured, although it is no consolation for the loss of somebody so precious to you, that the men and women of the New Rome Police Department, and the Crown Prosecutor's staff, are working to bring your daughter's murderer to justice.

I am distressed that you believe that justice is not being done here in New Rome. It is true we have arrested a redcap gentleman, whose name I cannot confirm to you at this time as he has not been arraigned, and that we suspect this man of your daughter's tragic murder. I understand that you believe it would be nearly impossible for such a person to leave a body behind, but I note that you said nearly impossible, and would like to assure you that in this case there are extenuating circumstances which we believe compelled the suspect to flee the scene before doing what is in his nature to do. I am deeply sorry that I cannot go into more details at this time.

My prayers are with you at this difficult time. I would like to extend to you an invitation on the Crown Prosecutor's behalf, inviting you to New Rome to attend the trial. The costs will be born in full by the Imperial Government, including airfare, accommodation, and living expenses. Nothing can replace the hole left in your lives by this brutal act, but since you have expressed your concerns, I would invite you to come to New Rome and see that justice is done to your daughter's killer.

Even if you do not accept the Crown Prosecutor's invitation, I want you to know that your concerns deeply trouble me. It is my duty to see that justice is done in this case, and I will do my very best to see that it is. If you are both willing, if you do not come to New Rome, I would like to establish a correspondence with you, so that you can express your concerns and ask questions, and I can keep you informed with the latest developments.

With my deepest sympathies and sincerest regards,

Jacques Perot
Assistant Crown Prosecutor (Homicide)
Office of Crown Prosecutions, New Rome

Jansen nodded. "I'll use the restroom." He stood, walking that way, and turning on all the faucets and standing in the middle of the room to make his call.
...
"And why did my embassy say they did that?" Crews asked quietly.
...
To: Jacques Perot
From: George and Sarah Brindingford

Sir,
We continue to find the current actions of the Crown Prosecution in this matter hostile to our interests, our country, morality, and the memory of our daughter and wish to lodge a formal protest that this prosecution is continuing during time which could be used to find our daughter's actual murderer. This is a position we are likely to go public with if the prosecution continues in this manner.

As for your invitation, you are aware that our government is boycotting the proceedings. If attending could make the capture of Elizabeth's real murderer more likely, then we would be willing to go against our government's policy. Correspondingly, we will attend only if we are allowed to tell the jury that we are certain beyond any reasonable doubt that this man is not our daughter's killer. If not, the presence of the family always serves as moral support for the prosecution, support we categorically refuse to give in the present case.

Sincerely,
George and Sarah Brindingford

Raoul grumbled and looked at his watch as he waited for Jansen to return, aware that the press would shortly expect them.

***

Nobody spoke to Crews again until the late afternoon, when the police drove him from the station to a courthouse, and escorted him into the courtroom. Underneath the imperial arms behind a bench sat a judge in a dark robe and formal wig. In front of him were several more, smaller benches, standing at one of which was Jacques Perot, also in a robe and wig (albeit less impressive ones). Crews was led up to a bench across from Perot.

"His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty the Emperor and Doctor Crews, the charge is murder." the bailiff announced. The judge looked to Crews, and looked about him.

"Do you have a lawyer, Doctor Crews? I suggest you get one. How do you plead?" the old judge asked.

***

Dear Monsieur and Madame Brindingford,

You may rest assured that the Crown Prosecutor is not acting in a fashion hostile to your own interests. We are only interested in seeing justice done, as I am sure you are too. I am curious as to how, being so far away from Pantocratoria and the details of the case, not having heard the case against the suspect presently under arrest for your daughter's vicious murder, you are certain beyond a reasonable doubt that he is innocent.

The case against him is strong enough to convince the New Rome Police Department to arrest him, and strong enough to convince the Crown Prosecutor to bring charges against him. I am curious as to what it is which you believe makes it impossible for our suspect to have committed this crime.

If you were to come to New Rome, you would most likely not be able to testify at trial on account of your testimony not being directly relevant to the actual murder of your daughter. Please understand that in saying this, I do not intend to denigrate the depth of your grief or love for your late daughter, I am merely explaining the legal requirement for testimony to be relevant to the crime in question.

I hope that you will continue this correspondence, as I feel that it is important that, as the victim's parents, all of your questions and concerns should be addressed.

With my deepest sympathy,

Jacques Perot
Assistant Crown Prosecutor (Homicide)
Office of Crown Prosecutions, New Rome

Jansen returned, looking genuinely concerned. "I'd like to clarify. I didn't say it was illegal. I said it was illegitimate. The Danaan High Kingdom does not per se challenge the right of Pantocratoria to dispose of any person in her territory as she sees fit. However...Well, I have the official list of requests from my government and what I'd have to tell the press if we went out there right now. Which would you like to hear first?"
...
Dr. Crews paused a moment, looking to the prosecutor. "Your Honor, I would first like to be informed of the stated reason of my embassy for not being here. I asked earlier."
...
To: Jacques Perot
From: George and Sarah Brindingford

Sir,
We are certain beyond a reasonable doubt because the crime as described simply would not be committed by a Redcap. While many Redcaps have committed violent crimes, such crimes never have, do not, and never will resemble the one you describe. Attached, please find statements from the Chair of Criminology at Wintermore Legal Academy, the Chief Constable of the City of Verdan, and His Honor, Judge Clayton Spicher, which we have managed to personally obtain. We also wish to confirm that a formal protest on behalf of the victim's family has been entered into the record.
Sincerely,
George and Sarah Brindingford
...
To: His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Andreus I Capet
From: Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor ni Ailil

My Imperial Brother,
As you know, we have deeply enjoyed the hospitality we have received on past visits to Pantocratoria and have always had nothing but the deepest love and respect for your nation. Thus, it is with the deepest sorrow that we learn that one of our subjects, Dr. Harry Crews, has been deprived of his freedom after visiting Pantocratoria based doubtless upon our statements of friendship and trust between nations and that an element of Your Imperial Majesty's government, doubtless unwittingly, are preparing to carry out a murder the prosecution of which we have reason to believe was concocted by extra-legal means, possibly connected with the gang of murderers still know to be at large on the streets of New Rome.
Respectfully,
Eleanor ni Ailil
Queen of Wintermore

"What? Yes, I want to hear them first!" growled Raoul. As if the terrorist nonsense wasn't bad enough.

***

"That's a very good question, Doctor. Well, Monsieur Perot?" the judge asked, turning to the prosecutor.

"Monseigneur, the defendant's embassy was contacted, and its legal representative, Doctor Bastien, absented herself after witnessing the line-up at which the defendant was positively identified. She made it clear that the Danaan embassy would not participate in this case." Perot replied.

"Very irregular, Monsieur Perot." said the judge, scolding in his tone, shaking his head. He turned back to Crews. "I take it, Doctor Crews, that you didn't intentionally waive the assistance of your embassy?"

Jansen nodded. "Very well. The Danaan High Kingdom requests that Harry Crews immediately be turned over to Danaan custody and receive a public apology. We also request the right to send specialists to help with the apprehension of the terrorists and the investigation into the extra-legal elements in the New Rome Police Department which led to this extra-legal abduction of Dr. Crews."
...
Crews shook his head. "He has still not informed me of their stated reason for doing so, Your Honor."
...
To: Dr. Thibalt Drapeur
From: Her Imperial Majesty, Aiwyn ni Gwydion

Lord Minister,
We still remember the immense joy we felt when we heard of your election. While we disagree on much, especially economics, we felt as if a shadow had lifted to learn that a party had triumphed in Pantocratoria which did not judge men and women by the color of their skin, their native language, or the shape of their ears. It was one of the happiest phone calls it was ever our honor to make. Thus, it fills us with great sadness to see that the old policies are not as extinct as we had hoped. We speak, of course, of the case of Dr. Harry Crews with which we hope you are familiar. We do hope that you will take our concerns to heart and look into the matter. We stand by our sister's statements that there is nothing of justice in this prosecution.
Sincerely,
Aiwyn ni Gwydion
Empress of Mists

"Patently absurd!" Raoul snapped. "I don't know who this Crews fellow is, but if he was arrested the police must have had legitimate cause to do so. Unless the police are found to be in error no apology, public or otherwise, will be forthcoming!"

He got up and paced about the room fuming.

"Your whole presence here, your request to interfere in Pantocratorian investigations, your use of hot button words like terrorism even though it clearly doesn't apply, all of that is bad enough!" Raoul almost yelled. "Now you want to investigate New Rome Police Department? You've got a lot to learn about national sovereignty! Is this how you carry on in your dealings with other nations? Disgusting! I have never been so outraged! Your insulting requests are denied, all of them!"

He took a few breaths and calmed down.

"Let's go to the press, this meeting is over." he said in a calm voice. "I'll show you to the press gallery, monsieur."

***

"The reason is immaterial, but since you don't know it, I'll take your answer as a no." replied the judge. "Further, Doctor Crews, you will address me as Monseigneur de la Justice, or Monseigneur, instead of Your Honour, although I shall take no offence that you have addressed me incorrectly thus far. Since you didn't waive your right to legal assistance from your embassy, I am assigning to you at the expense of the court a defence attorney. I strongly suggest that you accept his advice. Now, Doctor, how do you plead?"

***

Your Imperial Majesty,

I thank you for your letter and your generous sentiments.

I am distressed that you feel that the old policies in regards to racial prejudice are not totally dispensed with in Pantocratoria. I apologise that I am not totally abreast of the details. I am afraid that the criminal justice system is directly under the authority of the Emperor, and that I have no power to intervene in the matter. In the name of the friendship between our two countries which we have each sought to build, I promise that I will investigate this matter personally, and bring up the topic with His Majesty when next we meet.

Sincerest regards,

Thibault Drapeur
Imperial Chancellor

Jansen sat calmly through the speech. "No. I have no intention of having a join press conference with you under these circumstances. You have been nothing but rude and inhospitable since I arrived and I have no intention of playing nice any further. Independently, I plan to announce that I find the claims of the Pantocratorian government to have reformed their racial policies to be false and made in bad faith, that the Pantocratorian government has abducted without cause and plans to murder a Danaan citizen in what I can only interpret as a gesture of support and validation for terrorist forces, that Pantocratoria is no longer safe for Danaan tourists and that Danaan citizens cannot expect the protection of the law when in Pantocratoria, and Pantocratorian law enforcement shows no verifiable interest in bringing terrorists to justice. You will be the first Pantocratorian government accused of being soft on terrorism and your claim to be the first Pantocratorian government open-minded on racial matters will be denied. It is what we will report to our allies and to the international press." He paused, sighing. "When no other largely non-human nation would re-open their embassy after your elections, we took a chance that your policies really had changed. I feel quite had about that." He stood, heading for the door.
...
"With all due respect, Monseigneur, I will not enter a plea until I am told the reason." Crews responded firmly.

Raoul went to the press gallery alone, the stand in front of the Danaan flag being left unmanned.

"I'll be brief. Monsieur Jansen elected not to address you after our meeting." Raoul began. "I made it clear to him that the Danaan government's position on internal Pantocratorian matters is totally unacceptable to Pantocratoria, that we do not require foreign assistance in our own investigations, and that we will not tolerate foreign interference in those investigations or in our criminal justice system. Before I finish, I would like to make one thing perfectly clear..."

Raoul took a deep breath in, and looked straight into the main grouping of TV cameras.

"The recent murders in New Rome, whilst deplorable, brutal, and despicable, are the work of a serial killer or killers. At this stage there is no reason to suspect that the perpetrators of these vile crimes have any goals beyond the deaths of their victims." he said. "There is absolutely, positively, no reason to regard them as terrorist acts."

The press gallery began to murmur excitedly. The hype began.

***

"For the record let it be noted that the defendant wishes to enter no plea at this time." the judge said.

"Monseigneur, if it pleases the court, I would like it noted that the victim's family has lodged a formal protest with the Crown Prosecutor over Doctor Crews' arrest and arraignment." Perot added unexpectedly.

"Erm..." the judge began. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur Perot?"

"If it please the court, Monseigneur de la Justice, the victim's parents have lodged a formal protest to the Crown Prosecutor, advising that they do not believe Doctor Crews to be capable of their daughter's murder." Perot restated.

"So noted, Monsieur Perot." the judge said, shaking his head, wondering why the prosecutor would enter such a thing into the record. "The defendant is hereby remanded to His Majesty's Prison du Crâne to await trial."

He banged his gavel and guards immediately escorted Crews out of the courtroom into an armoured van, which they drove to the 16th century fortress which served as the infamous Prison du Crâne. Perot went back to his office and arranged an interview with the eye-witness.

Jansen drove back to his own embassy, calling an emergency press conference there. "I don't want to speak too much about the requests the Danaan government made to the Pantocratorian government, though I will answer any questions on the matter. They were requests made by one sovereign state to another and Minister Raoul is within his rights to refuse them. I do want to protest the personally rude and insulting manner in which he choose to do so, but that is another matter. In any event, I won't dwell on the requests. That is outside my control and no longer my affair. What is in my control and within my duty is the safety of Danaan citizens abroad. Based upon my meeting with Minister Raoul, the recent attacks, and certain recent actions by the New Rome Police and Crown Prosecutor, especially the quote unquote trial of Dr. Harry Crews, I have no choice but to announce that, as of midnight tonight, the Foreign Ministry of the Resurgent Dream will no longer issue passports allowing its citizens to enter Pantocratoria. I do not believe, based upon what Minister Raoul told me, that such visitors would have the effective protection of the rule of law, from violent criminals or from arbitrary arrest. I will now take questions."

The press started buzzing with questions.

"Monsieur Jansen, Imperial Daily News, what do you mean by quote unquote trial? What was wrong with the arrest of Harry Crews?" asked one journalist.

"Foreign Minister, Virginie Merlot, Peacock Nightly News." asked a pretty young woman from a television station. "Don't you think that denying your people entry into Pantocratoria is an overreaction?"

"Minister, do you agree with your counterpart Monsieur Raoul's assertion that the recent murders do not constitute acts of terrorism?" asked a journalist who had just come from Raoul's brief press statement.

Jansen answered the Imperial Daily News reporter first. "I mean that Harry Crews was arrested for a crime which all authorities on these matters agree no Redcap could have committed. There is no doubt in the mind of anyone in the Danaan government that Harry Crews is innocent, and, what's more, that he could not be guilty of this specific crime and that the matter is scientifically incontestable. Based upon the report of our representative at the line-up, we believe that one or more officers of the New Rome Police force was working in an extra-legal capacity for the same racial and political goals as the recent murderers. Such a person falsified the evidence which will be accepted at this trial and denied consideration of the scientific date which proves it impossible. Because there is no real evidence on which to base these charges, we consider them not only false but illegitimate. This prosecution is an act of the Pantocratorian state and we respect its authority. However, we do not consider it to be a trial of law taking place under the rule of law. For that reason, the Danaan government refuses to give the trial legitimacy by participating on any level, in any capacity. Those orders come directly from the High Queen herself. As most of you know, the Danaan Embassy has been involved in the legal affairs of Danaan citizens in Pantocratoria on countless ocassions and has always participated in good faith. This is not the kind of statement we make just to get someone off. We are VERY serious in our reasons and our conviction on this matter."

He turned to Merlot next. "Well, Miss Merlot, to me it isn't entirely a reaction to your governments actions. This action is not one of protest but of safety. The fact is that a number of Danaan citizens have died here in a very short time and another is facing execution for a crime he did not commit. Until I can tell tourists that I'm relatively confident the same won't happen to the, I can't let them come, totally regardless of what the state of diplomatic relations between our nations may or may not be."

He then turned to the third journalist. "Well, sir, the Resurgent Dream is signatory to the Pact of Uinen which defined terrorism as 'murder, assault, abduction, large-scale destruction or theft of property, or the threat or attempt of any of the preceding for the purpose of furthering a political, religious, racial, social, or ideological cause' and to the Vinyatirion Intelligence Pact which defined terrorism more broadly as 'crime for political purposes'. I would say these murders, while not what one conventionally views as terrorism, meet both those definitions."

Found on the http://tj.dataslam.404 web log and forwarded to all sorts of people in Pantocratoria:

An Open Letter to Pancratoria's Courts, Government, And Assorted Poo-bahs

Since you're all regular readers of the Techno Jihad's DataSlam, you already have read our reports on the events (http://tj.dataslam.404/horrible_murders) in (http://tj.dataslam.404/more_murders) Pantocratoria (http://tj.dataslam.404/what_the_fuck_is_going_on_in_pantocratoria). The latest news is even more disturbing. The Crown has decided to ignore the brutal non-human murders, and is instead focusing on a solitary murder of a human (http://random.news.site).

Dataslam has learned from various means that a gentleman by the name of Doctor Harry Crews (http://tj.dataslam.404/h_crews_photo) is being railroaded by the Crown. Why do you ask? Because Harry Crews is a Red Cap. That's right, the racist Crown doesn't give a damn about the non-human murders, all they care about is this one human. From a corrupt government to corrupt police, Dr. Crews is getting screwed, and Pantocratoria doesn't even have the decency to lube up first.

The lack of shame in this is staggering. Even the victim's family know this is a crock. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8441552&postcount=96) Does the crown care? Of course not. They're gonna nail this Red Cap, by Garr, and reality be damned.

Don't get us wrong here. The Jihad doesn't support the murder of anyone, but we call Pantocratoria's priorites into question. They have no leads on a serial killer who (http://news_article) has (http://news_article) struck (http://news_article) several (http://news_article) times (http://news_article).


To our gentle readers:

What can you do? Flood the Pancratorian government with letters (http://tj.dataslam.404/mailing_addresses), physical and electronic (http://tj.dataslam.404/e-mail_addys). Make your own entries to your own blogs. Hell, call them on the phone (http://tj.dataslam.404/phone_lists_private_and_public). Let it be known that the technological community won't be blinded by their damnable lies.


To Pantocratoria:

Time to own up. You aren't fooling us, we've (http://tj.dataslam.404/photo_evidence) got (http://tj.dataslam.404/reports_from_squealers) evidence (http://tj.dataslam.404/dubious_rumors). We've seen the photos, we've talked to the citizens, and, well, we've done other stuff that we wouldn't admit under questioning. You may have pulled the wool over the eyes of your citizens, but you haven't fooled us. Give up this pathetic attempt at slandering a man of medicine.

- Slammer $time/date_stamp


Within hours of the blog's posting, the phone calls and e-mails started pouring in. Within a few days, the first letters would start to arrive. As expected, some of them were bile-filled rants; the vast majority, however, were well reasoned complaints, filed by people ranging from armchair lawyers to full fledged judges.

Thibault Drapeur watched the news coverage on his television at Chantouillet that night, shaking his head at what both Raoul and Jansen had to say. He picked up his phone and called Raoul.

