“Gentleman, gentleman… What can Mama Chesca do for you fine soldiers today?”  From across the room, Mama Chesca came bursting out of the kitchen, arms extended to welcome the three stoic guests.
     Cylus didn’t have to think twice.  Mama had garnered their attention for the briefest of moments and he took advantage of it.  As nonchalantly as possible he slid out of his chair, keeping his back to the men.  Quickly he made for the side exit to the inn lobby beyond.  Within moments he was dashing up the stairs and on his way to his loft.
     Ten minutes afterward there was a knocking at the hatch followed by Mama Chesca’s voice, “Cylus dear, let me in.”
     Cylus sprung off his bed and went over to lift the hatch.  Doing the gentlemanly thing as Mama Chesca had always taught him, he offered his hand and helped her up the last step.
     In the many twelve-moons since Mama Chesca had taken him in, Cylus had learned much from her.  He was just a boy at the time, having travelled from the western reaches of Aachen with his sick mother and his father who had brought his life savings in hopes of getting treatment for the Red Fever that plagued his wife.  She never made it to the great metropolis though, dying in the back of the carriage a mere two days from the city limits.
     Cylus’ father, heartbroken buried her in a shallow grave not far from the roadside.  Cylus was only six at the time and didn’t understand all of what was happening but he knew well enough that he’d never see his mother again and that his father might never be the same.
     For whatever reason, Cylus’ father decided to continue to Aachen City.  It was there that Cylus discovered the Red Fever was not just something his mother had contracted.  People had traveled from all over the land to seek treatment in one of the city’s noted facilities.  An entire trade in the cultivating and sale of leeches had in fact grown up for a brief time during those dark times.
     The first few days father and son spent in the city were at one of the shanty common huts that had sprung up all around the docks.  Cylus’ dad didn’t say much and gave no indication of his plans nor did Cylus care to press the matter.  On the morning of their fourth day, winds gusting and causing the tin roof of the shanty to bang against the walls it sat on, Cylus awoke to find his father lying flat on his back in a cold sweat, his complexion turned beat red.  Cylus just sat and stared for a moment not knowing what to do.  Finally his father awoke and through his chattering teeth told his boy to fetch a nurse from “by that giant building they call the arena.”
     An hour later Kylee returned with help but when they got there his father was nowhere to be found.  Panicked, Cylus began crying, shedding the tears he hadn’t allowed himself when his mother passed away. 
     Eventually with the help of the lovely nursemaid they did find his father who had been moved to one of the internment areas.  Barely able to get up the strength to speak, he told Cylus to return to the shanty and wait for him to come back.  Cylus saw how bad he was though and knew it was unlikely he’d ever see him again.  Wiping more tears that had now found yet another reason to take perch on his cheek, Cylus left the nurse with his dad and took the long walk back to the shanty.
     As the days passed, Cylus wandered out in the city more and and more.  He got food where and when he could but those opportunities became increasingly more difficult to come by as ever more people seeking treatments flooded into the city.  A couple weeks after he’d left his father, Cylus had wandered into the Lower Ward hoping to find something in a new area.  What he found was the most appetizing scent to ever make the journey across the winds to his nostrils.
     Following his nose, he wove a couple of blocks until he came upon a large building sporting a sign with a single rose painted on it that said, “Mama Chesca’s.”  Without another thought he went straight up to the door and walked in.
     The place wasn’t all that different back then, perhaps just a little less worn.  Mama Chesca, or Francesca as was her full proper name, looked pretty much the same too.  She was seated at a round table with a gentleman on either side of her, clad in an elegant white dress, dark brown locks cascading over her shoulders.  When Cylus entered the room she gave a curious glance over and then flashed the most welcoming smile that still disarmed many a patron to this day.
     “Excuse me,” she said to her dining partners as she arose and came toward Cylus.  “Little boy, you are all dirty and you look so hungry.  Come with Mama Chesca and we’ll get you cleaned up and fed.”
     “I want what they’re having,” the young Cylus said a bit impetuously as he pointed to the chicken wings laying on the plates of the men she had been sitting with.
     “Ahhh… Smelled Mama’s famous chicken did ya’?”  She giggled a bit and added, “Sorry little one, only grownups can have that dish here.  But I have some stew that you’ll love just as much and it’ll fill that skinny little belly of yours.” 
     That was fifteen twelve-moons, a goodly amount of helping out around the inn and many fond memories ago.  Oddly, Cylus noted, he didn’t know why Mama Chesca still wouldn’t let him have any of the chicken.
     “So tell me what that was all about dear?” Mama asked as she navigated her way through his mess to an open chair.
     “I’m sorry Mama, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”  Cylus gave his best sheepish look.  “Remember the other night Mr. Politani asked for me?”
     Mama just nodded.
     “He told me he had lost his wife’s emerald in a card game but that the man who took it from him was cheating…”
     Cylus didn’t have to explain the rest.  Mama Chesca knew full well what particular set of skills her foster son had developed over the twelve-moons and she never gave him any trouble about it so long as he obeyed her basic rules about not hurting people and not “doing a job” that involved taking something from good, honest people.  Of course that judgment was always a subjective one, but Cylus did earnestly do his best to live by those rules.
     “Well then dear,” Mama Chesca said as she reached out a hand, “Give me the gem if you would and I’ll make sure he gets it when he’s with one of the girls tonight.  I’ll leave his payment for you in your box.  Right now I think it would be best if you let Rachele cut your hair and maybe shave off that scruffy on your chin.”
     “Aww, Mama!” Cylus objected.
     “Well you shouldn’t have gotten yourself spotted by the watchmen.  I think I confused them sufficiently but you’ll need to shake up that appearance some until this all cools down.  Got it?”
     “Okay Mama.  Thanks,” Cylus offered quietly as he dropped the gem into Chesca’s hand.
     “Good.  I’ll have Rachele come right up.”
    

