The grand atrium of the gala hall shimmered with crystalline chandeliers that cast reflections across the polished marble floor. The massive room was adorned with the velvet banners of the Severian Principate, which hung evenly from towering columns. A sea of dignitaries, nobles, and elite merchants moved in waves of silk and vibrantly colored fabrics, each of them with drinks in hand. Murmurs and laughter intermingled with the sounds of clinking glassware, as servant droids passed between the throngs, bearing trays of glowing cocktails and flutes of azure blue wine. Clusters of high-ranking Severian officials stood in observance of the gala’s festivities—black and gold uniforms tailored with ceremonial sashes to mark their stations, as they exchanged whispers and careful glances with one another.
A change suddenly swept through the atmosphere of the room. The chandeliers dimmed, their light reduced to a faint glow. A hush rolled through the audience as the room darkened, all except for the stage, which suddenly sparked to life with pale silver light. Soft notes from a flute rose, clear and echoing, followed by the sweeping ascent of strings, woven together with precision as the orchestra began to play.
From the vaulted ceiling, movement slowly descended—two plyat birds, creatures rarely seen outside the collections of the elite. Two were pure white, their silky feathers shining with ivory under the light. In the middle, glided down something unheard of—plyat bird of delicate rose-pink and with flecks of gold adorning flowing plumage, a true rarity, if not the only one of its kind. A collective gasp fell across the audience, jeweled hands covering mouths in awe along with a series of soft whispers. For those where rarities equaled power, such a creature could prove priceless.
The birds swooped gracefully, wings slowly unfurling in broad arcs, their rhythm matching the symphony’s rise and fall. Then, there came a series of harmonious chirps layered along with the various instruments of the orchestra. The hall was transfixed, every gaze drawn to the ethereal display of gently fluttering wings and the plyat bird’s song.
Then came the shift. The lights suddenly burst into hues of silver, gold, and deep violet, swirling in hypnotic patterns across the stage. A haze of pink smoke began to coil upwards. Where the pink plyat bird once circled, now stood a female silhouette that emerged from the smoke, her form solidifying in the glow.
It was none other than Syrena Valkar, the hired entertainer for the evening. She stood in the radiance of the spotlight, as she cast the audience an enchanting smile, the subtle tug of Zeltron allure woven through the air to the crowd below. Her pale-pink hair cascaded in gentle waves that fell over her shoulders, icy highlights and lavender hues shimmering under the illumination. The gown she wore clung to her like liquid light, white silk adorned with sparkling silver crystals, with an elegant slit high along one leg. A train of soft feathers followed her with each step, brushing across the stage with each movement.
The white plyat birds circled her once more before perching elegantly at her side in presentation, a pristine chrome microphone now resting in her gloved hand. The symphony shifted into a faster paced rhythm, yet one that was equally more intimate, as they began to play the genre of B’ssa Novu. Syrena’s smooth soprano voice rose to meet the melody of the music. The heel of her stiletto lightly tapped against the stage, her body swaying in perfect time. She spun lightly with the mic in hand, the feathers of her dress swirling around her in a flourish as she sang, capturing the eyes of the crowd. The plyat birds trilled in harmony, their wings gently beating along to the rhythms.
The melody echoing over the area was undeniably enthralling. A carefully crafted work of vocal art complimented by a decor worth an Outer Rim warlord’s horde, the song washed over the forest of eyes now fixed upon the stage. A small handful were still talking, disappearing elsewhere or quieting their words, but even most of those with an ill tempered disposition seemed to falter at the display.
Almost all were enthralled by Syrena’s beauty. Most for the art, but the bestial thoughts of no small number penetrated through the halcyon serenity of the greater audience. Sirra had come to expect no less. No matter the world, no matter how close they were to the bright center of the universe, certain men and women were always there. Yet like all of them it was remarkably easy to remain unnoticed, even without dwelling in the shadows.
Dressed in a modest knee-length gown of scarlet and gold, embroidered with vivid patterns emulating the flowers local to Strokera’s central plains, Sirra had blended in. Gaudy enough to fit in yet not so exaggerated as the more sickeningly wealthy, the dress had been enough to pass among the crowds without comment. No small amount of makeup had gone into covering her facial tattoos and old scars, before managing to style her hair in a passably fashionable wave style.