"Demetrios, Thibault Drapeur here." he started. "Listen, just because you were born with a chip on your shoulder the size of Montmanuel doesn't give you the right to shit all over the rest of us like that! Shut-up and listen! I don't know what you and Jansen talked about in your meeting and I don't care. What were you thinking mentioning terrorism at all? No, don't answer me, shut-up and listen you stupid bastard! You and Jansen made us look like a laughing stock today, and it isn't going to happen again, you understand me? From now on, I am going to handle Danaan relations personally! You have a fore... shut-up... you have a foreign minister from a previously friendly country saying you were personally rude in a press conference for crying out loud! I'm handling this matter personally from now on because I don't see why our government should be dragged further through the mud by a clumsy heavy handed oaf like you, Demetrios. Now you can talk."

Drapeur let Raoul start fuming his reply, put the phone down, went off and got himself a glass of water, which he drank, and then picked up the phone again.

"Are you done? Good." Drapeur said as if he'd been listening. "I'll talk with them about Jansen's behaviour. We'll smooth this over with them, leave it up to me. I'll talk to you again on Monday."

Lacau, for his part, was also on the phone with Jansen. "Look, kid, you know I'm in an election, don't you?"

"Yeah, and?" the younger man answered.

Lacau sighed. "You know damned well. In election year, in foreign policy, you can't back down from something you've already said to the other guy and you can't lose to him either."

"Dammit, Vincenzo, we're winning by a wide margin." Jansen grumbled.

"Not as wide as it has been. Not as wide as it could be. And you've put me in a bind. Now I have to stick to not participating in this trial, get Harry Crews freed, and get some real murderers in jail, all while simultaneously fixing our now rather damaged relationship with the country we're opposing through all those policies. Do you see why I'm fucking pissed?" Lacau was practically snarling.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. What do you want me to do now?"

The Prime Minister shrugged, not that it could be seen through the phone. "Let me deal with it." And he hung up.

Picking up the phone again, Lacau called a few friends in the media. He gave them the story and called in some favors. Over the next week, the Danaan media would be full of stories casting a sympathetic light on Dr. Crews and a negative light on Raoul without openly taking sides. Pundits of both the left and right would be ranting about how unfair the trial was in such terms that they would not only shore up public support but make even Jansen's most hostile comments seem moderate, casting the government as a voice of moderation restraining popular passion. But, most especially, the image of Elizabeth Brindingford's poor, grieving parents accusing the New Rome Police Department and the Crown Prosecutor of refusing to even attempt to find their daughters actual murderer while tears rolled down Mrs. Brindingford's cheeks was played over and over again and broadcast internationally as well.

Lacau then called a few friends in law enforcement and law business. Soon, police chiefs, professors, lawyers, judges, and other people of that sort were sending in depth briefings on the illegitimacy of the trial to the judge and the Crown Prosecutor.

The next set of calls were to the protest crowd. Lacau set in motion arrangements for rather large demonstrations outside the Pantocratorian embassy in the near future.

Vincenzo Lacau finally hung up. He'd made arrangements to draw the public's attention to the matter, make them care, and set before them the facts of the case. The facts themselves, as viewed by almost any Danaan, made the government's case. And he'd done it without any more tough public statements by any government official. He'd also reigned Jansen in from his overenthusiastic remarks. Now he could deal with the situation as a calm, moderate, but nonetheless firm, Prime Minister who was backed by his people and the experts in the field even as he restrained the excess of their passions. Sometimes politics was fun!

Lacau answered the phone. "Vincenzo Lacau."

"Prime Minister, this is Thibault Drapeur." Drapeur said.

"Hello, Lord Minister."

"Please, just call me Thibault." Drapeur said. "I'm calling about the mess our foreign ministers made out of Monsieur Jansen's visit..."

"Oh, yes...that..."

"Demetrios Raoul can be a heavy handed lout sometimes, he really can. His heart is in the right place, but he's still growing into the role." Drapeur apologised.

"Jansen...will not be with me next term if I win another election." Lacau said honestly enough.

"Heh, well, we both agree that they could've handled that better." Drapeur said. "It seems like it is up to the two of us to talk this all through..."

"I suppose it is. While he said it in a rather rude way, I'm afraid Jansen did give our position pretty accurately."

"I see, and Raoul gave ours." Drapeur said, cringing. "Well, let's talk about this arrest, if we may. Empress Aiwyn already wrote me a letter about it..."

Lacau sighed inwardly. "Let's talk about it then. It is the considered opinion of practically every law enforcement official in the country that Dr. Crews couldn't have committed that crime. I spent half-last night on the phone with them and understand they've sent in some letters themselves."

"Then why has your embassy abandoned him? If the case against him is so weak, why aren't you furnishing him with an effective defence?" Drapeur asked.

"Because we believe that the case has been rigged against him by agents within the police and judicial structure acting outside the law. We expect that he will be convicted regardless of what happens in the courtroom. And we do not believe he should have been arrested or charged in the first place." Lacau bristled ever so slightly. "And we haven't abandoned him. We intend to continue working for his release through diplomatic and political channels."

"As I understand it, the police have met the required standards for an arrest warrant, and for charges to be laid. But I'm not going to get into the technicalities of the case." Drapeur said. "I frankly find the idea that you are assuming he will be automatically convicted absurd. Pantocratoria is a member of the United Nations, we're a signatory to all sorts of fair trial resolutions. If he will be convicted automatically, it will only be because you haven't furnished him with a defence! I just don't understand how you can claim not to have abandoned one of your citizens when you refuse to provide him with legal assistance..."

"When a jury is presented with evidence which isn't real, it is fairly easy to convict regardless of the formalities. And we have not abandoned him because we continue to work for him diplomatically. The unconditional release of Harry Crews is our current top priority in our relations with you."

"Unconditional release? The man has been legitimately arrested and charged and is awaiting trial! If you want him released, provide him with legal counsel to present your argument against the evidence you believe to be fabricated." Drapeur said. "Take it from me as somebody who has fought the system here in Pantocratoria before, you have to fight the establishment on the establishment's terms."

"Those are orders from the High Queen, approved by Parliament 370 to 17 with thirteen abstentions, and backed by the approval of the Cabinet and by written advice from the Uasal Court. It's supported by 87% of the population according to a poll we ran this morning. I can't exactly back down on this, Thibault."

"Well what do you expect to happen then, Prime Minister?" Drapeur asked. "Honestly. You say you can't back down on this, but do you think the police are likely to admit they faked evidence? Do you think the court is likely to agree with the assertion that its proceedings are illegitimate?"

"Ask the Crown Prosecutor to drop the charges. It's his decision, not the department's."

"I've got no standing to do that, Prime Minister." Drapeur said. "But even if I did, do you think the Crown Prosecutor would really drop the charges when they're legally sufficient? I don't understand why you won't fight this thing out in the court room. If it is a frame-up, why can't it be proven to be a frame-up in court?"

"Because I have public opinion to deal with. Right now, the man on the street thinks the very arrest of Crews constitutes tacit government support of the other, unapprehended murderers at large in New Rome."

"How are the two linked?" Drapeur asked. "Let's not throw a man's life away in the name of public opinion!"

"Then let him go,"

"He's been arrested and charged under the law, Prime Minister. Those charges won't be dropped unless new evidence arises, they certainly won't be dropped because of political pressure from me." Drapeur said. "But I understand the court has appointed him a defence attorney. Will you at least provide him with the evidence that the charges are false?"

"You do know the most vocal people about getting him released are the parents of the victim?"

"I understand that, but I don't think that's relevant." Drapeur said. "Not to this discussion anyway. Can't you at least furnish this man's defence attorney with the assistance he needs to prepare an adequate defence?"

"I have my orders. The High Queen of the Resurgent Dream has vouched that she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man is innocent. The policy is set. I hate to say this, Dr. Drapeur, but there's really no way I can budge on this request and it is the key to setting relations right. I don't think I can lift the passport ban without Crews's release."

"If he's innocent, then give his defence attorney the tools he needs to prove Crews' innocence!" Drapeur said. "Do it under the table if you must, because the only way Crews will be released is if he is acquitted."

"Then relations with Pantocratoria will not be friendly again. I'm sorry." Lacau blurted out.

Crews spoke again as he was herded off. "Can I please no the stated reason of my embassy for not representing me?"

Prime Minister Drapeur of Pantocratoria,

It has come to our attention that you have been holding a citizen of one of our allies on what can be summed up as, entirely unjust charges. As it is the policy of the Necrontyr Empire to consider our friends in the same way most states consider their own citizens, I request that you drop this case, which, as you have no doubt been made aware, can only result either in the humiliation of your own legal system or a gross miscarriage of justice.

Please understand that your continued detention of Mr Harry Crews is not only damaging to the public opinion of Pantocratoria on an international level, including in our own nation, but that should this obviously unfair prosecution be pursued by the Pantocratorian state, we will be forced to take an extremely dim view of all future extradition requests from Pantocratoria, and even consider Pantocratoria an unsafe state for the purposes of Asylum and Immigration.

This request has been personally made by the Emperor, and we ask that it be given an appropriate level of weight in your considering,

Yours, Elash Mîraglariel
Adjutant of the Emperor
Laudrina Frost
Lady Senator, Princeps Senatus

"Shut your mouth!" muttered the guard in reply, and it was the only response he got from his guards the whole trip to Le Crâne.

***

Louise Tripoli was sitting at home on the couch in her husband's arms, both sipping champagne. She had arrested a murderer today, it was cause for celebration, and there had been so little cause for celebration in the New Rome Police Department for the past fortnight.

"It has been such a stressful two weeks honey." Louise sighed. "I don't want to watch the news, I don't want to know if there've been anymore murders..."

Her husband kissed the top of her head as he pressed the unmute button on the remote control.

"But I want to hear about how heroic policewoman Louise Tripoli arrested a savage murderer today! I'm so proud of you, ma cherie..." her husband said, sipping his champagne. The thought of his wife dealing on a regular basis with criminal filth like Crews may have made his skin crawl, but he thought she looked so cute in the uniform that it more than made up for it.

"Virginie Merlot, Peacock Nightly News." started the presenter. "The New Rome Police Department arrested and placed charges against one Doctor Harold Crews, a male redcap doctor from the Resurgent Dream, in connection to the murder of Elizabeth Brindingford. Although Assistant Crown Prosecutor Jacques Perot described the case against Doctor Crews as strong, the victim's parents have decried the arrest as spurious, saying that the police have arrested the wrong man and stopped looking for their daughter's real killer."

"What?" Louise demanded the television as if it could answer her back. She sat up straight, leaving her husband's embrace, and set her champagne down on the coffee table next to the bottle.

Madame Brindingford openly wept as her husband despairingly told a journalist on TV something in English. The French subtitles came up saying "The police in New Rome have stopped looking for my daughter's real murderer! Why would they do that? Why won't they look for the man who actually killed my little girl?"

Louise's face twisted with indignant anger.

"You ungrateful bastards, we got him! He's rotting in La Prison du Crâne!" she shouted at the television, angry tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I can't believe those ingrates, we found him, Jean, we really did!"

"I know you did honey!" her husband said, hugging her around the shoulders to comfort her.

"We try so hard, Jean!" Louise said, beginning to cry despite herself - it had been a stressful fortnight. "We try so hard to find murderers like Crews, so that people like that woman have some sense that justice is being done! Why do we even bother? She'd be happier if her daughter's killer went free!"

"She's just... overcome with grief, honey!" Jean replied, putting his champagne aside to hold his wife supportively.

"We got him! There's no doubt at all!" she sobbed half-angrily into her husband's chest. "Maybe if it was just the circumstantial evidence I wouldn't be so sure, but an eye-witness saw him! I'm telling you, we got him!"

Jean hugged her and stroked her hair lovingly, whilst inwardly cursing that his wife was miserable again, as she had been for the whole past fortnight.

***

At the Palais de la Justice in New Rome, the trial judge, Monseigneur de la Justice the Honourable Judge Henri de la Porte, groaned as yet another bag of letters was up-ended and poured out onto his desk by a clerk in his chambers.

"I'm not reading all these!" he protested.

"It isn't just the letters, Monseigneur, the fax machine has been going crazy, e-mail is flooding in, and the phones have been ringing... and ringing... and ringing." said the clerk. "Some Internet thingy seems to behind most of it..."

"Internet? That's that computer thing, right?" the judge asked.

"Yes, Monseigneur."

"Well we'll soon have this fixed. Get the Internet police on the line..." ordered the judge.

"Monseigneur, there are no Internet police."

"Oh?" the judge asked.

"No."

"Drat." the judge said and looked back to the pile of letters. "Do you collect stamps, boy?"

"No, Monseigneur." replied the clerk.

"Hmm... well go ask the other clerks if any of them do, and if they do... give them these letters, will you?" the judge grumbled as he made his way towards the lounge.

***

To: Madame l'Adjudante de l'Empereur Elash Mîraglariel and Madame La Sénatrice Laudrina Frost


Mesdames,

I regret to inform you that as a matter of Pantocratorian law the evidence against Doctor Harold Crews is sufficient to warrant his being charged with the murder of another Danaan citizen visiting New Rome, Mademoiselle Elizabeth Brindingford, and that unless those charges are dismissed by the Crown Prosecutor for New Rome, or by His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty, he will answer to them at trial.

Furthermore, I advise you that despite my great respect for your master, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the Ctan, I am powerless to act according to his wishes in this matter, for the Imperial Chancellor has no standing to instruct a Crown Prosecutor to drop charges.

Sincerely,

Thibault Drapeur
Imperial Chancellor

"You can't dictate how we run our justice system, I'm afraid Prime Minister. I can't do that, and I'm the Imperial Chancellor!" Drapeur said. "And I am sorry to say it but faced with the choice between unfriendly relations with the Resurgent Dream and our justice system losing all credibility, I would pick the latter, if I had any say in it at all. Surely you can provide this man with assistance under the table, and we'll both of us emerge content

"I think being a party to racially based murders is more threatening to credibility than releasing an innocent man."

"Being party to racially based murders?" Drapeur asked. "Our justice system is hardly party to the spate of serial killings in New Rome, Prime Minister!"

"I was talking about Dr. Crews."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand you at all. Could you explain what you mean?" Drapeur asked.

"I mean that, as far as we can peace it together, after a number of Danaan citizens were murdered for racial reasons by unapprehended parties, Dr. Crews was falsely arrested and framed for what we believe to be racial and know to be fraudelent motives. That's why people here take his arrest as a tacit show of support for the murderers and that's why people here feel their trust has been betrayed. After the former government was voted out of office, we were, to our knowledge, the only largely non-human nation willing to open normal relations after the old policies, trusting that a deep change had taken place. Many people here see the arrest of Dr. Crews as a betrayal of that trust, which they find naive in retrospect. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but...I know that's how Her Imperial Majesty feels. She feels rather hurt and rather foolish about the whole thing and about some phone call she made a while back."

"Now listen, Prime Minister, the arrest, the charges, the trial, it all has nothing to do with my government." Drapeur said defensively. "Nothing at all. You know as well as I do that all the old policies have been reversed!"

"I grew up on the bottom end of a racist society, Prime Minister. In the old days, the Resurgent Dream could be as bad towards people like you and me as Princess Irene's government was towards people like Dr. Crews. It's been a very hard journey from there to the Prime Minister's office and I know first hand that change like that doesn't just happen when you win an election. It comes hard and involves hard choices. And this is one of them. A moral choice."

"Listen to me, Prime Minister, I also grew up on the bottom end of society. My brothers were murdered by the New Rome Police Department and thugs employed by Peacock Motors for marching for the rights of working people. I am not the first person to leap to their defence! I won't put a lot past them! But if the evidence against Doctor Crews is fraudulent, then I have confidence in the Pantocratorian justice system to expose it. Yes, Prime Minister, there are still racists in this country. But there are no longer any racist laws. And I have confidence in our legal system to uphold those laws, to see that justice is done in this and any other case. Give this man a chance to defend himself against the allegations laid against him! That would be the moral choice!"

"I don't share your confidence."

"Prime Minister," Drapeur sighed. "You have a choice here. Do the popular thing, decry our courts as illegitimate, permanently mar our relations, and condemn this man to be found guilty. Or do the right thing, give this man a chance to defend himself against allegations you believe to be false, and take the first step towards friendship with Pantocratoria. Two formerly racist societies, hand in hand. Make the moral choice, Prime Minister."

"The first step?"

"The first step towards a real friendship, one which can outlast arguments like this one."

"The first step towards a real friendship is for charges which have no basis to be dropped."

"You say they have no basis, Prime Minister." Drapeur said. "It isn't until the man is acquitted that we know as a matter of legal fact that they have no basis. Be realistic about this, we're not going to drop all charges against a foreign national just because his
government says the charges have no basis. Imagine the sort of precedent that would set!"

"The victim is our national as well."

"The crime happened here." Drapeur said. "Even if Crews is innocent as you say, if we let him go without that being established in a court of law just because you asked us to, then what happens the next time, Prime Minister? What happens if an Excalbian comes to New Rome and murders somebody? Should we dismiss all charges just because the Excalbian Government asks us to?"

"It's not just because the government asked you to. We don't go around asking for people's release everytime they get arrested. We have a long history of participating in judicial proceedings in good faith in Pantocratoria and elsewhere. This is a special case and no one thinks it's anything different. And there is nothing improper with a prosecutor not pressing charges when there's no legitimate reason to believe the accused is guilty."

"There are no special cases when it comes to things like this!" Drapeur said. "Would you get down from your high horse for just a minute and look at this practically? If you continue on the path you have chosen, a man you believe to be innocent will be denied the chance to defend himself! This shouldn't even be a question for you, Prime Minister! You say there is no legitimate reason to believe the accused is guilty, clearly the Crown Prosecutor doesn't agree. Why not furnish this man's defence with the evidence to support your contention?"
"The answer is the same every time you ask me that."

"And the answer is bullshit every time you give it, with all due respect." Drapeur replied. "Put yourself in Crews' shoes. You're about to send him to the dogs for the sake of public opinion!"

"I keep hoping that can be changed."

"I think you need to get used to the fact that this man is going to trial, because unless the Crown Prosecutor has reason to believe that the evidence on which he has been
charged is fraudulent, the only thing which will see those charges dismissed would be a pardon from the Emperor." Drapeur replied.

"Then the Crown Prosecutor is conducting a state sanctioned lynching on your watch. And all the evidence he should need has been sent to him and the judge from dozens of legal and forensic authorities."

"I wasn't aware of that." Drapeur said. "I think it is clear that this isn't getting us anywhere for the time being, Prime Minister. Let's put the arrest aside for the time being and talk about the other matters, because our foreign ministers made a mess of much more than just the arrest..."

"I'm not sure I know what else is comparably serious."

"Passports being withheld?" Drapeur offered. "The serial murders which Monsieur Jansen came to New Rome to discuss in the first place?"

