CMR Chapter 2

Rhea's soaring cathedrals were designed to impress visitors. Their spires all but pierced the sky, and even the office buildings boasted stained glass and murals. Tirawa City's spires in particular were needle-like spikes that tapered gradually to single-room tips. Between these 'teeth' as the locals called them were pyramidal structures that served as megahabs and a few office buildings. The place was one of the quietest cities in human space, a full quarter of its population were some variation of monk or nun. The people in the periphery were orphans from the Mercy Houses, service staff, and others who made their living or depended on the cloisters. The noise, such as it was, came from the tourists and the hawkers.

Some of the tourists came for the architecture, others on pilgrimages and still others for the legendary brews of certain abbeys. They were all a source of income. The authorities maintained scenic overlooks and parks as rented space, the churches and monasteries took donations and tithes, and the locals took everything else.

'Hawker' was the generally pejorative term for the street vendors who sold their wares in the places of the highest tourism interest, and on the walks between. They shouted, sometimes in a piercing shriek, just to be noticed. They sold everything from aftermarket electronics to holy charms to palmistry sessions. Street preachers intermingled with the stalls, usually the type of preacher that couldn't get a collar in any reputable chapel. 

Even with these competing voices, the general din of a normal city was muted. Vehicle travel was restricted, so the only real competition for the shouting was the whistling of the wind through the spires and the hourly ringing of the bells.

Crenshaw and Dolly stared at each other awkwardly as the five o'clock bells tolled. There would be no point in trying to speak over them. When the last bell tolled, Crenshaw tried again. "Did you get that address?"

"Yes," she nodded, raising a hand to project a hologram from a palm emitter. It showed a map route of the city. "I still say we should have commissioned the Seekers. They could send a reputable subject matter expert..."

"Something tells me they wouldn't like the acquisition part of this whole job." Crenshaw snickered. "I swear I read that priests frown on thieving and black magic somewhere."

"I just think that with so many unknowns, pursuing the 'lowest bidder' of an occultist seems like a bad idea." 

"You didn't think lowest bid was a bad idea when it came to the in-flight drinks," Crenshaw joked. "We're hiring a con artist to tell us about the lingo. She's definitely going to milk this job for everything she can, so we might as well start low, right?"

Dolly shrugged. She knew better than to argue when he was this certain. She logged the conversation for reference later if she had to remind him of yet another time that she was right. They drifted through Tirawa. It wasn't the first time for either of them, but they were far from locals and they obviously weren't pilgrims. Hawkers shouted for their attention, grating on Crenshaw's budding hangover. 

Dolly didn't say anything when she held out a closed hand, fingers down. He cupped his hand under and she dropped two ReHydrate tabs into his palm. He took them and swallowed them dry, wincing. 

Finally, they stood in front of a wooden stall that advertised 'Palmistry, Tarot, Potions, Exorcism Consultations!' on a hand painted wooden sign. On the countertop was a holographic display showing highlights from the proprietor's various ghost hunting streams. Opposite this was a doll the size of a cat with a fan of tarot in front of her. The doll had been posed to appear deeply contemplative. A small bioplastic button connected to a wire that ran to the dark interior of the stall. 

Crenshaw shrugged and reached forward to push the button. There was a shifting in the back and he realized that there was a clever arrangement of mirrors to hide the true size of the stall. He stepped back and to the side to look. He snorted. "She's taken half the alleyway."

"Clever way to get a cheaper license," Dolly noted. "Probably fools any foot patrol happening by."

"Are you cops?" The voice came from the doll, making Crenshaw flinch. When he looked, the doll was staring up at him with open hatred. It was a well made little thing with a bioplastic head and hands, a silk body covering, and long dark brown hair. It had black lipstick and dark eyeliner with carefully applied wings. It was wearing a black bodysuit with little olive drab cargo pants bloused into boots. As he tried to process what he was looking at, she leaned over and plucked a tiny, wide-brimmed hat from its place behind her and tugged it onto her head. She looked up at Crenshaw and glared. "Well?"

"No," Crenshaw answered, finally. "We're not cops. I'm trying to hire Clara Wardyn. Is she back there?"

The doll seemed to consider this for a few heartbeats, then called back. "They seem alright, Mistress!"

A gout of smoke filled the back of the booth, and a figure materialized. She was an up-scaled copy of the doll, with the cute features stretched into a sinuous, smirking woman. Straight espresso-brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and framed a face with glittering hazel eyes full of mischief. She was a dancer, either by trade or hobby, and her movements carried that grace even in the smallest twitch. She had long limbs, and when she settled onto the stool behind the wooden counter, she knew exactly how to move all of them with an ease that Crenshaw felt himself appreciating. She was wearing a larger copy of the doll's wide-brimmed hat and a riotously colored bomber jacket. "Palmistry?" she offered, glancing between the two of them. "Tarot? I could read your aura, if that's what you'd like. Or maybe you'd like a potion?"

Crenshaw leaned on the counter, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Actually I'm here to hire you."

Clara sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, not that kind of booth. You're looking for the Chapel of Carnal Exaltation. Perfected Path place, about two blocks that way and take a right. Can't miss it."

