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Corliss waits a full minute before speaking—she wants to be sure that the Archon is well and truly gone. "That woman is insufferable, Mekuztli. And she has no concept of how we run things in this city." She points at your shoulder holster. "Your weapon is adequately concealed and necessary in times like these. She forgets that mortals don't possess her attention to detail. I swear she only came here to hen-peck me to death. She demands my attention and then complains for almost ten full minutes about what she had to wear in order to fit in. She actually suggested we should meet at a bar. Can you imagine the scandal? A bar?"

"She was clearly testing me—seeing how far she could push. Bending to her will wouldn't be 'playing nice,' it would be showing my weakness," Corliss says. "Unfortunately, I have little choice but to entertain her. A well-positioned Prince might be able to get away with briefly flouting the will of an Archon, but with Ottawa destabilized and no clear leader, it would be best to satisfy her curiosity and send her on her way as quickly as possible. If we're lucky, she might deal with our Anarch problem while she's at it." Your sire lapses into an uncomfortable quiet, leaving you feeling awkward and fidgeting.

"Is there anything else I can do to assist you?" you ask, hoping to leave as soon as possible.

Corliss nods. "When we spoke at the council the other night, I was too preoccupied with Ms. Maier's crucifixion and Trevor Haidt to ask about your assignment. Were you able to speak with the old Sewer Rat?"

"I managed to get several minutes alone with Bouchard, though I'm not sure how much useful information I got." You'll need to be careful what you say if you wish to keep your alliance with the old Leper intact. You'll have to offer Corliss something or she'll smell a rat, but you can control what you hold back.

"I'll be the judge of that," Corliss says, leaning forward.

"I found a very detailed map of the sewers and tunnels beneath Gatineau. He had it spread over his desk like he'd been studying the tunnels recently. It just struck me as odd."

"Why odd?" Corliss asks. "Surely a Horror has every reason to possess maps of sewer systems."

"An intriguing suggestion," Corliss says, stroking her chin.

You feel somewhat vindicated for bringing the map to her attention. "But even if that was his intent, there aren't any tunnels that connect below the river, are there?"

"I think you'd be surprised how many hidden tunnels the Sewer Rats have had their servants dig below these cities in the last two centuries. We Nosferatu have a great many secrets we don't share with our more 'upwardly mobile' kin. That being said, I'm not aware of any tunnel that spans below the river, but its existence wouldn't be entirely surprising."

She taps the desk rhythmically with a perfectly manicured nail. "Enough about the map. Did the old man even show up? What did you learn from him?"

"I wasn't alone for long. He came in while I was admiring a painting of his."

"The Woolford," Corliss says. It doesn't come off as a question, but you answer anyway.

"Yes. He suggested I should be ashamed for not knowing the artist's name."

Your sire laughs; you think it may be genuine this time. "That petty Leper enjoys his song and dance. When I first visited him fifty or more years ago we had much the same exchange. I'm convinced he gets a perverse pleasure from implying that his guests have no sense of culture or history. An amusing affectation for one scraping by in a city sewer." She clears her throat. "But that's not why I sent you. What did you learn?"

That seems to get Corliss's attention. "Those backstabbing idiots!"

You look at her questioningly.

"I just had them in here the other night for preliminary talks about reintegrating them back into their domains here in Ottawa."

"But didn't they leave of their own accord?"

She nods. "As a political protest when Arundel welcomed the Banu Haqim. They wanted their return to be of a more official nature rather than be viewed as if they were slinking back." She rolls her eyes. "Politics and perception."

"That makes sense," you say. "But why would they be skulking around under Parliament?"

"I have no idea," she growls. "But you can be sure I'll find out."

A Knock At The Door

A sharp knock comes from the door and Corliss bids you to open it. A tall man slips into the room and stands to your left, straightening his jacket. You recognize him as one of Corliss's ghouls.

"Yes, Gregory?" Corliss asks. "What is so important that it cannot wait with the rest of the cretins outside?"

"Apologies, mistress, but Alisha Grey has arrived and she insists on seeing you. She refuses to take no for an answer."

Corliss curses under her breath—the stress of her position is clearly weighing on her. "She'll want to know how I intend to deal with the attack on her exhibition," she mutters to herself. "Mekuztli, you're dismissed for the evening; I have other matters to attend to. And for God's sake, try to avoid being accosted by Anarchs again. Maybe stay home and read a book." She slams an open palm down on her desk. "No more crises!"

You pat the gun in your shoulder holster. "I'm taking the situation seriously. Don't worry about me; I'll be careful."

"You'd better be," Corliss snips and dismisses both you and her servant. "Send Ms. Grey in when you leave."

Back On The Street