"I told you the resumption of regular travel to Pantocratoria was contingent on the release of Crews. I am prepared to withdraw our requests for direct involvement in the investigation of the serial murders."

"Well that's something at least." Drapeur replied.

"What else?"

"I can't believe you are going to spoil the relations between our two countries over one man, one man whom you have abandoned even though you believe him to be innocent." Drapeur said, shaking his head. "I am powerless to do the thing you have demanded I do. I am going to talk to the Emperor about these charges at our next meeting. If he wishes to destroy the credibility of our criminal justice system to salvage our relations, then perhaps you will obtain some sort of satisfaction. Saving that, neither of us will get what he wants, Crews will be tossed into prison and the key thrown away, and our good relations will be spoiled. I trust, Prime Minister, that you are content with the path you have chosen, I cannot claim to be."

"Hopefully, the Crown Prosecutor will deign to read the information sent to him. If he
acts in good conscience, then he should drop the charges himself."

"Good night, Prime Minister." Drapeur concluded.

Lacau sighed. "Good night."

Sebben stood before the crowd in all his splendor. "Many of you have been told of me by my prophets. Their commands are true and from the Lord. I shall not appear here again. However, you are to treat the words of Marie-Helene as inspired words and to follow her instructions." At that, he vanished once more.

"Thankyou for coming to see me, Monsieur Benoit, please, sit down." Perot offered as Benoit came into his office. Benoit took a seat.

"Monsieur, I wanted to talk to you about what you saw..." Perot began.

"I already gave a full statement to the police." said Benoit, frowning.

"Well, yes I know, but I thought it'd be good for me to hear it in person before I put you on the stand, you see." Perot explained.

"Very well." Benoit said. He didn't look thrilled to be there.

"Monsieur Benoit, are you sure that Doctor Crews is the man you saw?" Perot asked.

"It was that redcap alright, yes Monsieur Perot." replied Benoit.

"I'm curious..." Perot began, taking on a more casual pose and demeanour. "How can you be sure? I mean, all redcaps look the same to me, how could you pick him out of that line-up?"

"Dunno... guess he just... I mean, they don't look the same to me, Monsieur Perot." Benoit started, finding it curious that an educated man like Perot would say something like that.

"Spend a lot of time around redcaps do you?" Perot asked.

"Why would you say that?" Benoit asked, frowning.

"Well, if you can tell them apart..." Perot said speculatively.

"I saw him, OK?" Benoit insisted.

"Fine, fine." Perot said. "Onto something else then, you went back to your car for your gun... which you kept in the glove compartment?"

"Yes, that's right." said Benoit.

"Does your glove compartment lock?"

"Not separately, but my car was locked..." Benoit mumbled.

"That's against the law, Monsieur Benoit, your gun should've been locked away out of view... I suppose we could overlook a minor gun law infraction given you're being of such great help to us of course..." Perot said. "I mean, it isn't like the gun was loaded, is it?"

"Well..." Benoit said, aware that keeping a loaded gun improperly was a criminal offence. "No, it wasn't."

"And naturally the bullets weren't in the glove compartment either, since that'd be just as bad..." Perot continued matter of factly.

"Naturally..."

"...and you don't have any other lockable compartments in your car, so you didn't have bullets in the... were you wounded in the Esperi war, Monsieur Benoit?"

"Erm... yes, I was... in the leg." Benoit asked, wondering about the sudden shift of questions.

"Badly?"

"Well, bad enough to get me discharged. I can walk around fine, slight limp, it can cause me a bit of trouble on cold days... why?" Benoit asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Just curious. Anyway you didn't have any bullets in the car at all, did you?" Perot asked.

"No."

"So..." Perot began, rubbing his chin. "You saw this redcap carving up this girl like she was... I don't know... an organ donor..."

"Are you being flippant?" Benoit growled. "That girl was murdered!"

"Oh, yes, of course, I'm sorry, I just try to have a sense of humour about these things..." Perot explained and began to chuckle. "I mean, you have to laugh don't you?"

"No...." Benoit growled. "Why are you laughing, that murdering son of a bitch redcap killed that poor girl, and you're laughing!"

"Oh, I'm not laughing about her being murdered, that's terrible..." Perot said, chuckling. "I'm laughing at the thought of you rushing back to your car in the cold hours of the early evening, just to grab an unloaded gun, which would be totally useless to you since you didn't have any bullets, before running back, on your bad leg, and then chasing Doctor Crews off... you have to admit, that's quite funny!"

Benoit blanched as he realised his story was a little implausible.

"Hey, it is a good story, I'm sure we can cover over the dodgy bits for the jury..." Perot said, reassuringly. "After all, all the other evidence points to that redcap."

"Oh! Oh, ha, oh, you had me going for a moment there!" Benoit said, relieved.

"I can't tell you how much we appreciate you pretending to actually see this redcap, the other evidence, I mean, it is enough for us to know the son of a bitch did it, just not enough for the legal requirements..." Perot said. "Heh, I'm a lawyer myself and I think all the requirements are absurd! Just paperwork for the clerks anyway. So I can't tell you how much I appreciate you making up this story for us, Monsieur Benoit, we'll put him away for sure..."

"A pleasure to be of service." Benoit smiled. "Just a little white lie to help out the boys in blue!"

"Indeed, indeed!" Perot smiled. He pressed his intercom switch. "Hey Charles, come in here, I want you to meet somebody."

A police officer entered the room.

"Charles, this is Monsieur Benoit, he thought he'd help out you and the other boys in blue..." Perot began, still cheery, before dropping the pretense. "...by perjurying himself. Arrest him for perjury, and for filing a false police report!"

"Yes, Monsieur Perot." said the officer, before turning to Benoit, producing some handcuffs. "Hands behind your back, monsieur."

"What?" Benoit snapped. He turned to Perot. "You bastard! I was just helping you out! Is this anyway to treat a war hero?"

Marie-Helene looked out over the little band the men had gathered, awaiting their reaction to the "angel".

The recruits looked on in amazement, although there were one or two skeptical faces. Some started murmuring prayers and fumbling for Rosary beads.

"What would you have us do, oh Lord?" asked an astonished voice from the crowd.

Sebben was already gone. Marie-Helene continued to watch the crowd quietly before she began to move towards her car without a word. Her eyes were turned upwards and she was praying. She wasn't, however, praying in the Latin of a normal devout Catholic or in French, her apparent native tongue. Her words were Aramaic, the language of Christ himself.
...
Lacau settled back at his desk after his phone call with Drapeur. That hadn't gone well. That hadn't gone well at all. It would be going too far to say he exactly needed good relations with Pantocratoria, either for re-election or for foreign policy. But such good relations were very important to his administration as well as something his people had begun to take for granted.
...
Crews rode silently the rest of the way to the infamous prison. When he arrived, he repeated his question to the people there, insistently waiting for an answer.

"Hey... where's Eric?" Marly asked Picardie as the two men mingled about their amazed recruits.

"There was an angel!" somebody said. "I couldn't believe my eyes!"

"I haven't seen him..." said Picardie. "He told me before conference he was going to help a friend of his out with a problem."

"We'll have to talk to him later, that's the second time he's missed seeing the angel, and he won't get another chance by the sound of things." Marly said. "We better speak to Marie-Hélène before she leaves!"

The two men approached her, and both bowed respectfully like she was a princess.

"Marie-Hélène! Tell us what we should do with the men we have recruited for the Lord!" Marly pleaded.

***

Crews got no answer. He was left alone in his prison cell. Despite being in an old fortress, it was clean, dry, and relatively warm (although at night time it got very drafty). His cell had a bed, a sink and mirror, and a toilet (all of which had been added to the old fortress over the past forty years). There was a small table, on which was located a Bible, a pad of blank paper, and a pencil (but no sharpener and no eraser). The cell had a barred window (formerly intended for use as an arrow slit or place to fire a musket at attackers) in the shape of a narrow cross, and a Byzantine-style icon of the Virgin Mary hung from the wall. There was a single chair made out of light plastic. It wasn't a dreadful cell, but it didn't have a good deal many comforts either. He was left in silence to contemplate his situation.

Little did he know that within two hours of his arrival, Benoit was thrown into a similar cell a few levels above him. Not even knowing that, he had no way of knowing that Perot was calling the Palais de la Justice in search for a judge available after hours to authorise Crews' release.

Marie-Hélène smiled at them, inclining her head. "For now, wait. God's plan shall be done through you in the fullness of time. Organize these men. There will be something for them to do within the next few days."
...
"I would again like to protest being denied this information. It is my understanding that I am entitled to my government's statements on my case as a matter of law. Granted, I have yet to see evidence any respect for law among the Pantocratorian police." He sat quietly in his cell.

That evening, before he was released, he was sent a bouquet of flowers from the victim's family, another from Empress Aiwyn, another from Grand Duchess Vicotira, and another from Ambassador Finnottin. All of this was delivered by an embassy functionary in uniform, but unarmed. The young man also noted, rather bluntly in French, "You might be receiving flowers for Lord Harold rather soon. Last night, the government of Wintermore did begin formally considering Dr. Crews for ennoblement."

Marly nodded obediently.

"It will be done as you... as God asks!" he said.

***

The officer behind the bench set the flowers aside on a desk, and then turned back to the embassy functionary.

"In that case, monsieur, we shall have to upgrade him to one of the suites for people of quality." the officer replied, matter of factly. "Once these have been run through the xray and examined, they will be delivered to Doctor Crews. Please fill in this form."

He handed a huge four page form across to the functionary, along with a pen. One was not even free from the crushing weight of Pantocratoria's world famous bureaucracy in a fortress-prison.

***

"Monseigneur, I do not see the problem." Perot insisted.

"If we release this fellow now, it will look like we have caved to public pressure." the judge on call replied from across the desk in his chambers in the Palais de la Justice.

"We've done nothing of the sort! New evidence has come to light, proving that he was charged based on perjured testimony, we haven't caved to pressure." Perot replied.

"I know that, Monsieur Perot, and you know that. But the press will say it is because of the public pressure, it won't do." the judge said. "It won't do at all. Give the police some time to try to make their case..."

"The longer we wait the worse it will look, Monseigneur!" Perot insisted. "We have no grounds on which to hold this man! The best we can do is keep a hold of his watch as a piece of evidence for crying out loud!"

"Control yourself man!" the judge scowled. "Don't raise your voice in my chambers. This is an awful lot of fuss, surely it can wait until Monday morning..."

"Why does it need to wait until Monday morning, Monseigneur?" Perot asked.

"To give the police time to make their case! We can't be seen to cave into public pressure! The press will make a huge show of it!" the judge insisted.

"Monseigneur de la Justice, if you do not release this man at once, I will go to the press and tell them that you won't release Crews because you're scared of bad PR. What do you think they'll make of that?" Perot threatened.

"No you wouldn't, I'd issue a gag order!" the judge said.

"I'd do it anyway!" Perot replied.

"Then you'd be arrested for contempt of court!" the judge said.

"Perhaps, but the press would still hear my story first, and we both know that the contempt charge would be stricken from my record the moment another judge looked into the details of the case. We've no grounds on which to sustain the charges against Crews. He should be allowed to go free. If it hadn't made it to the newspapers already, you wouldn't hesitate for a second, Monseigneur!" Perot said.

The judge paused and stared daggers into the assistant Crown Prosecutor.

"You're right." he conceded. "You're right. I'll have him released. But I hope you realise, Monsieur Perot, that there won't be a man or woman wearing a judge's robe left in this place with a shred of credibility because of this."

"On the contrary, Monseigneur." Perot replied. "This is the only way you and your fellows can keep your credibility, not to mention the only way my boss and I can keep ours. To hell with the press."

"Now there's sentiments we can both share... here, give this letter to my clerk, she'll run it over to le Crâne and have your Doctor Crews released." the judge said, signing a letter, and handing it to Perot.

"Thankyou, Monseigneur de la Justice." Perot nodded appreciatively as he took the letter.

((OOC: Could Louise have been there to hear what the functionary said?))

Marie-Hélène shook her head. "Just because God appointed me leader doesn't mean every order I give is directly inspired. The situation is more like that of Deborah from the Bible or of St. Joan."
...
The man sat down and began to fill out the papers, making a note of the man's apparent lack of reaction. "I assume Dr. Crews has been informed of his embassies statements on his behalf." He said it as a matter of course, as though it had honestly not occurred to him that the answer could be no.

((OOC: No, she's a police officer not a prison guard))

"Of course! Of course!" Marly replied. "We will organise the men! Aurevoir, Marie-Hélène, chosen of God!"

***

"I just work here, monsieur." replied the prison officer, patiently waiting for the forms to be filled in. He glanced at his watch; his shift was ending soon.

((OOC: Isn't that the same guy Crews asked?))

Marie-Hélène grinned at them, stepping into the car. "I'll see you gentleman later. I want to hear reports from all of you over the next week. No violence this Friday though. I want to make it look like things have calmed down for a bit before we move on to something bigger than one by one killings."
...
The functionary looked up at the prison officer with a light frown, visibly confused it would even be a question. "Make sure of it, for me, will you?"

((OOC: No, this is the guy at the entrance for visitors and mail))

"I just deliver the mail, monsieur." the officer replied, disinterested. "Have you finished with that form?"

The functionary looked up with a serious frown. "Could you check with someone, please?" He was polite but rather firm, crossing his hands behind his back and regarding the man quietly. "The ambassador wanted me to make sure. If not...well...just make sure, please."

"I thought you weren't interested in this case?" the officer complained as he took the form. "You can't have it both ways. None of the prisoner's rights have been violated. Next!"

Jacques Perot came running up the stairs with a letter in his hand. He went straight to the counter, and handed it to the clerk.

"I have a letter from Monseigneur de la Justice the Honourable Gerard Hoël, ordering the release of Prisoner Crews. The Crown Prosecutor has dropped charges against him." he said, pulling out his wallet and handing over his identification. "Jacques Perot, Assistant Crown Prosecutor."

"I'll start processing that straight away, Monsieur Perot." the officer replied, handing him a huge clipboard of forms. "Could you fill these in?"

Perot nodded wordlessly and started filling in the form.

The functionary simply stood there quietly, hands crossed behind his back. "Of course we are interested in the fact that one of our citizens is being framed. We are simply boycotting the trial. We still wish to convey our moral support to Dr. Crews." He said all of this matter of factly. "If none of his rights are being violated, then you won't mind confirming that he's been informed?"

The functionary looked over as Benot ran in, smiling a little, before he looked back to the officer. "I'll just tell him myself as soon as he gets out, actually."

"Tell him what?" Perot asked over his shoulder as he filled in the forms. "Pardon me, I'm Jacques Perot, Assistant Crown Prosecutor handling the case."

He completed the first set of forms and was handed another while the officer called the Palais de la Justice to confirm that the letter had been legitimately issued.

"I'm Lieutenant Yves-Jean Boisvert from the Danaan Embassy. And tell him the stated reason of his government for not participating in the court proceedings against him. Based on what this man has said, I suspect he has not been informed so as to leave him with an impression of being alone and unsupported. Though, I suppose the names signed to most of these flowers would eliminate that suspicion on their own." He gestured briefly towards the gifts brought.

"He hasn't been informed because it isn't relevant." Perot replied as he poured over the next form. "Anyway Lieutenant, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that he's been released now. We've laid perjury charges against the supposed eye-witness. I want you to know, however, that your campaign of hysteria, or I should say, your government's campaign of hysteria, has had no impact on Crews' release. I hope you realise now that your criticisms of our justice system were totally unfounded."

He handed the next form over.

"Nice flowers."

***

Crews' door opened and two guards entered.

"Prisoner Crews, the Crown Prosecutor has dropped the charges against you. By the order of Monseigneur de la Justice Hoël, you are hereby released from His Majesty's Prison du Crâne." announced the first guard. "Get up, you are to be released immediately."

Boisvert shook his head. "There was no campaign of hysteria, simply of fact and the moral law, by which we govern all our conduct. Our government did not even announce this to the Danaan press. All we sent you were thorough legal briefings and pieces of evidence as to why the charges were unfounded, the same evidence we gave to the police before they pressed charges. I hope you understand now that this arrest" he carefully made a point of saying 'arrest' rather than referring to the content of the charges themselves "that this arrest was unfounded and I hardly consider our position irrelevant to our citizens." He paused, nodding deeply to Perot. "Still, I have said too much on the matter. It is good to know, sir, that you serve the law, even if the same cannot be said for people like Officer Tripoli."
...
Crews got up and went with the guards, smiling the whole way.

"Officer Tripoli was doing her job." replied Perot. "And Lieutenant, tell your superiors that the traditional way of contesting the arrest of a legitimate man is through challenging the evidence against him in court, not in grand media stunts and diplomatic theatrics. Any competent defence attorney would've exposed the witness against Doctor Crews in an instant."

He finished the final form and handed it over, just as the two officers brought Crews to the cage-like doors leading to where Perot and Boisvert were standing. They unlocked the doors and led him through.

"Doctor Crews, you're free to go." Perot said. "The witness against you has been arrested on the charge of perjury."

"Was she? Someone had to tell the perjurer who to point out in the line-up. And our government has participated in good faith in many Pantocratorian legal proceedings, sir, as you well know." The Lieutenant answered. He looked to Crews as he came out. "And those flowers are for you as well." He gestured over to them. "About half of them are from royalty. You're probably going to come out of this better connected than you ever would have been otherwise."

Crews blinked, looking at Perot. "Why didn't you tell me my government supported me?"

"Because it didn't." Perot replied flatly to Crews. He turned back to Boisvert. "Officer Tripoli wasn't even in the room when... the witness picked Doctor Crews out. I was there, as was Doctor Bastien from your embassy. She wasn't there, so I don't know when she..."

He stopped for a moment and murmured something wordlessly to himself.

"Another officer was, though..." he finally said. "In any case, it is an internal matter. We don't tolerate crooked cops in Pantocratoria. If anybody collaborated with the perjury-suspect, we'll find him. Or her. In any event, gentlemen, I've got more forms to fill in back at my office. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave of you both."

((OOC: I assume you mean Officer Tripoli ;) ))

Boisvert simply nodded. "Yes, it is an internal matter. The incident is over and done with and there's no sense arguing over it after the fact. If you'll come with me, Dr. Crews..."

Crews held up a grey hand. "Just one second. I intend to...

"Dr. Crews." Boisvert said sharply.

"With all due respect Lieutenant, you weren't just straved for two days, insulted, abused, screamed at, and systematically denied information about what was going on, information I needed to make my case." Crews whirled on Perot. "I know you're not one to care about physiological differences, but I am a doctor so I can put this in terms you'll understand. A human would feel equivalent hunger and pain as that a Redcap feels from being denied food since I've last eaten if he is denied food for two weeks. If I had starved you for two weeks without case, M. Perot, I would be a bit more apologetic about it. And, since I was defending myself, I want to know why the hell I wasn't allowed access to the information I thought I needed to make legal decisions in my case." Crews put a hand to his stomach, almost falling over and eyeing everything in the room with insatiable hunger and pain.

