Chapter 3 – Part 4

Bresbin waited patiently in the tall grass by the end of the pond. He shifted his muscles slightly now and then, to prevent stiffening, but other than that he made no movement. He was patient, as he always was. For now, he was one with his surroundings. He had done this many times before, and if he was patient and careful as he always was, he would do it many times again.

Of course this time he wasn’t waiting to catch someone unaware, to ambush and kill in the name of the Crown. Now he was simply waiting for Pienna to come out of the pond, to return to him so that he could continue the charade.

He was not totally hidden, of course. The great panther knew exactly where he was, she could smell him. Even now as she appeared to be merely relaxing in the cold, wet grass that surrounded the pond, she was keeping an eye on him.

Missy did not trust him. In some ways the cat was wiser than its mistress.

After an hour of waiting, a great brook trout jumped out of the pond, landing on the muddy ground before it grew and transformed into a human woman of late middle years.

Missy let out a soft mewl of protest until Pienna reached out and rubbed her between the ears. The great panther rumbled with pleasure like a pampered housecat. “Brezzy?” she asked, looking around.

The goblin put on his dumb face, and stepped out of the grass. “Brezzy is here, sister to nature. Is Pienna’s seal holding?”

“I did not make the seal,” she told him with a smile. “But yes, it still holds. More importantly it does not seem to have been visited since the last inspection.” She ran her hands through her hair, and settled the oak circlet she always wore – even when sleeping – into a more central place on her head. The file that the Dark Lanterns had on Pienna said little about the circlet, save that it was magical and that it increased the woman’s abilities somehow.

Bresbin nodded, keeping an eager, dumb grin on his face, keeping his conscious thoughts in persona.

You have to believe the cover story, one of his first instructors had told him. More than your target, more than the mark that you tail, more than whoever you may be eavesdropping on or interrogating, YOU have to believe the lie that you hide behind. If you do, the mask will stay, and you will live. If you don’t, they’ll find the crack in the mask, and tear it off, and then you’re dead.

Bresbin had taken that lesson to heart. To him it had just been another way of hiding. He’d worked very hard to become the best liar in the employ of the Crown that he could. He’d succeeded, too.

But Pienna’s file had been marked three time, by three different operatives, noting how intuitive the woman was. Few could slip a lie past her, much less live a lie with her every day.

Droaam duty hadn’t seemed this dangerous.

“Come,” Pienna said. “I have more Gatekeeper duties, and we must travel quickly through some dangerous territory today.”

“Brezzy follows,” he said, hefting his shortbow.