Hanging to the back of the room next to a towering nova crystal urn, Sirra had uncurled her thoughts, probing each in turn and testing out the oddities in their psyches. Unified in their enthrallment of Syrena’s performance, their singularly focused thoughts were childishly easy to scan. Smoothed and rhythmic like the rise and fall of a desert’s dunes, the few exceptions jutted out easily among such thoughts. Jagged spikes of anxiety or determination, oddities among the euphoria were easy to pick out.
One feared the loss of their personal fortune, another that their tryst with an underling would be revealed. Some went into far darker but irrelevant matters. Sirra bided her time, narrowing each down until she identified a handful of psyches too disciplined and focused to be thinking of personal matters of coin or embarrassment.
Five, perhaps six, major figures involved in the security of the area. Dedicated to keeping track of internal codes and guarding methods. One of whose thoughts were tinged with deep concern about something on the third floor.
Sirra paused in her thoughts as someone approached. A young man with a shock of dark hair, moving with the inherent cockiness only alcohol could provide approached Sirra. His face was a broad smile and he bowed. Sirra returned the smile and gesture, then raised her hands and made several intricate signs in communication. A look of puzzlement crossed his face and it quickly fell, then he moved on elsewhere with a polite look of embarrassment.
“What did you sign to him?” Miho’s thoughts entered Sirra’s head.
Sirra responded in her customary form of communication, memories and gestures rather than crude words. First a man greeting another, echoing her first sign. Then memories of a blistering argument, a swearing obese human screaming that someone else should perform an anatomically impossible act upon themselves.
Few ever bothered to learn sign language, and it had become one of Sirra’s favoured ways of insulting others.
Miho grinned to herself from beneath the wide brimmed hat. The jacket and trousers looked like they would fit better in a tavern at first glance, but the quality of the garments screamed money. Her fingers flicked quickly at Sirra, still visible from across the room.
Don’t forget to ask the staff questions too. They might know a few things.
The small start of surprise from the Kiffar made her smile even more. It wasn’t often she could surprise Sirra.
Save me a dance.
She turned and navigated her way to a side room that had tables full of cards, the sounds of dice and an entire wall of very expensive looking liquor.
“Let’s see here…” She said as she rubbed her hands together. Miho eyed the tables of dice games, card games, and roulette games. Rich people always knew how to hold a party.
The small Kyataran exchanged a pocket of credits for the round circles the patrons were using. Walking one of them across the back of her fingers, she sat down at a Sabacc table that was just getting started.
As usual, the cards were in her favor and luck hadn’t abandoned her. As the pile of round disks grew before her, Miho watched the other players. They didn’t seem that intent on the game, but instead kept checking time pieces and looking around.
“You got places to be?” She asked as the cards were dealt one more time. Tossing her chips into the middle, the man to her left set his cards down and shook his head. The man to her right tossed his chips in and went back to looking around.
“We’re just passing the time. Just like everyone else, missy.” The fourth player said in heavily accented Basic.
Miho shook her head and gestured to the dealer, getting a new card. “Seems more like nervousness to me. You worried your wives will be upset about you losing so much?”
The man who folded his cards laughed with derision. “Ain’t got a wife to be beholden to so my money’s my own.” He gestured at the other players. “Same as them two.”
Looking out from under the broad brim of her hat, perfect eyebrows raised over violet eyes. “No wives at all? Then perhaps you should be mingling instead of throwing away small fortunes. I hear some ladies love a man who is all kinds of fat in the purse.”
The Folder laughed again and shook his head. “That’s no life for me. I like my nights and money to be my own. What’s the point of money if you can’t spend it on yourself?”
Miho grinned and nodded slightly, following the man’s lead. “That’s true enough. I would hate to have my time taken up by someone else.” She gestured at the other two men who were still in the game. “What about you two? Scoping out for the future or enjoying the moment?”
The man across from her threw several more chips on the pile. “I think you talk too much. We’re here to play.”
The one to her right smiled through his thick beard. As he spoke, the hair moved like an animated shrub. “Don’t mind Travner, miss. He just takes the game too seriously. You stick with us long enough and you’ll understand. He might even start to like you.”