Boisvert grabbed his arm. "Come on, doctor. We know it's been a painful experience but we have enough food to help you recover from your deprivation at the embassy. Then the embassy will get you legal representation to see about a civil trial regarding violations of your civil rights. We'll need to fly in some expert dieticians and the like, as you probably were fed enough for a human...I hope...to explain the distinction."

"I've never heard such nonsense." Perot snorted. "I bent over backwards to try to provide you with a defence attorney, as did the trial judge. The only people who withheld anything you needed to make your own defence were your own, Doctor. That is to say, your embassy did less to assist in your defence than the prosecution. It is unfortunate that you were arrested, Doctor Crews, and I apologise, but none of your rights were violated in any way, and as soon as we found out that the witness against you was lying, you were released. I don't know what else we could've done. In any event, I must now return to my office. Good evening, gentlemen."

Perot headed out of the prison back down the steps to his car.

"You denied me the information I requested. You starved me. That's what I'm asking about now. So you rigidly refuse to offer an explanation of why you refused to provide this information just as you rigidly refused to provide it? And since when does starving people not violate their rights?" Crews called after him, outright furious.

"Come on, Dr. Crews." The Lieutenant guided him back out and to the embassy, where he was given medical treatment for his severe undernourishment. Crews was flown back to the Resurgent Dream, greeted with a large public parade, flown to a reception at the Court of the High Queen, and then flown to Wintermore where he received the title of baron. All these events were televised and at all of them he referred to being denied publically available information he deemed necessary to make the decisions relevent to the case and to being starved. Agwene paled visibly when she heard of the but made no public statement on either allegation. Eleanor promised to find out the legal reasoning behind this denial and wrote to Perot imploring him to at least provide an explanation of this behavior, a letter cosigned by the Catholic Bishop of Markvale. Grand Duchess Vicotira wrote a letter to the prison administrator protesting that Crews nutritional needs had not been seen to. Prime Minister Lacau ordered the Foreign Ministry to begin issuing passports to Pantocratoria again but did not again contact Drapeur unless contacted, at least so far. The Foreign Ministry answered all further public inquiries into the matter with the statement that the Danaan government considered the issue between itself and Pantocratoria closed and that any correspondence from private citizens of the Kingdoms on the matter was not backed or opposed by the Danaan government and should be responded to like any other correspondence from private, foreign citizens of various ranks and nothing more.
...
Marie-Hélène went into hiding during this time, keeping in secret correspondence with her followers. She issued no instructions other than that they were to continue recruiting. She did send Louise Tripoli a dozen roses and a note calling her a "hero of the human race" and a "friend to all of us working to rid the earth of the metahuman plague, with whose work in Pantocratoria you are quite familiar". It was sent unsigned from a public mailbox in a city Marie-Hélène left the next day.

To: Her Majesty Queen Eleanor of Wintermore and His Grace the Bishop of Markvale

Your Majesty and Your Grace,

As you are well aware, Doctor Crews was denied assistance by the Danaan embassy in Pantocratoria. He was informed of this. The embassy's reasons for withholding assistance are irrelevant, and in any case, it is not up to officers of the court to make them known to a defendant. The responsibility for informing a defendant of the reasons for which he is being denied assistance by his own embassy lies instead with his embassy. Neither any member of my office, nor any other officer of the court withheld information from Doctor Crews which was in any way required for the preparation of a functional defence. I will state it clearly and unequivocably; there is no statutory requirement to provide a foreign defendant with an explanation as to why his embassy has withheld assistance.

Yours humbly,

Jacques Perot
Assistant Crown Prosecutor (Homicide)
Office of the Crown Prosecutor, New Rome

***

To: Grand Duchess Vicotira

Mademoiselle la Grande-Duchesse,

The prisoner to whom you referred in your letter was provided with sufficient food as prescribed by the Prison Standards Act of 1956. Prison officials were not made aware of any specific nutritional requirements by the prisoner's defence counsel or by the prisoner's embassy.

Sincerely,

Sir Thierry Fizcésar, Knight of the Order of the Pantocrator
Governor of His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty's Prison du Crâne

***

The forensic examiners poured over the roses and the note, dusting for fingerprints, as Louise sat in the corner of the room biting her lip and sipping at a cold cup of coffee. Detective Renard sat down next to her.

"Post marked from Drakopolis." he said. "I've called the DPD, we'll see what they find out."

"Monsieur, do you think that... the killer sent these roses? The serial killer, I mean." Louise asked.

"Possibly... or it might just be some racist nut." Renard replied.

"So now I have racist fan mail?" she sputtered, tears coming to her eyes.

"Hey, hey, kiddo!" Renard said, holding her shoulder and pushing her a bit. "You did nothing wrong! You arrested Crews on my orders, and we thought Benoit was a legitimate witness!"

"I know that... but now the whole world thinks that I'm some racist bitch going around arresting innocent men..." she started.

"No they don't!" Renard started. "Your name was never released to the press, it ju...."

"It just?" she prompted.

"Whoever sent you this... must have either looked up the warrant... or know somebody who had legitimate reason to know you were involved... if they looked up the warrant, their name would be recorded in the court records..." Renard began. He rose. "I'm heading over to the Palais de la Justice..."

To: Jacques Perot
From: Her Majesty, Eleanor ni Ailil, Queen of Wintermore; John, Bishop of Markvale; George and Sarah Brindingford

Sir,
We are perfectly aware that you violated no statute in denying this information. No one has suggested you did so. However, Dr. Crews considers the denial of this information the most psychologically torturous part of his time in the custody of the judicial system. He believes it to be have done from racial malice alone and is having great difficulty in forgiving it. While we have earnestly tried to persuade the good doctor that such base motives do not drive the actions of Pantocratorian legal officials, we have so far been able to come up with an alternative reason with which to answer his concerns. It was easily delivered information and information well within your knowledge. We write not to ask you whether it was within the law for you to withhold this information but to ask why you choose to do so.
...
To: Sir Thierry Fizcésar
From: Grand Duchess Vicotira ni Gwydion

Sir,
This information has been provided to your government on more than one occasion. It was information presented when a representative from our embassy went to see what the situation was regarding Dr. Crews's arrest. It was information delivered to Mr. Perot and to the Judge in numerous briefing sent to them, including some from medical and judicial experts. It was information Dr. Crews was not able to inform you of as he was not allowed to speak to anyone during his incarceration or receive news of the outside world, including news he needed to make decisions about his defense. It is my understanding that this was part of a cruel and unusual strategy designed to break the doctor's spirit by preventing him from learning of his government's concern for him.
...
Marie-Hélène finally called her men from a public phone. "Hello, gentlemen. This is Marie-Hélène. I have orders for you. Listen carefully. We're going to blow up the Danaan Embassy..." She then gave them precise instructions on how to construct a car bomb from legal materials and still have sufficient power, the lay our of the area, the best place a car could be left unnoticed, enough information that all they had to do was go through the motions.

To: Her Majesty the Queen of Wintermore, His Grace the Bishop of Markvale, Monsieur et Madame Brindingford

Your Majesty, Your Grace, Monsieur et Madame,

I saw no reason to provide Doctor Crews with information irrelevant to the preparation of an effective defence. It is my considered opinion that not only was the information to which you refer irrelevant, but it was misleading in nature, as Doctor Crews, being unfamiliar with Pantocratorian law, may have mistaken the reason for his embassy's refusal to assist him as a functional defence, which would have had disastrous consequences for him.

I provided the embassy staff with the opportunity to speak with Doctor Crews, and strongly urged the embassy staff to do so. The embassy staff person who witnessed the line-up which (falsely) identified Doctor Crews as the killer refused to even meet with him long enough to explain why the embassy was withholding assistance to Doctor Crews. I suggest you direct further correspondence on this matter to the Danaan embassy in New Rome, asking why the aforementioned official didn't even see fit to inform Doctor Crews of the embassy's reasons for withdrawing.

Humbly,

Jacques Perot
Assistant Crown Prosecutor (Homicide)
Office of the Crown Prosecutor, New Rome


***

OOC: I think it is a bit unfair to just presume I haven't fed fatguts adequately if indeed you have provided Pantocratoria with this information before, but in any case, the reply would be the same.
To: Grand Duchess Vicotira ni Gwydion

Mademoiselle la Grande-Duchesse,

The prisoner to whom you referred in your letter was provided with sufficient food as prescribed by the Prison Standards Act of 1956. Prison officials were not made aware of any specific nutritional requirements by the prisoner's defence counsel, by the prisoner's embassy, nor by any other authority.

Sincerely,

Sir Thierry Fizcésar, Knight of the Order of the Pantocrator
Governor of His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty's Prison du Crâne


***

Some days later, a stolen car was driven into the spot Marie-Hélène described, outfitted with explosives exactly as Marie-Hélène had described. The driver left the car and made his way off to a nearby train station without acting suspiciously...

((OOC: I posted sending you thorough documents about Redcap physiological differences and told you OOC what Redcap appetite was like.))

To: Jacques Perot
From: Her Majesty, Eleanor ni Ailil

Sir,
Thank you kindly for your answer.
...
The bomb went off, exploding in a great ball of fire that reached out to consume the embassy. Clerks working at their desks died before they knew what had happened. Further from the street, people were thrown violently against walls and furniture, slowly dying or being severely wounded in the impact. Others were simply bruised and wounded and, near the far end of the building, seemingly unharmed people leaped from the windows in a dazed panic. Surviving members of embassy security ran rapidly towards the area of the blast.

The New Rome Police Department had the Church of the Immolated One (which served as the Danaan embassy) cordoned off within thirty minutes. Emergency services were on the scene, evacuating the survivors, loading them in ambulances, taking them to nearby hospitals.

Drapeur was called out of negotiations at Chantouillet by a phone call from the Minister for Public Safety. Within minutes he was standing in front of a handful of journalists at Chantouillet covering the negotiations, discussing what had just happened in New Rome.

"I just received word that thirty minutes ago in New Rome, the Danaan embassy was bombed. At this stage the number of casualties is not known, but I understand that loss of life has been considerable." Drapeur said. "We will be doing all we can to bring the perpetrators of this crime to justice, and we are willing to work together with our Danaan friends to find the bomber, or bombers, behind this cowardly attack. Questions?"

The journalists erupted into a flurry of questions.

Marie-Hélène, consistent with her plan of psychologically messing with the police on her trail, sent another note to Louise Tripoli from a random town she was just passing through, along with more roses. The note contained a picture of the embassy ruins and thanked Louise for "making this possible" while again calling her a "hero of Man". Marie-Hélène also ordered her followes to divide into four teams. One team was to study the layout and culture of the Danaan High Kingdom, another the Federated Menelmacari States of America, another the Empire of the C'tan, and another to study Pantocratoria's own public security.
...
The final death count of embassy staff was about three hundred, with another two hundred injured and twenty people remaining wholly unharmed. The building was a wreck.
...
Vincenzo Lacau appeared before the local and internation press. "We have just received word that our embassy in Pantocratoria has been destroyed in a terrorist bombing by parties unknown. I would like to say that the Pantocratorian government has been thoroughly helpful and Pantocratorian rescue workers have proven truly heroic in dealing with this crisis. Through internation cooperation, we soon hope to bring these terrorists to justice. Are there questions?"

Yet another package sent to Louise Tripoli was examined by the New Rome Police Department's forensic specialists. In the meantime, its recipient and Detective Renard were talking with a fellow officer, Officer Thibault Yprés, the officer who had administered the line-up.

"How are you, Thibault?" Renard asked.

"Very well, monsieur." Yprés answered, retrieving his cup from the coffee machine and leaning against the stationhouse wall as he sipped from it.

"Too bad that murdering son of a bitch Crews got away." said Tripoli, walking up to the coffee machine next, and inserting a ducat. The conversation continued as the machine gurgled and rumbled to produce another cup of substandard coffee.

"Lawyers." chuckled Renard, shaking his head. "You give them a rock solid case and they mess it up."

"What?" asked Yprés. "What happened?"

"What, have you been under a rock, Thibault?" Tripoli almost laughed as she retrieved her cup of coffee and walked over next to Yprés.

"In fairness we did keep it out of the papers. Don't think that's going to last much longer now though. Papers don't have the same respect they used to for the law." Renard said. "You were lucky your name was kept out of them, Louise."

"No more MCD." Yprés nodded. "But what's this about that scum getting away with it?"

"Stupidest thing!" Tripoli said, shaking her head incredulously. "The Crown Prosecutor let him off. Said the eye-witness lied."

"How would he know?" asked Yprés, a hint of concern for Benoit in his voice. "If he did, I mean."

"Don't know." Renard lied. He was fairly close with Perot and knew exactly what had transpired. "Reckons that somebody tipped off the witness, you know, told him what number the perp was."

Yprés was very quiet.

"I told him that was just absurd, I interviewed that witness myself!" Renard continued.

"Oh.. yeah, yeah it's absurd! He could've just guessed the number, come on!" Yprés added, in a not particularly convincing tone.

"Yeah! I mean, can you imagine somebody from the NRPD telling a witness the perp's number to rig a line-up?" Tripoli asked. "We don't do that, we find perps, we don't frame them."

"Yeah, yeah that's right!" Yprés said. "And you know, the public appreciates that, they really do. You did a bang-up job finding that scumbag Crews, Louise."

"Thankyou, Thibault!" Tripoli smiled back.

"If only that witness didn't stuff it all up." Renard said, shaking his head. "Oh well, at least he'll go to prison for perjury..."

"Prison?" Yprés said, coughing up some of his coffee. "They're sending him to prison for fingering some redcap?"

"No, they're sending him to prison for lying. And they're not going to stop with him, either. They'll get the cop who told him which redcap to finger, too." Renard said. He looked at Yprés accusingly.

"Did you really think that he wouldn't tell us who told him the perp's number, Thibault?" Tripoli asked.

"What? What?" Yprés started, convinced that Benoit had given him up. "Oh, so that's what this is about, huh? You're setting me up for a fall here?"

"Hey, hey, Thibault! You've got us all wrong!" Renard said, breaking into a friendly face again. "Sure it didn't work this time, but your heart was in the right place. Like you said, Louise did a bang up job with the evidence she had. Without somebody producing a witness like that, it wouldn't have got any further."

"Yeah, Thibault. I mean, it was kind of stupid and all..." Tripoli started. "...but your heart was in the right place. Crews was the perp. We didn't have enough on him to make it stick, you tried to help. Stupid maybe, but malicious? No way."

"I didn't mean any harm by it, I swear! I was just trying to help you out, Louise!" Yprés said, looking around to see if anyone else was listening.

"And I appreciate it, you big dumb lug." Tripoli said, shoving him playfully in the arm.

"We'll... we'll make this go away. See that the witness... what's his name... Benoit... has an accident in Le Crâne." Renard winked.

"Oh... oh good." Yprés said hesitantly.

"We just need to know one thing, in order to keep this thing quiet." Renard said. "You told somebody that Louise was the arresting officer. I need a name."

"A name?" Yprés asked nervously. "Wasn't it in the papers?"

"Nope, they kept me out, remember?" Louise said. "We just need a name, need to make sure they don't know too much."

"Oh... well... his name was Marly... Jean-Manuel Marly. He goes to the same Church as me." Yprés said. "How did you know I told somebody else?"

"He's been sending me flowers." Louise smirked.

***

Drapeur sat on the phone, waiting for Lacau to pick-up, rubbing his eyes and forehead from the fatigue.

Lacau answered the phone almost immediately. "Vincenzo Lacau here."
...
Meanwhile, the Danaan Bureau of Investigation requested any information the Pantocratorians had on the international connections of the terrorists. Security in railroads, ports, and airports was tightened. The police became extra vigilant. And state funerals were held for all of the victims.
...
The survivors stayed up together in a Pantocratorian hospital, waiting for be deal with by local authorities.
...
Marie-Helene continued to contact her friends, repeating the order to divide into groups.

"Prime Minister," began Drapeur. "Thibault Drapeur here. I want to extend my deepest sympathies to you on behalf of the people of Pantocratoria on the loss of so many lives, including, I understand, both your ambassador and Foreign Minister."

***

Since no terrorist group had thus far been identified as being responsible for the Danaan embassy bombing, Pantocratorian officials were unable to provide particularly satisfying or useful information beyond assurances that they would find out, that they would follow up, or that they would take their questions under advisement.

***

The New Rome Police Department was busy until late into the night taking statements from the survivors, desperately clawing for leads, searching for evidence, trying to find witnesses.

***

Marly was on the phone to Marie-Hélène when the door to his Old Quarter apartment was kicked in by two uniformed police officers. Behind the first two stood Louise Tripoli and Detective Renard.

"Merde! The police!" he shouted into the phone seconds before he had a revolver thrust into his face.

"Step away from the phone!" Louise screamed at him. "Hands on your head!"

The other two officers grabbed Marly's hands and twisted them behind his back, cuffing him, before shoving him to the floor. One of them put his boot on Marly's back and pointed his revolver at the back of his head.

"Secure!" he announced. Louise and the other officer began to search the rest of the little flat.

"Hello? To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking please?" Renard asked, picking up the phone casually and speaking into it.

Lacau sighed. "Thank you for calling, Thibault. It means a lot to us. Do your people have any leads yet? Mine guess that it's the same people behind those killings a few weeks back but they can't say anything definite without evidence."
...
The DBI informed the Pantocratorian authorities that they would be launching a crackdown on known human supremacists in Holista to check for any links to any international organizations with ties to Pantocratoria.
...
None of the survivors had seen anything useful.
...
Marie-Hélène smiled as someone else picked up the phone, a plot entering her head as she suspected it might be a cop from Marley's yell. "Hello, are you a brother? I'm Sister Louise Tripoli of the Pantocratorian Human Alliance."

"They're working on it, Prime Minister." Drapeur said. "We'll find out who was behind this attack. We'd like to work with you as much as is practical. We believe, like you, that there is a common connection with the murders in New Rome. The police tell me that they have leads they're following up with the murders, hopefully that will lead us to the perpetrators of this bombing."

***

"Oh, really?" Renard asked, grinning. He motioned over to Louise. "I'm Brother Manuel Renard. I wonder whether, Sister Louise, you might be in anyway related to my friend here..."

Renard handed the phone over to Louise and pulled out a pen and paper, taking down the phone number and serial number. He then whipped out his mobile phone.

"This is Detective Renard, NR-967-MT32. I need a trace done on phone number 02-34-53-66-99-23." he said. Pantocratorian Telecommunications was required to keep a log of all phonecalls, so it wouldn't matter if the person on the other end of the line hung-up, Renard would get their phone number.

"Hello?" asked Louise, holstering her revolver.