He gave her a confused look, then glanced at Dolly for an explanation. Dolly, for her part, had a carefully placid face and stood stock still, staring straight ahead. If he didn't know better, Crenshaw would swear that she was trying not to laugh. He turned back to Clara and tipped his hat back. "Not for that. Believe me, I have no trouble on that front. Paying for it isn't... well, that's not the point." He fought a rising awkward frustration and it clicked that she was trying to get him off balance. Skillfully. "I'm Crenshaw Mack, Freelance Detective. I've been hired to find an object and I think you might have some small bit of expertise in the matter. I can offer you two hundred for your time."

Clara smirked, breaking character for a second before smoothing her features again. "Two hundred? That buys you ten minutes. You have a picture?"

He was sure that she'd already started the clock, so he wasted no time taking out his holocomm and bringing up the picture of the horrid little mummy in the jar. Clara's eyes flashed with interest and she leaned in. "That's a Rat-Thing! Oh, this is a good find... who is sending you out for this?"

"I couldn't tell you," he answered, apologetically. "Professional standards, you get it. Anything I need to know about this Rat-Thing?"

She shrugged and looked again, clearly calculating something out in her mind. She was about to speak when the rotating image brought her face-to-face with the stylus. Gasping, her hand jerked out and scrabbled with the button to freeze the image. "Where is this!?" she demanded. "Where!?" The doll was on her little feet and was leaning over the image, staring at it with an identically hungry expression.

Taken aback, Crenshaw glanced at Dolly, who twitched an eyebrow. It wasn't a gesture as such, but he took her point. Clara was a potential rival, Dolly was signaling to tread carefully. He gave her a brief rise of his chin in acknowledgement and turned back to Clara. "Well, that's what I'm trying to find out. I take it you recognize this thing?"

She looked up at the detective and chewed her lip. He couldn't decide whether she was intentionally fetching or if she was so used to flirting that it was natural. Finally, she glanced at the doll, who looked up at her and gave her a flat look. She looked back at Crenshaw with a carefully guarded face, then broke out into a dazzling smile that felt like a fist clenching over his heart. "I do. You're in over your head, Scampi. You're gonna have to take me along."

He grinned at her, the prospect of more of her company suddenly very appealing. "That sounds-" he cut off with a sharp intake of breath as Dolly's boot jabbed into his ankle. "Can't be done. Sorry. Maybe give me your number and I'll let you know how it goes?"

She pouted and leaned back, pulling a tarot deck from seemingly nowhere. She shuffled it, eyeing him. He was about to say something else but Dolly's boot nudged him again, this time threateningly but without as much bite. With a sigh, he slipped onto a stool in front of the counter and settled in for a long negotiation. "How much for a... card... thing?"

"A reading." Clara smirked. "It's called a reading. I'll give you a discount, Scampi. Only nine, and I'll tell you your past, present and future."

Crenshaw squinted at her. "I have a feeling I could guess what's about to happen, but I'll bite. Just so you're aware, I don't buy into any of this."

"I can see that," she answered, eyes glittering. "Let me change your mind." She laid out six cards. "Choose three."

He considered, trying to read her intentions but she was leaning forward slightly and he had to stop his eyes from wandering. He settled on a triangle, center nearest her and the two corners nearest him. She flipped his first card. It showed a man in a cloak looking despondently at five spilled goblets. "For the past; Five of Cups. You've experienced abandonment, guilt, anger. You let it define you, staining your joy. You focus on what's gone and miss what you still have."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, so you're good at reading people. That's a good skill, but it isn't magic."

She grinned and flipped his second choice. It showed a man in a red cloak, walking on a rope bridge made of eight goblets. "For the present; the Eight of Cups. You're on a journey, leaving behind the familiar and going into deeply unfamiliar territory. There are dangers that you aren't even equipped to understand."

Dolly scoffed. "We told you that we're looking for a subject matter expert on a job. Repeating what we told you poetically is hardly impressive."

Clara clicked her tongue, drawing Crenshaw's attention to her glossy black lipstick. She flipped the last card. It showed an armored knight on horseback, holding a goblet reverently. "For the future; The Knight of Cups. A companion will join you, or perhaps a suitor if you play your cards right." She snickered at her little pun. She looked at the cards, cocking her head as she considered something.

Crenshaw rolled his eyes. "There it is. So the cards say I have to let you come with us? That's convenient."

"Three cards in the Cups Suit," she mused. "They also say that you might be an alcoholic."

Crenshaw was about to object but Dolly leaned over the cards, suddenly looking at them with more than scorn. "Maybe there is more to this than tourist bait. What are the odds of drawing three in the same suit?"

"Just under one in twenty," Clara winked at Crenshaw. "So... What's your ship like?" When the two detectives looked at each other, Clara laughed. "Alright. Cut me in for half. You definitely need me. I have a ship."

He glared at her. "You don't even know what we're making on this deal."

She reached over and flipped a card. It showed a tree with ten branches, each terminating in a pentagram enclosed in a circle. Over this card she waved a hand and three boar tusks dropped on the card, each engraved with a mysterious symbol. "Hundred thousand. More than a year's pay."

Clara looked at Crenshaw with some alarm. Crenshaw continued glaring at Clara. "Twenty five percent."

"Thirty. And you can call me CeeDee."

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