Lacau sounded a little relieved. "A lot of my people would like to come over and take a look for themselves, especially seeing how the bombind did take place on Danaan soil."
...
Marie-Hélène responded quickly. "Hello, sister. I am Sister Louise Tripoli, working day and not for the eradication of the metahuman filth, the fags, the dykes, the Turks, and all the other scum in which the blasphemous, Marxist administration of the current government has gotten mired. I take it you're with the cause?"

"Certainly." Drapeur said. "I think it is important for us to ensure that relations are normalised, and seen to be normalised, between our two nations as soon as possible. I'd also be very appreciative if you were to make an offer of assistance with security to the Pantocratorian embassy in Tarana. The Emperor is currently non-contactable, but I believe he would be willing to receive and provide accommodation for a new Danaan ambassador at court until your embassy can be reconstructed. I think it is important that we move forward as soon as possible."

***

"Apparently." Louise replied, her face twisting into a scowl as she looked up at Renard. "Where are you calling from, Sister Louise?"

Lacau responded easily "That should pose no difficulty. I'll have our people sent over their and have some more sent to your embassy first thing."
...
Marie-Hélène smiled audibly. "I can't give that away right now. I can tell you it's the house of some poor critter I just took care of. Poor bitch took eight hours to die, though a good gag kept her from yelling about it. Really made me feel better after I couldn't get that Redcap hung."

"Good, good." Drapeur said. "Well Prime Minister, I think we can leave our people to work out the details. I just wanted to convey Pantocratoria's sympathies to you in person."

***

"What type of critter, Sister Louise? What did you do to her?" Louise asked, looking towards Renard again. Renard was still on his mobile phone waiting for a response to his trace request.

"Thank you, Prime Minister." Lacau said.
...
Marie-Hélène laughed lightly. "Critters, they're all the same. I'm a New Rome police officer and my job is to protect -human- life, which is exactly what I do. It's why I framed that Redcap. It's why I killed this beast. It's why I'm going to make an attempt on the degenerate race traitors over at the Lavenrunzian embassy."

"What are you planning to do at the Lavenrunzian embassy?" Louise asked, certain that this Sister Louise knew that she was speaking to the real Louise Tripoli, and almost as certain that she wanted her to know what was being planned.

"Lavenrunzian embassy?" Renard mouthed silently to Louise, who nodded urgently. Renard's answer came through, and he wrote down the phone number for the telephone Marie-Hélène was using. He quickly hung up and dialed a fresh number.

"Detective Renard, NR-967-MT32." he started quickly. "Reporting a threat made against the Lavenrunzian embassy in New Rome! Yes, we regard the threat as credible. We're trying to find out more details..."

"Same thing we did to the Danaan one. They deserve it just as much, maybe worse. Those creatures over in the Resurgent Dream just are monsters. The Lavenrunzians are human beings, brought up in Holy Mother Church, no less, and they willingly ally with monsters of all sorts. Well, they're reckoning is at hand."

"BOMB!" Louise silently mouthed to Renard as she listened to Marie-Hélène on the phone.

"Can I meet you, Sister Louise?" she asked, involuntarily rubbing the small silver crucifix she wore around her neck as if for luck. "Please?"

"A bomb threat, like on the Danaan embassy. Yes, warn the Lavenrunzians at once!" Renard murmured into his phone.

Marie-Hélène gave Louise the address of an open field and told her to come alone before hanging up. She swiftly moved to her car and drove away from that town as fast as she could without calling attention to her call. The next town over, she called a group of her followers and told them to be waiting in the field, lying low in the grass, to possibly take a prisoner. She also told the party studying the Danaan high kingdom and told gave them their orders.

Lieutenant Hochswender sighed with his hand over the receiver, and the put his lips to it. "How credible is this threat Detective?" he asked. Why him? He was just thinking about going off duty, and now things might become a concern, and his experience, young though he was, is that it rarely was a matter for concern. He had met a rather fetching city girl at a shop and...he got out a notepad while he listened to the detective's reply.

"Given what just happened to the Danaan embassy, we feel that it is a very credible threat." Renard relayed.

Next to him, Louise noted down the address Marie-Hélène gave her. She checked her watch - they would need to start driving now to reach the address tonight. She silently indicated to her watch, a signal to Renard that time was of the essence.

"Just call in extra security, I'll be in touch with specifics as soon as I can." Renard told the Lavenrunzian, looking down at the suspect on the floor. He'd get answers soon enough.

Hochswender rose and went to tap on Wolfmar's door. "Major, may I come in?" he asked.
Receiving an assent, he went in, finding Wolfmar working at his computer. "Well?" he asked.
"Herr Major, I thought you should know that there has been a report of a possible terrorist attack against the embassy."
"By whom?" Wolfmar asked, calmly.
"I think the same terrorist group that has been targeting nonhumans, Sir." said Hochswender. He felt a bit unsettled by Wolfmar's gaze, it was like being in the gaze of a leopard.
"Alright. let's close things down, make sure there are no foreigners in here, and start going through the place. Contact Weisshaupt at Internal Security, get his people to work. Shut the gates and put the troops in riot gear."
all thirty of them. Not much of an army for you. Wolfmar thought. True, they had chosen a good stout building but with modern terrorists that could mean precious little. He rose and checked the slide on his Glock and then headed out.

Renard and Tripoli drove for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. They went straight to the local police station to arrange back-up, before heading to the field. The heavily armed back-up team hanged around with Renard out of view, while Tripoli walked into view alone, wearing a bulletproof vest over her uniform.

"Hello?" she asked, her hand on her holster.

"Don't move!" came a voice from the field, which appeared empty. The grass was long enough to conceal people lying on their stomach in it.

She stopped moving.

"Hands on your head!" the voice continued.

Tripoli undid her holster clip and put her hands on her head. A figure stood up from the grass, holding a shotgun and wearing camoflague gear. Obtaining a shotgun was no mean feat, Tripoli couldn't help but wonder what sort of backing they must have. The man walked towards her, keeping his shotgun trained on her all the while.

"I thought this was a friendly invitation." Tripoli said with trepidation as the man came right up close, too close. He reached his hand to her hip, and took her revolver.

"Holster unclipped." he observed. "I thought you thought this was a friendly invitation. Are you alone?"

"Are you?" she looked up into his eyes and asked.

He snorted a bemused reply. She took her opportunity, and knocked the shotgun out of his hand and onto the ground.

"GO!" she screamed, struggling with the much bigger man. Renard and the back-up rushed out of their cover into the field, Renard pointing his revolver at the man, and SWAT pointing their submachineguns.

"Police! Freeze!" Renard demanded.

The man twisted around Louise, putting her between him and the police, and held her revolver up to her temple.

"One more step and the officer gets it!" he shouted.

Then the shooting started. Bullets sprayed out of the long grass, presumably from more terrorist recruits lying on their bellies. A SWAT officer's knees were shot out from underhim, exploding in a burst of blood. He screamed and fell to the ground. Renard was knocked flat by a shotgun blast, most of which was absorbed by his bullet proof vest. Despite not being fatally wounded, he was still winded on the ground, hidden underneath the long grass for now. SWAT started returning fire into the grass, aiming for the source of the gunfire, and started taking cover in the long grass themselves.

The man holding Louise Tripoli started dragging her away from the shooting. She struggled, and elbowed him in the gut. She dived for his shotgun as his grip on her weakened, but she couldn't find it. As she fumbled around in the grass for it, he pointed the revolver at her, and shot her in the leg. She screamed and collapsed, holding the injured limb. Realising he was now in the open, the man who had shot her started to take cover, but was gunned down by SWAT before he had the chance.

...the firefight continued...

The DBI agents arrived at New Rome. They stepped off the plane and looked around for the greeting party.

[OOC: I was thinking of a Syskeyian expat newspaper doing an editorial on (what the public knows) about this murder/extremist thing. And then it would affect the plot naturally and all. Is it too late for that?]

((OOC: Nope. Go ahead.))

The DBI agents were met (greeted wouldn't be the right word) by a man and a woman wearing dark and non-descript clothing.

"Imperial Domestic Intelligence Services." the man stated simply by way of greeting, producing an identification card and badge. "Can I see some identification, please?"

After reviewing the DBI identification to his satisfaction, he indicated towards a number of black Peacock Motors town cars.

***

Consolidated Gas and Resources Incorporated was a subsidiary of Peacock Holdings Group, and the owner of several gas and oil liners which did business primarily, but not exclusively, in the Pantocratorian Archipelago. La Reine de la Mer was one such natural gas liner, albeit one with a grandiose name. It was enroute to The Resurgent Dream, having left the port of New Constantinople last night.

Little did the crew realise that there were stowaways on-board, stowaways with much more in mind than a free boat ride to Armonvale Harbour.

***

Louise Tripoli clenched her teeth harder than she had ever clenched them before, the burning sensation in her thigh eliciting howls of agony from deep in her throat. She clasped the bullet wound as tightly as she could, trying to stop the bleeding. The problem was, down on the ground, with one leg useless, and both her arms occupied holding the wound, she was virtually immobile, unable to do anything but squirm ineffectually in the grass. Nevertheless, she tried to squirm over to the side of the field where the police vehicles were parked, her progress as slow as it was torturous.

The firing had died down as both SWAT and the terrorists lay in the grass, trying to determine where the others were. A terrorist stood up and rushed over to where he thought the police were, and was gunned down instantly. This elicited return fire from the terrorists in the general direction of SWAT. Asides from the one misguided and unlucky terrorist who had tried getting up, both sides were still effectively concealed from each other. Finally, SWAT started throwing grenades, the equipment advantage beginning to show.

The liner pulled into port as hundreds of ships did at dozens of ports everyday. It passed through the security check with no problems detected. It sailed into the bay where many other ships were already anchored. Most of them were local, Danaan vessels, civilian and naval, though there were doubtless any number of merchant vessels from economic partners like Menelmacar, Knootoss, Lavenrunz, the Dominion, Akaton, Excalbia, and other friendly powers.

The dockyards and warehouses lined the waterfront for some distance, though towering skyscrapers stood behind them into the bustling downtown area. Some distance away were rolling stretches of suburban residence, though large apartment buildings houses most of the city's residents. It was a thriving, commercial city, going about the business of life. And then the blast came, sudden and without any warning.

Before long, the field was burning, and the remaining terrorists were dead, dying, or otherwise incapacitated. When the guns fell quiet for what seemed like an eternity, but what was probably no more than a minute, a SWAT officer got up onto his haunches, crouching just above grass level. He watched carefully for any signs of movement, and began to scramble across to where they had estimated the terrorists to be. He found three men lying dead, and one man, still barely breathing, but unconscious, his body covered with burns and shrapnel wounds from the grenade. He looked around and didn't see any signs of life.

"Clear!" he shouted. SWAT slowly got to its feet, and started moving to secure the surviving suspects. Medics rushed out from the ambulance which had been waiting with the police vehicles.

Renard got to his feet, sore and scratched, but otherwise fine. He staggered about looking for Tripoli.

"Louise?" he asked. "Where are you?"

He was drawn to the sound of a raw yell, caused by Tripoli opening her mouth to answer, but not being able to actually say anything coherent. Renard made his way through the grass, and knelt down next to her. He signalled for the medic.

"My leg..." Tripoli gasped through gritted teeth, as if it wasn't obvious where she had been shot.

The natural gas within the tanker exploded, creating a large blast which destroyed several nearby vessels, the nearby docks, and a block or so inland. The explosion proper killed everyone within its radius instantly.

At the edge of the blast, several buildings began to collapse. A few people could be seen leaping desperately from the windows as they crashed into neighboring buildings as the streets below.

An oil tanker in the bay was caught in the blast, the flaming oil spilling out over the water even as the asphalt and buildings caught fire on the land itself.

Sirens blarted as rescue workers, against every law of nature, charged towards the blaze. Firefirghters struggled to pull those who still had a chance from the wreckage even as they ferociously fought to battle the flames themselves.

News of the blast traveled quickly, especially given that The Resurgent Dream was one of those unfortunately few nations that seemed to line up with the Scolopendran national and popular interest. Being spiritual, completely different from anything yet seen, and friendly tends to gain one's nation credence in the 'Pendran mind.

And now a tragedy, and idealism--combined with the impetus of true concern--demands the duty of assistance.

* - * - *

The Federated Segments of Scolopendra commisserates for our friends in The Resurgent Dream and has full faith that the strength of their people will get them through this unforseen tragedy. We feel for the familes of the victims, the homeless, the dead, and sincerely wish that if this was an accident, then the cause will be found and put to right; if this was an intentional act, then those responsible will be found and made so they may never commit such acts again.

In light of both possibilites, the Federated Segments pledges its full support to the Danaan High Kingdom, in any form that The Resurgent Dream may need. Medical ships are en route, and the entire nation stands ready to assist in one form or another. We know, with the firm conviction of our ideals, that this sad day will be overcome by the efforts of the brave emergency personnel of the Danaan High Kingdom, and we would be honored if we could assist in those efforts as well.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/nadjiba_abd-al-haqq.gifAdvisor Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq
International Relations Section
Federated Segments of Scolopendra

* - * - *

High Queen Agwene:

Civilian charities are already working to assemble their resources and dispatch aid to those wounded and displaced by the blast. If desired, I can call up portions of the Civilian Defense Corps or the Mobile Infantry to enter the area and assist in policing, humanitarian aid, and rebuilding efforts. We offer you whatever assistance you may need, desire, or merely choose to take us up on.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/speaker-to-animals.gifSupreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit
Chief of State
Federated Segments of Scolopendra

Her Highness Vethara (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Vethara_Shakhovskaya)Shakhovskaya, Grand Duchess by Right of Tarasovka sat by a table, her eyes filled with sadness as she prepared to pronounce the words she prepared. She knew not much of the Danaan lands, but she saw the face of Vicotira again, the smiling happy girl she met at Empress Aurora’s birthday celebration. And now to combine the image of Vicotira with what she heard of Armonvale was truly a challenge. Vethara sighed heavily as she fixed the camera as the operator began the countdown to broadcast. And three… and two… and one!

“Dear friends…” She said as her face expressed sadness, an expression that simply could not be fake, especially knowing Vethara’s character. “It is with sorrow and anger that I say these words. I feel sorrow at the thought of those innocent that perished in the cowardly attacks perpetrated against Armonvale. My own realms suffer by the hand of groups of murderers who care not about the suffering they inflict upon others, but that feel great fear when it comes to suffering themselves.” And as she said that her emerald eyes suddenly appeared to flash with fire as her face, although still keeping the same features as earlier, somehow managed to carry through an expression that meant only one thing – desire to kill. “But also do I feel anger at the thought that so many lives were lost due to the folly of those who dare not defend their claims in honourable battle. It is, thus, with sorrow, but also sympathy for the Danaan realm, that I express my most sincere condolences to those who suffered. And it is with righteous anger that I hope that the perpetrators of these acts will one day be made to suffer even greatly. And the sooner, the better.”

She said the last line nearly through her teeth as she did feel genuine anger and hatred against the terrorists, as she thought back to her own country. It would seem that while some fringe group was ‘fighting’ for its ‘views’, the innocent were made to suffer. She relaxed the features of her face, a thin smile drawing on her lips as she spoke again after a pause which lasted several heartbeats. “I know my words will not help ease the suffering of victims. But I do hope they will find the courage to battle through hardships, no matter what, for if they give in to their sorrow… they might lose the light.” She said as she inclined her head in respect for the fallen. And as she redressed it, the operator turned off the cameras and smiled at Vethara, nodding approvingly.

For Immediate Release

A Statement by the Honourable Albert Cummings, Minister of State, on behalf of His Imperial Majesty, David IV

“Earlier today, terrorists struck the Empire of the Resurgent Dream. Initial reports indicate that the attack has devastated one of the Resurgent Dream’s major ports, doing grievous harm to the infrastructure and surrounding residential and commercial areas. Our Embassy has confirmed that at least two Excalbian-flagged freighters were in port at the time of the attack. We do not have exact figures on the number of victims.

“His Imperial Majesty has already transmitted a letter to Her Majesty, High Queen Agwene ni Gwydion. In that letter, His Imperial Majesty expressed his heart-felt condolences of those of the entire Holy Empire.

“His Imperial Majesty has directed that all the resources of the His Imperial Majesty’s Government be mobilized to assist in the search and rescue and recovery effort. Urban search and rescue teams and disaster relief personnel have been dispatched to the Resurgent Dream. Additionally, the Imperial General Staff has ordered INV Valiant and its entire task force to proceed immediately to the Resurgent Dream to offer any and all assistance.

“His imperial Majesty has also assured the High Queen that the Holy Empire stands ready to offer the Resurgent Dream any and all possible military assistance in its effort to find those responsible for this terrible act and bring them to justice.

“Finally, His Imperial Majesty has pledged the private charitable resources of the Imperial Trust to assist victims of this tragedy. He calls on all citizens of the Holy Empire to remember the Empire of the Resurgent Dream in prayer and through their donations to the Imperial Trust.”

Pantocratorian television news crews were keeping a vigil at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, as if waiting for some official word from the palace. It had been noted before the attack that the Imperial Standard had been lowered - the Emperor had therefore left, but no official statement had been issued to that effect. The standard would soon be raised again over the Julian Palace in New Jerusalem, but for now the media had no idea where the Emperor was. Not only was there no official statement from the Emperor in response to the terrorist attack, which used a Pantocratorian liner, but journalists didn't even know where to look to ask for one.

The next few hours saw confused broadcasts as the country sought to get its bearings. A few bits of footage of the blast were played over and over again. The statements from Grand Duchess Vethara, Albert Cummings, and Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq were shown in full. Quite a few things were being reported on the various stations.

"...while no official death count has been released yet, estimates run as high as 56,000..."

"... security officials assure us that Prime Minister Lacau is currently in a secure bunker..."

"...the High Queen's current whereabouts remain unknown and we can get no assurances as to her personal safety from Royal Guard Officials..."

"...officers were seen transporting a casket with royal honors but declined to comment..."

"...fighting with cold iron was reported to have broken out near the capital at the time of the attack..."

"...several hundred suspected terrorists were taken into custody in a raid on an anti-government encampment on Pele..."

Meanwhile, the borders were closed, ships brought into port, and planes brought to land. Air and sea travel into and out of the Resurgent Dream was shut down. Friendly medical and government ships were instructed to get explicitly cleared by the Internal Security Ministry before entering Danaan territorial waters. Friendly military vessels were instructed not to enter Danaan territorial waters at the present time and to hold for further communications.

That night the Imperial Standard was once again flown, but this time it was over the Julian Palace in New Jerusalem. The local press in the Exarchate gathered around the palace expectantly awaiting some sort of statement from the Emperor within. None was forthcoming.

***

Thibault Drapeur on the other hand had flown back from the negotiations at Chantouillet straight away, to make a press statement out the front of the Imperial Parliament in New Rome.

"On behalf of the government, and all the people of Pantocratoria, I would like to express my deepest condolences to the Danaan people." he said. "This... devastating attack, this tragedy, is condemned by us all, not just Pantocratorians, but by all the civilised peoples of the world. And I believe I speak for us all when I say how distressing it is that a Pantocratorian commercial gas liner was made the instrument of this... despicable act of wanton murder. I cannot tell you how much I hope that the tragic estimates of casualties of this outrage are incorrect, but if they aren't, the lives of those fifty thousand, or more, will not go unavenged. We will work... day and night, with the Danaan High Kingdom, to find those responsible for this act of mass murder, and we will bring them to justice. That is my promise to you, and Pantocratoria's promise to the world."

***

Renard oversaw the interrogations of the survivors of the gunfight in the field. A number of leads had now presented themselves, and the police now knew that they were dealing with something not just constrained to New Rome, but which had spread across the globe.

Placeholder for suitably horrified/enraged Menelmacari reaction.

In a press release earlier today, Taurevanimë nossë Erethion send out her condolences to the families of the victims of the Armonvale Terrorist Attack. She stated that “No life should end before it's time.” and wished the best of luck to everyone seeking out who was responsible for this tragedy and bring justice to them.

Taken from the latest INN News Report (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=8596455#post8596455) in responce to the terrorist incident in the Empire of the Resurgent Dream:

"
On behalf of a nation, I would like to offer my sincerest condolences for the sudden loss of so many lives in such a cowardly attack against the Danaan people. In these dire times of need for the Empire of the Resurgent Dream I feel it is our duty as both an ally and friend of this peaceful nation to offer our fullest assistance in humanitarian, economic and military efforts to help the Danaan people in thier darkest hour.

I understand that given the distances between our nations we cannot directly help with those thought to be lost in the destruction of Armonvale port, as we simply couldn't bring assistance quick enough. However in place of this we would like to provide the victims of these atrocities with aid to help them continue their lives fully, as they have right to do so.

We also offer the Danaan people economic and military aid to help fully stabilise the nations economy and bring those whom would kill innocents to the full justice of the Danaan people... I would like to think that as allies to the Empire of the Resurgent Dream we should do our best to ensure the future safety of their people.

It is only my hope that this is enough to help our friends in this time of need.

Thankyou, that is all."

Statement made by Lord General deGritz, leader of the Iuthian people.

"Well, the terrorist attack has come." said Wolfmar, walking into Rosenburg's office.
"What do you mean?" frowned the ambassador.
"An ocean liner carrying natural gas, I believe, exploded in a harbour in Resurgent Dream." replied Baron Wolfmar. He looked rather grim.
"But...which harbour?"
"Armonvale, Ambassador." Wolfmar glanced out at the inner garden of the Lavenrunzian embassy in Pantocratoria. "Estimated casualties in the tens of thousands, but of course no one knows exact figures yet."
"This sounds a bit fishy to me. How do we know it was terrorists?" demanded Rosenburg.
"I'm actually not sure, Ambassador. I'll find out. In any case, it would not be wise to stand down the raised level of security here just yet, but if it is actually a terrorist attack instead of an accident then...frankly attacking us here would look like going for a small fish. Because it's been confirmed that there was a Lavenrunzian oil exploration ship being tended in that harbour." Wolfmar raised his eyebrows dramatically. Rosenburg grunted and waved him out, and picked up the phone.
"Rosenburg." he said curtly. "Secure this line, and put me through in a conference call to the Foreign Minister and the Information Minister."

(Eyes Only, Top Secret labeled file)
File No. 8570604D
Subject: 3-Way Conf. Call Re: TRD Explosion
(Count Rosenburg, HIM's Ambassador to Pantocratoria; Baron Shein, Minister of Information; Aurora von Konigsmark, Foreign Minister)

Rosenburg: What do we know so far about this so called terrorist act in Armonvale?

Shein: What is generally believed is this. It was in all likelihood a Pantocratorian liner, La Reine de la Mer, of Peacock Holdings Group--one of their subsidiaries to be precise. As to terrorists...there is no actual evidence as yet. My understanding is that Grand Duchess Vethara, heiress of Tarasovka, is the first to publically proclaim it to have been a terrorist attack. Excalbia and Pantocratoria followed suit.

Konigsmark: The Empress has not yet made a statement, but it could likely echo that of Scolopendra, since as Shein says there isn't really any evidence yet. It's a horrible event, that is certain, and I am advising Her Majesty to concentrate on the deaths of ordinary people and property.

Rosenburg: But what about the recent terrorist attacks here in Pantocratoria? Is there any possible link? As you both know, there were threats recently.

Shein: Absolutely nothing confirmed. However, I am not certain as to what action I would advise if there were.

Rosenburg: Very well, thank you both. I shall bear this in mind when I approach the Court.

Konigsmark: You're coming back?

Rosenburg: (after a pause) The Court of Christ Pantocrator.

Both Shein and Konigsmark: Ohhhhhh.

Rosenburg: I am honored by your advice and by you taking time to give it to me.

Shein: Yes, welcome Rosenburg.

Konigsmark: Good morning, Rosenburg.
(end conference call)

Imperial News Service Special Broadcast
(the majestic strains of "Pictures at an Exhibition" is played while the Crowned Leopard on a blue background appears; Empress Aurora, sitting on an ornate chair, in robes of state, is seen.)
Beloved subjects, I am sorry to say that a terrible event took place in the Kingdom of the Resurgent Dream. A ship carrying natural gas exploded, killing many people and destroying a good part of the most important harbour in the city of Armonvale. It is believed that one of our ships, an oil exploration vessel from the Babenhausen Peteroleum Group was also lost, as were merchant ships from our allies.
The Resurgent Dream is a peaceful kingdom which we have been becoming friends with, and we grieve for their losses and those of other nations whose ships were in the harbour and whose people were working there. We promise to do whatever we can to help.
Our heart goes out to Queen Agwene, and we assure her that we will not forget a friend in time of need.
We will lower the flag today, and ask that moments of silence be observed. Your prayers and your help are needed as well, and we ask that if it is in your heart that you light a candle for the Queen and people of the Resurgent Dream."

Pregnant rainclouds flowed about the windows of one of the highest buildings in Tephet-Sheta, the Necrontyr capital. Behind its thick living metal window, black clouds obscured the panoramic view of the city beyond. Paul de Vere turned away from this depressing view for a moment to reach for a cup of tea. The weather wasn't depressing, he could easily have chosen to have the view filtered to remove the clouds, it was what else appeared on the window, lines of scrolling text that described the latest current events, and reports from his senior operatives.

It all boiled down to a singularly depressing summary. No progress. He supposed that it was good that there were no reports of these vile terrorists in his nation, but he would dearly have liked to get his hands upon them. There was of course the inevitable report from the C'tan's premier anti-terrorist group, Section One, who technically answered to him, but they were even more secretive than his own beloved Imperial Security Agency. Their fiat was somewhat similar to that of the Office of the Emperor, another of the bewildering array of secret agencies sported by the Empire, though that one was less concerned with any specific mission as much as speaking for and gaining information for the Emperor himself. Section One of course, had nothing more on the matter than his own sources, though they had been keeping an eye on some foreigners outside the nation (It was widely rumoured that national sovereignty meant nothing to them, they always protested that it did. It meant another set of passports to forge) they suspected might have relevance, until they had evidence for such a matter, they would remain quiet.

He reflected on the breaking news coverage. Though there had been no statement by the Emperor, though his officers had put out a written statement on the matter, similar to many others issued by the nations of the world on the matter, the people spoke loudly enough for themselves. And the voices of four billion people raised in anger were not pleasant to behold if you were their target. Often on such issues, the 'liberal' media would be a cry of dissent, but for once they called for blood and vengeance as loudly as the conservatives. It was not just the outrage of the event, but that it struck directly at a nation the liberal factions of Necrontyr politics often praised more highly than their own.

Offers of aid, both from his own office via the Veritas organisation, and through civilian aid channels had been profuse, but until he received a reply, he could do nothing but sit, or stand, or pace, or glare, and watch the endless stream of depressingly empty reports stream across the one way glass of the window that overlooked the coastal city of Tephet-Sheta, and nurse his anger. He sat down and began talking, watching as the assorted machinery of his office transcribed;

"To: The Imperial Security Ministry of the Danaan High Kingdom. From: Me," the machines of course turned this into Lord De Vere, Imperial Security Agency... and all his other numerous details, "Re: Attack on Armonvale." he continued talking, expressing both his personal sympathy, and repeating his offer of aid, as well as making a polite request to have any details they had that could lead to the detection and elimination of any related subversives in the Necrontyr Empire...

To: Empress Aiwyn
From: Queen Silverlief

Hello dear friend. I have heard of the news of the terrorist attack. I send this with heavy heart, having so recently seen the deaths of so many from recent terrorist activities upon my own soil, including the loss of three close friends. I will tell you that you are not alone. I am preparing supplies as we speak. Food, clothing, medical, supplies for shelters and craftsman. I can, if you wish, send a team from elite fighting force.

Goldenscale, I am sure you remember her from having carried you into battle in the dreaming, is willing to stand by you. I understand that there have been some changes of late in Resurgent Dream. I hope I do not offend anyone by sending this to your directly.

Your friend,
Laura

After a day with no response from the palace, Princess Irene finally emerged from the Julian Palace, flanked by Varangians, dressed in her usual black formal gown. The cameras started flashing and reporters started to ask questions. In her usual authoritative manner, she approached the journalists and addressed them, ignoring the questions and the flashes.

"His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty has asked me to convey his deepest condolences to the families of the victims of the explosion in Armonvale Harbour. The explosion of the Consolidated Gas and Resources liner, La Reine de la Mer, is a terrible tragedy, and His Majesty's prayers are with the victims." she said. "The Imperial Government is responding to this matter in full, and His Majesty expects that it will co-operate with Danaan authorities in full in this matter, and provide all possible assistance to attend to the survivors, and the families of those who have lost their lives."

She stood still for a few seconds, not adding anything else, letting the brief statement stand for a moment.

"That is all, there will be no questions." she concluded, before turning on her heel and returning to the Julian Palace with the Varangians, ignoring the sudden buzz of journalists hoping that the Princess would elaborate on the statement.

From: The Aelosian House of Courtiers and Foreign Affairs. Imperial Chancellor Celestrianna Paelisi.
To: The people and goverment of the Resurgent Dream.

We, as a nation, people and country, find the facts that happened in The Resurgent Dream sad, and an historic tragedy. The shadow of terrorism again hovers over one of our allies, and we are eager to provide any aid that we could muster to repair the damage that despicable act caused, and to prevent these kind of events to happen ever again. Our hearts and condolences are with the sensitive and innocent people of the Fairy Land, and with this missive we offer all the support that we are capable of.

The Marlundish flag appeared on the background with Secretary of State Jose Lagasse standing in front of it. He was dressed, as usual, in the uniform of a General Officer of the Iron Brigade. "Friends, brothers, today we witnessed a great strike against the rotten core of chaos by the forces of order and normalcy. I would like to remind you that the scenes which the decadent western media sees fit to play over and over again are nothing more than the deaths of monsters and freaks. No true champion of the Greater Good would mourn such deaths. Even as we know that the souls of our enemies burn forever in the fires prepared for Satan and his angels, we are forced to endure the crocodile tears of a decadent world. Still, this world is not without possibility. The vain fantasies of freedom and irresponsibility lead only to moral and sexual decadence, to the decline and fall of the state. In the end, pragmatism will prevail." The screen then changed to show pictures of Marlunders dancing in the streets, cheering in large crowds, and giving thinks in Houses of the Greater Good.

The view from the camera showed Timon Square at the steps of the Royal Palace. Agwene stood there, limping slightly and clad in shining Sidhe Plate, the armor of gleaming gold and emeralds, currently splotched with dried mud in places, covering every curve of her body. Her face determined and wreathed in a silver aura, she stood rigidly, one hand loosely touching the naked sword at her side. Tiny impact dents marked her armor here and there and a small trickle of blood rolled down from one shoulder. She stood in the open in the middle of the square, not visible worried. Behind her stoof the Royal Guard, armored, uniformed, and with rifles at the ready. They did not stand in on security detail but in battle formation, ready to follow their queen into battle. Agwene spoke.

"As all of you know, this morning, our nation was made the victim of the worst terrorist attack in her history. Terrorists detonated a natural gas tanker in the port of Armonvale. The number of the dead is not yet known but it is likely to be in the tens of thousands. These people were not killed for anything any of them ever did against the terrorists or their people. These were innocent Danaan and friendly citizens, going about the business of life, loving, working, playing, dreaming. These were men, women, and children, private citizens. They're lives were stolen from them today. Stolen because of who and what we are, because of what we believe and what we stand for. These terrorists came not just to murder thousands but to intimidate billions. They came to seek to terrorize us into abandoning our principles and our way of life. But we will not be terrorized. We are not afraid. We are cautioned, yes. We are cautioned that the enemies of justice are cleverer in their attempts to murder innocent people than we had suspected. We are cautioned to increase our security, increase our intelligence, and take action to neutralize terror wherever it should appear. But our stance before the world will not change in the face of terrorist threats. The Resurgent Dream stands for freedom, justice, and morality. She always has and she always will. That resolve is strengthened, not weakened, by the tragic events of this morning. Our brave and honored dead have hallowed our cause. We can never betray those we mourn by surrendering to their murderers...

"The Danaan High Kingdom is a friend to all peaceful nations. However, we can no longer afford to pretend we live in a friendly world. Collective security arrangements reduce the threat of hostile states greatly, but the new danger is not a state. Terrorists are sometimes supported by rogue states, true, but the intelligence information we have at present indicates that was not the case here. There is no clear enemy against whom we can immediately act. The danger today comes from vast and shadowy networks, hiding in the shadows of many states. Sometimes they may be fought on the battlefield, but more often they hide in plain sight, assembling only to deliver a murderous blow before vanishing again or sacrificing themselves in the blast. These enemies must be fought through the coordinated efforts of many nations, united in their respect for the rule of law, and organized on the basis of a mutual respect for sovereignty. This is a path more complicated than that we have been able to take after past attacks from more visible enemies, but I tell you this: You have my word of honor that the men responsible for this will be found and they will be brought to justice...

"It will take time to adjust to a tighter security regime. Over the next few weeks, maybe months, security will be inconvenient for many of you. We ask you to bare with your government as we make the necessary changes to perform our most sacred duty, protecting you. What I ask of each of you is to fear not darkness but walk in the confidence and power of light. I am counting on every last one of you to stand with me and prove that the Danaan people do not run...

"As most of you have heard, the terrorists seem to have been human racialists practicing some perversion of the Catholic faith. I ask you to remember that most adherents of this faith are upright, moral, honest people who love both their neighbors and their Lord. Billions of them are our friends and allies. We will answer darkness with light and bigotry with justice, not more bigotry. Our quarrel is not with any creed or people but with the purveyers of evil, whoever and wherever they be....

"I would like to thank our friends who have stood with us in our darkest hour. Scolopendra, the C'tan, Pantocratoria, Lavenrunz, Dragonsreach, Excalbia, Taurenor, Aelosia, the legitimate government of Tarasovka, and Iuthia have all given their generous support. I want only to tell them that the Resurgent Dream does not forget her friends."

Agwene's bold, war-like expression faded as the strident words of her speech inspiring her people to stand against terror faded. Her expression became sad, somber, almost heart-broken. As the fury and the consequent flare subsided, the cameras could not help but show how much she had been crying. She lowered her eyes slightly and then looked directly into the camera, as though she were looking into the eyes of the viewer. "Lastly, I want to...I want to say that...A monarch's most sacred, most cherished, most absolute duty is to defend her people, both directly and through her government. I failed in that duty today." She paused and opened her mouth again before closing it, leaving it there. The cameras faded back to commentators. Given the situation, the normally divisive press was almost universally supportive of the government. Agwene's speech and the speeches of friendly leaders were replayed repeatedly. Aurora's statement got a particularly large number of showings in the Danaan press, second only to Agwene's. The statement of Marlund was shown with the harshest of comments and even a few calls for invasion.

Louise Tripoli finished sipping her paper cup, and then put it aside on the table next to her bed in her hospital room. She was feeling groggy already from the pain killers, and struggled to focus on the blurred shape of the fellow officer next to her.

"Louise," he said. "Your husband is on his way, but he won't get here until early morning. It is quite a drive from New Rome. Try to get some sleep, he'll be here when you wake up."

"Thanks..." she murmured in reply, her gaze falling down to her heavily bandaged thigh. She formed a crooked smile, satisfied that she could no longer feel the burning sensation from the wound, everything was quite numb. "...yes I think I will. Sleep."

"Good. I'll be in the next room. If you need anything just press the button to call the nurse." he said. "You did well, Louise."

"Thanks..." she murmured back, closing her eyes. She wasn't sure which of the other officers it was to whom she was speaking anymore, the drugs made everything seem so blurry, and she was so tired...

***

With two of the original three in custody, plus the statements of the gunfight survivors, the other members of the first New Rome cell of the terrorist organisation were now beginning to be rounded up as names were named. The connection with the Pantocratoria First Party Old Quarter branch was soon noticed, and Renard and his team had begun interviewing branch members. Soon they were looking for a young lady from Montmanuel named Marie-Hélène.

Queen Lauralin Silverlief,
You give no offense to me, my dear friend. In fact, it touches my mournful heart to hear from you. However, I would suggest that you send a similar missive to the leadership of the Resurgent Dream, either to my royal sister or to Prime Minister Lacau.

The people of Dragonsreach have my deepest sympathies for their own struggles with terrorism. Civilized states must all stand together against the threat of terrorism to peace and decency in the world.

Goldenscale is welcome to visit Akaton any time she wishes. I would dearly love to see her again.

Aiwyn ni Gwydion,
Empress of Akaton

Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit,
You have the deepest thanks of myself and my country for the generosity of Scolopendran charities and for the generous sentiments and offers of aid. We do not require any military assistance at this time. However, Your Majesty's generosity in putting forth the offer shall not be forgotten. The displays of friendship from people in Scolopendra and throughout the world have meant a great deal to myself and my people.

Agwene ni Gwydion,
High Queen of the Resurgent Dream

The Valiant was invited to dock in a Danaan port and her officers and men were welcomed as friends. However, she was not asked for active military assistance.

Context: Water to earth in Fireforge (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=396256)


The southern Tip of Fireforge, the Danaan High Kingdom of the Resurgent Dream

The Chief Hydraulic Engineer of The Lowlands Project' smiled sadly into the distance. The towering glass complex that provided his vantage point was overlooking the sea to his left, and a muddy plane of water and earth to his right. The dyke was finished, the water had been pumped out and boxes with splendid fireworks were standing around him. waiting to be used in the Grand Opening that would not come. He took a bite from his peanut-butter sandwich. Even the gloomy mood did not mean that one shoot stop pursuing ones human needs, after all.

Behind the Knootian, a television set hummed softly with the images that were repeated again and again in what seemed like an endless loop. Despairing citizens of the Resurgent Dream, the efforts of rescue workers, the officials with their statements, more despairing citizens… he had stopped paying attention.

The familiar pinging sound of the elevator announced to him that someone else had reached the floor. It was one of the communications liaisons, a familiar face. "Hoi Jaap. Heb je 't al gehoord?" he asked calmly.

Jaap seemed more edgy then usual. Stressed, even, with an odd twitch in his face. He was also pulling on his cigarette with unusual vigour. “Has Galadriël been on yet?”, the engineer asked his colleague in-between two of his puffs. (Ghastly stuff, he thought, whatever it was that he smoked.) He was not overly interested in the answer, but it was hard to make conversation about anything else. The importance of any other issue that might have been a topic of conversation was dwarfed in relation to the attack, and so it was all they spoke of.

“Yeah. She was on just now up with the other messages of support.", the liason began, "She offered her condolences and said Knootoss would give full humanitarian, economic and military assistance... ya know, insofar as the people here desired it." He took another draw, and blew out the grey smoke more calmly, relaxing somewhat. "It was a fairly standard message though, nothing out of the ordinary. Had something about fighting terror together too, thought that was a bit over the top.”

“A bit of a late response though”; the engineer observed sharply. "Nearly twenty hours after the attack?"

“Well, can’t blame her", Jaap began defensively. "With that whole Excalbian escalation and these Tanah Burung negotiations failing again she is busy as hell probably.”

The engineer shrugged, instead choosing to make one more observation. “But who would one attack of the busiest ports in the Empire without stating any reason or making any demand? And why do these security people know for certain that it is terrorism mere hours after it happened? Surely this is not just premonition or a hunch. There is more going on here.”

“I bet the AIVD is all over this”

The smoke was now getting in the first mans face, and it was irritating.

“As is all of VERITAS no doubt. But that is not for us to now. If they would not use this incident to increase surveillance then nothing will.”

“Pantocratorian fundamentalists.”, Jaap speculated. “It would not surprise me in the least if they were behind it, trying to spread their oppressive religion. Did you hear of these attacks on non-humans…”

Marie-Helene knew the jig was up in Pantocratoria. She'd been unable to get in touch with any of her people in New Rome for the last couple days. She assumed most of them were in jail, if they were still alive at all.
...
Sebben was standing on the deck of his small transport boat, heading towards the port of Murphyville on the eastern coast of Marlund. The Sidhe frowned faintly, scanning the horizon.
...
The local attackers acting in concert with Sebben's people, those of them who survived their attack on Her Majesty, were behind bars in a Tarana jail. Many of them were talking and giving away more and more names. The round up of Sebben's Danaan network had already begun based on the information provided.
...
Ceren Mustafa and the other DBI agents were aiding the Pantocratorians in tracking down the network in Pantocratoria. Mustafa got a call in the middle of the investigation. After speaking for a few minutes, she hung up. "We have a major lead back home." she said to the Pantocratorian police.
...
After spending a few hours taking command of the tactical situation, High Queen Agwene headed to the High Temple in Tarana, summoning religious leaders from among the Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, and other religious communities to join her for an hour of national prayer.

"The records are private and confidential. To compel us to provide the Crown Prosecutor with the names and addresses of party members is to infringe on the right to be a member of a political party!" protested the Pantocratoria First Party lawyer to the judge.

The New Rome Police Department had asked the PFP to hand over membership records so that Marie-Hélène Pelay could be located, and so that other potential witnesses and terrorists could be investigated. The Party had indignantly refused, and the Crown Prosecutor had been compelled to bring them to court as a result.

"Monseigneur de la Justice, I reiterate that the Crown Prosecutor has no intent to prosecute the members of the Pantocratoria First Party for being members of a legitimate political party." Assistant Crown Prosecutor Perot argued. "We are seeking this list of potential witnesses to a long list of crimes, including terrorism, murder, and sedition. We already have several suspects in custody who are members of the Pantocratoria First Party New Rome Old Quarter branch, and we believe that other branch members may be witnesses, or even co-conspirators."

"Guilt by association? Monseigneur, this is a witch hunt!" protested the defence attorney.

"It is a legitimate investigation, as described by the police report from Detective Manuel Renard..." Perot replied, shaking his head.

"Enough." said the judge. "The names and addresses of the members of the New Rome Old Quarter Branch of the Pantocratoria First Party will be handed over to the Crown Prosecutor."

He banged his gavel.

***

Some hours later, the New Rome Police Department knocked on Marie-Hélène's door.

***

"What's the news in Consta..." the IDIS agent stopped himself half-way through the sentence and switched city names. "Tarana?"

"The New Rome Police Department just called..." said another IDIS agent, coming into the room. "They think they've just about got the first cell wrapped up, and they'll make them available for us for questioning as soon as they've got the ring leader."

Marie-Hélène heard the knock on her door and ran to the back window. She opened it and looked out, trying to see if they had her surrounded.
...
Ceren frowned slightly at the man's words but then smiled. "A prisoner in Danaan custody named the head of the terror network as Grand Duke Sebben ap Balor. We have a good deal of intelligence on this man. It should make everything a lot easier."

On the street behind her apartment she could see police cars, with officers sitting in them. She saw one cop looking right at the window out of which she was peering, and speak into his radio. Several seconds later, she heard a crash back from her door, as the police kicked their way in, pistols drawn.

"New Rome Police Department!" they shouted as they rushed into the apartment, securing it room by room on their way to Marie-Hélène. "Hands over your head!"

Marie-Hélène raised her hands above her head, shocked and terrified. "Alright! Alright!"

((OOC: Respond to the DBI?))

We have heard of the recent attack, and are duly saddened by the loss of life caused by this atrocity. It is a symptom of the times that we are not able to assist in any direct way, and we are duly saddened by this. We wish The Resurgent Dream success in seeking the perpetrators of this crime.

~ Alkesh Naranek.

"She's here!" shouted one of the officers approaching Marie-Hélène with his pistol drawn. "Keep your hands above your head!"

The officer's partner holstered his gun, and rushed forward. He patted down Marie-Hélène's sides, and then roughly pulled her arms behind her back and hand-cuffed her, before pulling her towards the side of the room and shoving her into the wall.

"Spread your legs!" the first officer barked, and his partner searched her more closely in case she was hiding anything. The other police practically ripped the house apart searching for other members of the cell, seizing computers, sheets of paper, and anything which looked even vaguely suspicious.

"Marie-Hélène Pelay, you are under arrest on the charge of sedition..." the second officer started, his search complete.

***

"Has he been interrogated?" an IDIS agent asked.

"The IFIS should send an agent, to assist in co-ordinating the Danaan side of the investigation..." suggested another, heading to the phones.

"If he's been interrogated, can we get his interrogation report?" asked the first IDIS agent.

Marie-Hélène obeyed every instruction carefully. She allowed herself to be frisked and hand-cuffed. When the officer tried to shove her against the wall, she jerked in a panic. "Careful! I'm fucking pregnant!"
...
Mustafe nodded. "Yeah, we can get you the interrogation report. It should be being prepared now. You should receive the document in the next ten minutes or so."

"Add swearing at an officer of the Crown to the charges." replied the police officer. He pushed her up against the wall to be searched, although he didn't do so as roughly as he initially intended.

In a few moments Marie-Hélène was stashed away into a police cruiser, with officers on either side of her in the backseat, keeping a painfully tight grip on each of her arms. The police were on edge, as if expecting the convoy of police vehicles to be hijacked at any moment by the prisoner's allies. But before long, the car pulled into the station, and the police man handled her out of the car and up into the interrogation room.

The room was totally devoid of any decoration. There was only a metal table, bolted to the floor, and a set of chairs. She was put in one of the chairs, and a yellow legal pad was placed in front of her along with a pen, although her hands were still cuffed behind her back. The officers sat down in the other chairs.

"As I advised you, you have the right to a lawyer to act in your defence. Do you want one? Do you have one, or would you like the Crown to assign you one?" the police officer asked her.

***

An IDIS agent put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone on which he had been talking.

"The New Rome Police Department have arrested the suspected ringleader of the New Rome cell. We're being asked if we want to participate in the interrogation." he said. "Let's send one DBI and one IDIS agent to participate."

Marie-Hélène calmed somewhat, squirming a little to keep her belly from touching the wall. She had no weapons on her. When the officers touched a few places on her legs and back she yelped in apparent pain and jumped slightly.

She went with the officers to the station. She looked at the pad of paper for a moment. "I waive all my rights and throw myself on the mercy of the court. I'll write and sign a full confession if you let me use my hands."
...
Mustafa nodded. "I'll go."

One of the officers quickly left the interrogation room and returned with a legal waiver document. He put it down in front of her.

"Start recording." he said. A camera on the otherside of the mirrored wall started rolling. He then uncuffed her. "If you want to waive your rights, please sign the waiver, then we can begin."

***

"Good, I'll drive." replied IDIS Agent Jean-Pierre Romanoi.

Marie-Hélène shook out her wrists a little and then signed the waiver as Euphémie Avenier. She then grabbed the yellow notepad and started writing furiously.
...
Ceren nodded, following him outside, through the streets, to the car, and letting him drive her over.

With a hacking cough, Baron Shein stubbed out a cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. Irritably he buzzed his PA. A young woman in a black uniform came in , and he growled incoherently, gesturing at the ashtray. Blushing and biting her lip, she went to empty it. The Baron jerked his head towards the door and she left. He frowned, looking at the reports of more recent activity in the Resurgent Dream and Pantocratoria. The Desk covering those nations had reported that there were a number of intrigues going on in those countries, and that a principal problem appeared to be a lack of appreciation for proper security measures in Resurgent Dream.

Shein was actually not so swift to judge. He had after all been Minister of Information when Empress Joanna was kidnapped, and when Empress Aurora nearly was. Who was he to judge? He decided to make patience his virtue..

When Marie-Hélène was finished writing and signing her confession, the police took the pad from her. They then hand cuffed her hands behind her back and to the chair again. One of the officers then grabbed her by her chin and, using duct tape, taped her mouth shut. The officers then got up and left her alone in the interrogation room, leaving her for what seemed to her like hours, certainly long enough for panic to set in, although it was of course much less than that.

By the time Romanoi and Mustafa arrived at the station, a typed version of her confession had been prepared. Detective Renard greeted them and handed it to them. He glanced at Mustafa and gave Romanoi a dubious glance.

"This is Agent Mustafa from the Danaan Bureau of Intelligence. She'll be participating in the interrogation. Take us to the prisoner." Romanoi responded.

"Of course, monsieur." Renard nodded. He led them into the station's corridors, before finally emerging in a little room, with a one-way mirror window into the interrogation room, where Marie-Hélène was sitting in her chair, cuffed and gagged.

"How deceiving appearances can be, she doesn't look like she could hurt a fly, little thing. How old is she, 20?" Romanoi asked Renard. "Anyway, let's look over the confession and then begin..."

Euphémie looked up at the police in surprise as she was gagged. "What are you...mpphhh?" She watched the officers leave and remained quite calm the entire time.

Ceren just nodded and smiled, taking the confession and reading it over quickly. She glanced through the one-way mirror, smiling a little at Euphémie's predicament. It was something that would never happen in a Danaan jail, certainly, and in any other case she would have been horrified. After what these people had done to her country, the sight made her happy.

She shook her head slightly, nonetheless. "I doubt that'll help much. Short of torture, just about every interrogation technique known to man is a vacation compared to what she's probably used to. I've dealt with women who 'belonged' to Grand Duke Sebben before."

The confession detailed how she had infiltrated Pantocratoria and created a false name under the orders of Sebben, to whom she belonged. It then honestly detailed the actions she'd taken since being in Pantocratoria, high-lighting the involvement of the Pantocratoria First Party.

"So who is Grand Duke Sebben?" asked Renard. "What does the DBI know of him?"

"I'd like to be properly equipped before we start speaking to this woman, Avenier or Pelay or whatever her name is." nods Romanoi. "I'd like to know more about Sebben."

Ceren nodded. "Grand Duke Sebben is a worshipper of the Nighmare Queen. His goals include gaining power for himself, destroying moral principles throughout the world, and...well, he has a messianic belief in the end of times. He is also a severe misogynist who makes a practice of owning women whom he treats as his property. He normally keeps them physically confined unless it particularly suits his interests not to. He disciplines them with what can only be described as torture...

"Grand Duke Sebben was believed to have seven years ago, after Samhain in 1 R.A. Past crimes attributed to him include the kidnapping of Her Majesty's aunt, the Grand Duchess of Garmar. After her rescue, Her Highness required several weeks or medical treatment and years of counseling...

"Since he resurfaced about a year ago, Danaan intelligence has managed to rescue one or two women in similar condition, most brainwashed to believe that Sebben is part god and taking them as his divinely ordained reward on earth...

"Sebben is known to have substantial magical powers and skill in melee combat. He can be very persuasive and even create an almost overwhelming presence when he has the need."

"That's a concern, she might try to use a battered woman defence..." Renard speculated.

"That might work on the murder charges we'll bring as a result of the confession, but she still wouldn't escape a charge of sedition, and there's no way she's going to get an ounce of public sympathy after what she's done." said Romanoi.

"Right, well let's get in there and talk to her." Renard said. "Unless you have anything else to add, Agent... Mustafa?"

Ceren frowned a little, looking down thoughtfully. "She just...gave you this? She didn't try to make a deal? She didn't beg for mercy? Nothing?"

Ceren frowned, shaking her head a little. "Have you done a full cavity search or let her see a nurse?

"She threw herself at the mercy of the court." Renard said. "She signed a waiver of all her rights. We recorded it. She was offered a lawyer and refused."

"We can conduct the search and health check now." Romanoi added. He got hold of a uniformed officer with a search kit, and had the station medic paged. He asked that the station medic bring a hospital gown. Together the five officers entered the interrogation room.

"Start recording." Renard barked. The camera whirred to life. "Suspect is Euphémie Avenier, aka Marie-Hélène Pelay. Suspect claims to be pregnant. We are conducting a full body cavity search followed by a medical examination. Sergeant, get the suspect to her feet."

"Yes, monsieur." the sergeant said. He walked over behind Marie-Hélène's chair, and uncuffed her from the chair, though still leaving her hands cuffed behind her back. He then pulled her to her feet.

"Is the camera recording?"

"Yes, monsieur." came a voice from a speaker behind the mirror.

"Good. Proceed." Renard instructed. The sergeant produced a strong looking pair of scissors from his search kit and began unceremoniously cutting Marie-Hélène's clothes off as she stood there, eventually leaving her naked in front of the police and the agents.

Ceren sighed slightly. She hadn't gotten a chance to explain her strategy at all. This wasn't at all her plan and, privately, she thought they were in the process of throwing away an opportunity to get to Sebben. Still, she followed the others into the room and watched as the suspect was stripped.

Euphémie looked up at the agents with wide eyes, blushing a deep crimson as she was stripped. "Mpphg?"

Renard would've normally cringed at the sight of a woman who had suffered such egregious abuse, but after the murder scenes of all Marie-Hélène's victims, he felt almost no pity for her. Romanoi was so cold that his first thought was for how the tape of the search could be "lost" so as to cover up evidence of abuse which could support a battered woman defence.

"Continue with the search." Renard ordered. The sergeant pulled on a latex glove, which made a snapping noise against his skin as he did so. He moved Marie-Hélène about the place into position, and conducted a full body cavity search. The station's medical officer arrived and was allowed into the interrogation room as the search was concluding.

Euphémie stood still and submitted to the search. "Mpphhhgg? Mpphhgg?" she asked again.

As the nurse arrived, Ceren started for the door again. "Where is the infirmiry?" she inquired.

"Level three, one of the officers could show you the way... madame." the medic began, looking a little taken back by Mustafa's presence. He took one look at Euphémie's naked body, and cringed a little at all the obvious abuse.

"Well, she certainly looks pregnant." he said, setting his bag and the hospital gown down on the table.

"We can see that." replied Renard dispassionately.

"Can we get that tape off her mouth if you want me to conduct a medical? And sit her down!" the medic asked. Renard nodded to the sergeant, who discarded his glove, guided Euphémie and ripped the tape off.

"Open your mouth and say ahhh..." said the medic as he began a medical examination.

Ceren walked through the door and headed for the infirmiry, giving Renard a meaningful look. She was getting quite tired of their racially motivated refusal to take her seriously or give any credence to her plans. When she arrived, by herself, she looked to whoever was on duty at the moment and then looked behind her, frowning a little. "Excuse me. Could you contact Officer Renard? He was supposed to be bringing a prisoner down here."

Euphémie sat down when instructed, gasping in pain as the tape was ripped from her mouth. "Do I really need to be cuffed for this?"

"Shut up and say ah!" snapped Romanoi. The medic completed his examination.

"Everything is much as you would expect in an abused pregnant woman of her age." the medic said, rising to his feet to gather up the hospital robe.

"Detective," said another officer, entering the interrogation room. "The infirmary asks whether you were going to bring the prisoner up there?"

"Why would I do..." Renard started.

"I could do a blood test back there, if you wanted." the medic interjected. "We could check DNA, and the paternity of the child."

The medic and the sergeant got Euphémie to her feet, and dressed her in the hospital robe, which was made out of two halves which were then tied together, making it easy to put on without removing the handcuffs.

"Well then..." Renard pondered. "That sounds like a good idea."

The sergeant produced another piece of duct tape, and gagged her once again. He and Renard each grabbed her by one arm, and escorted her out of the interrogation room along with the medic and Romanoi up to level three and the infirmary. The odd little entourage wound its way through the police station. Finally the doors to the infirmary opened, and Ceren Mustafa and the staff were rejoined by the sorry looking prisoner and her captors. She was escorted over to a chair with leather bindings on the arms and legs, and her handcuffs were removed for a moment before she was secured in the chair, allowing the medic proper access to the vein in her left arm.

"I wonder whether this Sebben is the father." Romanoi murmured to Mustafa, out of the prisoner's earshot. "He's not a human, is he? How... erm, is it even possible, biologically, that she's pregnant with his child?"

"Fae and humans are one hundred per cent interfertile." she commented off-hand.

Ceren then gave him a false smile, still speaking quietly. "So why'd it take so long to get her down here? We were all in the same room when we started for the infirmiry. Seems we would have stayed together."

The prisoner sighed when she saw the duct tape. "I'm not going to have any lips left if you keep doing that. It's very unhealthy. Is there even a reason for it?"

Euphémie was given no answer, the duct tape was stuck on and stayed on. It wasn't removed again in the infirmary.

"Miscommunication." Romanoi whispered back. "The idea of doing the examination down there wasn't that it was easier for the medic, it was that it was humiliating for the suspect. Same reason the camera started recording for the search. Old police trick. Not a fan of it myself, but not everyone has the benefit of IDIS training."

The medic took care retrieving a blood sample, despite the palpable feeling in the air in the room, as if everybody would've been happier had he just jabbed the needle in without the usual preparations and care.

"That's enough for DNA testing and a paternity test of the child." the medic tells Renard.

"Good." Renard replies. He motions for everyone to leave, and goes off to confer with Romanoi and Mustafa in the next room, once again leaving the prisoner restrained and alone.

"But it's exactly what she wants." Ceren commented. "Every little gesture like that makes her less likely to give us what we need." She made a gesture for the sergeant to pull the tape off before moving into the other room and leaning against the wall, not really hiding that she was less than happy.

The sergeant looked confused as to why the tape was being pulled off and stuck on and pulled off again, but he pulled it off Euphémie before leaving the room.

"What do you mean, what she wants?" Romanoi asked Mustafa. "You mean you think that she craves abuse?"

Euphémie grunted in pain again. A small tickles of blood ran down from her lip onto her body. She bit her lip a little and spit the blood on the floor. "Can I get something to wear? I thought Christians didn't believe in sex."

Ceren shook her head, not really bothering to hide her immense displeasure at the moment. "I mean she wants to be the one responsible. She wants you to keep wasting time punishing her instead of trying to move to the top of the network. She wants to be taking the fall and making herself finally worthy of her master."

"Haven't you thought about why she would waive her rights? I was trying to talk to you about it when you walked away and into the interrogation room while I was in mid-sentence. We need to discuss it." She relaxed a little, leaning against the wall.

"The point is...when you want something from a suspect, you don't give her an incentive to cooperate if you punish cooperation."

The sergeant didn't answer her. Instead he picked up a paper towel, grabbed Euphémie by the chin, and wiped the blood away. He had pulled the tape off too quickly, and decided if he had to reapply and remove it again, he'd do it slowly. He didn't want to her lips off - then she wouldn't be able to talk. After cleaning up the blood, he tossed the towel into the bin and left the room as well, leaving her strapped into the chair.

"What do you suggest then?" Renard asked in the other room. "You know about this Sebben, what would your suggested line of questioning be?"

Ceren shook her head. "You have to reward cooperation. There's no need to torture a prisoner who's already agreed to cooperate. Don't let her be the martyr and the enemy. As long as she gets to think like that, she'll never talk."

Ceren looked back at the door. "There was really no reason for that gag and most certainly no reason to just not respond when she talks to you. That's certainly no way to get her to talk to you." It also creates an identity as criminal and increases recidivism and dangerous psychological disorders in the prisoner, but Ceren managed not to say that.

"Go get her something to wear. Clean her up. Give her a cell and something to read. Give her...something by Aristotle. Let's go talk about the case for awhile and look over some files and evidence. Then we'll see if we've broken her shell yet."

Renard openly scoffed and twisted his face into a look of disgust. Romanoi snorted in a bemused fashion but otherwise didn't interject.

"Perhaps we could organise a mud bath for her?" Renard asked. "Maybe some champagne? She's a criminal, a mass murderer! And you want us to give her philosophy to read?"

"Agent Mustafa isn't familiar with your interrogation style, Detective." Romanoi said, objecting to Renard's hysterics. "The DBI do things a different way. We really do need more time to review the case anyway..."

"Well fine, we'll lock her in a cell while we review the case, but let's not forget that she's a prisoner, not a guest." Renard spat.

Ceren smirked slightly. "Who has more of a need to learn ethics than criminals?" She then adopted a much more serious expression. "Detective, these peole killed 37,000 of my countrymen. They attacked my queen. They blasphemed my faith. They murdered my former king by unspeakable methods. They used weaponry abominable to the most basic tenets of decency. If you're suggesting that I somehow side with them because I think actively punishing cooperation with torture is not the best way to get a prisoner to cooperate, then I suggest you remember who you're talking to."

"Of course she's a prisoner. Prisoners wear clothes most of the time and don't have their flesh torn off with adhesives. For Dana's sake, give her the book and stop this not talking thing. I'd actually like to catch Sebben. What you do with her after I get that information, I don't care."

Ceren paced a little, clearly very frustrated with this while set-up. Drapeur had promised the Pantocratorians would be cooperative, hadn't he?

"Torture?" Renard sneered. "We're not torturing her! Nobody has harmed a hair on her head, I don't..."

"Detective," interjected Romanoi. "Just organise a cell, will you?"

"Fine." Renard said, calling the sergeant over. "Put the prisoner in one of the solitary cells."

He gave Mustafa a pointed look.

"I don't have any copies of Aristotle. Give her a copy of the Bible. Or the phonebook or something." he concluded.

"Erm, yes detective." the sergeant replied, confused.

"Get her some clothes too." Romanoi added. "And there's no need to keep her restrained once she's in the cell."

"Very good, monsieur." the sergeant acknowledged. He then left the side room and re-entered the examination room. He ducked his head out the infirmary door and called over a few more officers. Then he turned to Euphémie.

"Come on then, you're going to the cells." he said, beginning to unlock the restraints on her in the chair. "Get up and put your hands behind your back again."

Ceren quietly contemplated Renard's anatomy and what it was he might be compensating for. She just watched him in silence before he walked out the door. She just looked at Romanai.

Euphémie stood up and put her hands behind her back. "You guys really think I'm dangerous, don't you?" She grinned a little.

The two new officers grabbed a hold of her by either arm, and the sergeant hand cuffed her tightly. He then leaned over her shoulder.

"Give us an excuse." he murmured softly, before straightening his back again. "Let's get her down to the cells."

The officers started to half-march, half-carry Euphémie over to the lift, and then down through the stationhouse's underground cell-block, where she was deposited in a small, plain cell. It was tiny. There was a flat, rubber bed, on which sat two piles, one of sheets, and another of grey clothing. An old, well-read Bible was also waiting her there in place of Aristotle. The ceiling was a great deal higher than a normal ceiling, and there was nothing to grab onto up there which would support a human's weight. Since this was just a temporary holding cell, there was no toilet or sink - the bed was the only furniture. There were no windows; the room was lit by fluroscent lights.

Ceren met Renard's gaze easily. She moved over and sat down at the table. "Cultural differences." She paused a moment. "I assure you, Detective, that I have no sympathy for this woman. It is simply that for the moment I am concerned with getting the information we need. She can get what she deserves after that matter is settled."

Euphémie couldn't help but laugh. "Domnu! You really feel the need to posture like that with a handcuffed pregnant woman you have outnumbered ten to one. Big, brave man aren't you?"

"We think you're dangerous, remember?" the sergeant replied sarcastically as he uncuffed her, shoved her forward, and then slammed the cell door shut, leaving Euphémie safely locked away.

Back upstairs, Renard was pacing the room. He had to cool down and re-evaluate things from a more objective perspective again, the stress of the past few weeks had overcome him and he was now snapping at the other agents.

"I think I should review the case file." he said quietly. "When you're ready to resume the interrogation, let me know, I'll be at my desk. Agent Romanoi, Agent Mustafa."

After acknowledging them both, he left the room and made his way to his desk.

"Well, while he does that, let's you and I discuss the case together." Romanoi said. "How do we get her to give up Sebben?"

Euphémie laughed at him again. Are all Pantocratorian cops cowards or is it just you?"

She headed into the cell, changed into the crappy clothes, and began eagerly reading the Bible.

Ceren frowned, thinking herself. "We can't pressure her into giving it to us, that's for certain. She's a fanatic. She views herself as suffering for her cause and I think she would remain a fanatic in the face of even torture and death. Any punishment thrown at her just feeds her martyr complex and reinforces her belief that she's being persecuted. I'm almost as sure we can't buy her....or at least...not directly."

"So we need to convince her that by giving him up, she's doing him a favour." Romanoi suggested. "Somehow. Maybe... if we knew what his objectives were?"

Ceren nodded. "We do. He wants to destroy the Seelie Court, purge the earth of the virtuous, and awaken evil nightmare gods to rule over all creation in an unending Winter of the soul. I just don't see how we can trick her into thinking she's furthering that."

She pondered for a moment. "What would help with Euphémie, really, would be a deprogrammer. The only problem with that is that her defense could use it to argue that she wasn't responsible for what she did. There has to be some way to deprogram her fanaticism without giving her a legal loopho...Wait a minute, she didn't just offer to defend herself. She threw herself on the mercy of the court. There is no trial, just the judge's decision."

Ceren grinned, having figured it out. "So where can we get a deprogrammer?"

"She could always appeal of course, once she's no longer brainwashed..." Romanoi said. "And then we'd have given her the grounds on which to do it. But we could get a deprogrammer. I'll contact head office and have a deprogramming team sent out."

He pulled out his mobile phone and made the call.

Ceren shrugged. "She's not that important anyway. She seems like a key player because all Sebben's orders came through her and the terrorist forces rarely saw anyone else but her job was basically to receive orders and then repeat them. It's Sebben we want to pay for what he did and pay heavily. We'd like to punish everyone in his network but if one or two fall through the cracks in apprehending him..."

"Somehow I doubt that Detective Renard with sympathise with that sentiment." Romanoi said. "But if it takes this woman, whoever she is, getting off so that we can get the mastermind, that's the price that must be paid. And the IDIS is prepared to pay that price, irrespective of the police position."

Ceren nodded. "But I don't think she'll get off. Legal technicalities are much harder to sway juries with when the crime is of such magnitude."

"Appeals aren't heard before juries in Pantocratoria, only judges, and they love technicalities." replied Romanoi.

Ceren sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don't want her to walk clean. If she wants to appeal, we can make her worried she'd lose and then maybe offer her natural life without parole if she agrees not to."

Romanoi's phone rang again, and he pardoned himself and answered it in the corner of the room. He talked on it for a few minutes, sounding both excited and unsure of something at the same time. Finally, the call ended, and he put his mobile phone back into his pocket and went back over to Mustafa. He glanced at his watch before speaking.

"I think the issue with appeals might be moot." he said. "The case has been referred to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator by an edict issued by the Emperor fifteen minutes ago, after the palace was informed that we arrested the ringleader here in Pantocratoria. Our deprogramming team should arrive in about forty minutes, would you like to grab a sandwich or something for lunch until then? We can talk about the case over lunch as well as we can do it on an empty stomach."

Ceren smiled prettily. "I can't say that I would object to that. So what does it mean when the case moves to the Imperial Court? Is the legal process the same?"

She grabbed her purse, heading for the door. She waited for the man to catch up, pondering. "Does this mean we get to meet His Imperial Majesty?"

"The legal process is similar. There's no jury, but a panel of judges presided over by the Emperor. There are no appeals because it is the highest court. Things are less likely to get bogged down in technicalities because the Emperor won't be interested in technicalities - he's not a lawyer after all. It makes things more... streamlined I suppose." Romanoi replied. "In my lifetime, no criminal cases except those involving the nobility have been referred to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. It is an ancient custom which has barely been used for hundreds of years."

They spoke as they made their way down to the station house's refectory, where a wide variety of cut sandwiches and cups of bad but caffeine-rich coffee awaited them. After the two had taken some sandwiches and coffee, they went over to sit down at a table well away from the other two police officers on their break.

"So..." Romanoi asked. "How long have you been a DBI agent?"

Ceren made herself a sandwich and took a cup of coffee. She nodded politely to the other two officers as she made her way over to the table where Romanoi led her. "You didn't answer my other question." she commented with a grin.

She then answered his question as she bit into her bologna sandwich. "About seven years. I entered service young because I was able skip two grades in high school and enter the University of Civic Virtue early (probably the reason I like Aristotle more than Kant) and then move on to the Royal Law Enforcement Academy."

She smiled again, thinking more about the case. "I really like this change of venue. It makes me think both Euphémie and Sebben are going to get what they deserve. Even after the trial, I do suppose the innocent child means she gets another nine months, doesn't it?" She sighed lightly, taking another bite. She glanced briefly around the room.

The police acknowledged the agents as they made their way to the table, and kept on eyeing them throughout their subsequent conversation. They hated the IDIS.

Romanoi nodded, and smiled in reply to the question.

"Well, I don't know whether we'll meet the Emperor." Romanoi said between mouthfuls. "I would guess that if we had to testify, we'd be in the same room as him. I really don't know otherwise, I don't know much about trials in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator beyond what I just told you... referring criminal cases there is like a left over from the days before French was spoken here in Pantocratoria, a relic of a bygone age. There were some trials there when I was young, some nobles in a court cabal or something, but the proceedings were closed. I do know that there's no jury, and no appeal. So, who knows? Maybe we will."

"I imagine that if she were sentenced to death, they would wait for the child to be born." Romanoi nodded to confirm Mustafa's question.

Ceren nodded a little. "That sounds very interesting. We don't have anything comparable in our history. I wonder why it's happening now if it normally only happens when nobles are tried. Though, by Danaan law, she is carrying a prince or princess."

She continued to munch her sandwich. "Pantocratoria was not always a Francophone nation? I'm embarassed to admit that I wasn't aware of that."

"You know who the father is for sure then?" Romanoi asked. "We'll find out soon enough from the blood test I suppose anyway. As for why it is happening now, who knows. Maybe it is thought that the scale of the crime warrants a larger scale response? These people murdered hundreds here, and are part of an organisation which has murdered thousands in your country. Maybe because of the... international nature of the crime... I don't know. All I know is that it solves our appeal problems."

He took a sip of his coffee.

"No, Pantocratoria wasn't always a Francophone nation. Still isn't in some parts. Where I come from, we speak Greek." he said. "Very little French, only for official matters. I didn't speak French on a daily basis until I came to university in New Rome. The Emperor Manuel V made French the official language of Pantocratoria, thought it was more modern or something. So, I take it you don't know very much about Pantocratorian history then?"

Ceren shrugged. "I'll put it this way. I'd eat my shirt if the father turned out to be anyone else." She took a bite. "Anyway, it does solve our appeals process."

She shook her head to his question. "Not very much, no. I know there was some kind of war with Knootoss centuries ago and that Her Highness, Princess Anna, married an Excalbian Prince. I got this assignment because I'm a trained expert in Fomorian cults and in Sebben's modus operandi. I was somewhat confused though. The Deputy Director kept acting like there was something special about me being willing to take the assignment. He didn't act that way to any of the other agents, not even Frandriena and she fits the profile of the recent murder victims." She was referring to Lavona Frandriena, the lone Satyr among the agents.

"So you volunteered then?" Romanoi smiled and nodded. "It figures then that you don't know much about Pantocratorian history. He was surprised because, if I'm not mistaken, you're Turkish. Ethnically, I mean."

Ceren nodded. "For the most part, yes, I am. I'm a fourth generation Turkish-Danaan. Human ethnicity tends not to be much of an issue, though. Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of where I come from. It's just that the difference between a Turk and a Polynesian seems a lot smaller when some of your other friends are nine feet tall and blue."

She shrugged, taking another bite. "So why does that make it surprising?"

"Do you know much about Turkish history?" Romanoi asked, a bemused look on his face as he wondered what his late grandfather would've thought of him working alongside a Turk.

"A little." she answered, her pretty face smiling casually. "The Turks were a nomadic group from deeper in Asia. They conquered Asia minor through a series of wars. Originally, they were polytheists of some kind but they were converted to Islam by their new subjects soon after settling. After their conversion, further military expansion against Christian communities further west, including the Byzantine Empire, were usually justified on military grounds. Also, they sheltered persecuted Jews in the Middle Ages. That's really all I know."

"Pantocratoria was founded by refugees fleeing the Turkish sack of Constantinople." Romanoi explained. "Mothers scare their children into staying in their beds at night by telling them that the Turks will get them if they don't... Turks are like... national enemies."

He smiled.

"Present company excepted." he added with a grin. "So you can see now why your boss was surprised."

Ceren stopped eating for a moment. She just froze. After several seconds, she set her sandwich down. "Yes, it does make sense now. I suspect I should be grateful that everyone has been quite professional so far. Tell me, does it bother you?"

Romanoi smiled and shook his head dismissively before returning to his sandwich. It didn't bother him, but he did find it all quite funny.

"Not at all. It shouldn't bother most people." Romanoi said. "But if they're a little surprised that you're here at all, don't be offended. Anyway... let's get back to the case at hand."

Ceren nodded. "We think Sebben is trying to escape to Marlund."

"Why is that?" Romanoi replied.

"Because they'd try and protect him." Ceren answered.

"So he'd want to go there... but do you know that he plans to?" Romanoi asked. "Have you intercepted any communications from Sebben for instance?"

"From his agents. From Lady Donna ni Leanhaun and Lord Joshua ap Balor, now in custody."

"Lady Donna ni Leanhaun..." Romanoi thought out loud, finishing off his sandwich. "Is she another one of... I don't know a nice way to put it... Sebben's concubines, like our girl?"

"He treats her like that or tries to. She isn't brainwashed, though, and she doesn't just take orders. She'd be as bad as she is without ever having met him, maybe worse. You don't want to know what she does."

"She...this is likely going to sound silly to someone not familiar with the supernatural but...she eats souls." Ceren said, lowering her eyes slightly as she mentioned it.

"I see. And Lord Joseph ap Balor?" Romanoi asked. "I take it that his relationship with Sebben is a little different from Sebben's relationship with the others..."

"He's one of his lieutenants."

"What's in it for him, money? Or does he just take orders from Sebben because he's of a higher rank?"

"He's a fomorian worshipped too." Ceren answered, frowning a little.

"So do you think our girl, whatever her name is, knows about these two then?" he asked. "And are they sidhe, or what?"

"I'd doubt it. And, yes, they're sidhe."

"Think she'd be jealous about another woman getting Sebben's... attentions?" Romanoi asked.

"If she believed it..."

"How much of Sebben's plan do you think he'd let her in on anyway?" Romanoi asked.

"Everything leading up to the attack, I'm sure. And she has to know he was married. She was probably with him for part of it."

"Part of the marriage, I mean." Ceren clarified.

Euphémie's deprogramming took a solid week of intensive therapy, during which time the labratory analysis of her blood sample was completed. The child's paternity was tested with the sample, but all which could be confirmed about the child's paternity from a blood sample was that the father was fae.

Given that she was now as deprogrammed as she was ever going to be, Romanoi, Mustafa and Renard were now preparing to interrogate her properly. They watched her in her holding cell through closed circuit cameras from a room down the corridor.

"So, how should we approach this?" Renard asked the agents. "Suggestions?"

"If we hadn't made such heavy handed brutes of ourselves before, we might've been able to pose as being on her side against the man who brutalised her..." Romanoi observed.

"Well, we did make heavy handed brutes of ourselves, so next suggestion?" Renard asked, turning to Mustafa.