#

     “Yup, that does it Lil’ C,” Rachele said as she pulled back for a good look at Cylus’ now clean shaven face.
     “Thanks,” he replied as his hand wandered up to his chin.  It felt weird to have no scruff.  Ever since he could grow facial hair in his mid-teens, he’d always had a short bit of black hair there.
     “Don’t worry,” she added, “it looks good!  I think your hair looks better too.  You looked like a crazy barbarian with that ponytail halfway down your back.”  Rachele gave him one last once over then reached out and had a check on the smooth chin too. 
     Cylus looked up at her and could not read the strange expression in her blue eyes.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.
     “Oh nothing,” she said, snapping out of it.  “I just hope you’re more careful.  Those guards meant business.  Mama would be crushed if anything happened to you, you know?”
     Cylus nodded then a grin came over his face.  “So only Mama would be upset…”
     Rachele responded by getting up and heading toward the hatch.  “Well yeah.  We all know Lissandra thinks you’re trouble and I have grown tired of you being unable to catch me.”  With that her saunter turned into an all out dash for the stairs.
     “Oh no you don’t!” Cylus said as he sprang up after her.
    

#

     Cylus took a deep breath as he looked up the ten limestone steps to the magnificent oak double doors of the most famous tavern and theater in all of Aachen (and perhaps the entire dominion for that matter).  The life size lion statues on either side of him did nothing but add to his anxiety.  He felt foolish for being so nervous; after all, Ashenbach had spoken to him once before.  That was probably a fluke though, wasn’t it?  The world renowned bard-come-tavern-owner had caught site of Cylus one night when Cylus was working a job in the main theater room of the establishment.  Ashenbach was performing at the time but somehow still knew what Cylus was up to in his audience and approached Cylus later.  Cylus was mortified and thought for sure Ashenbach would have him arrested or worse, but the bard simply gave him a brief bit of advisory dialogue that included the bit about having a replacement for objects “procured.”
     After he was done saying his piece he paid Cylus no further mind though, having moved to a conversation with one of his many adoring lady fans.  Now Cylus stood at the steps wondering if the bard would agree to speak with him at all, let alone give him any advice.
     ‘Only one way to find out,’ Cylus reminded himself for the umpteenth time since he had left Mama Chesca’s.
     Glancing back over his shoulder at the giant wall of the arena only two blocks east, Cylus began up the steps. He wasn’t sure if the doors would be open this early but he would wait if he had to.  A tug on the giant brass ring of the right door gave no resistance. 
     With a rush of cool air sailing across his newly shaved face (Cylus never understood how the bard’s tavern always had such crisp, cool air no matter the temperature outside), Cylus entered the main room.  The stage where so many a celebrated performance took place was about twenty feet ahead and to the right, its seashell shaped rear wall facing almost two score tables that were evenly distributed over the fine marble floor.  The theater bar to the back left of the room was awash in golden light from the lanterns that lined the entire mezzanine around the grand room.  Cylus was apparently the first person to enter the establishment today as he was the only person in the room.
     “Hello?” he called out as he took a few steps in and let the door soundlessly close behind him.
     His call was answered by a single lute note that seemed to emanate from all around the large room at once.
     “Uhh… Sir Ashenbach?”
     Suddenly, from above the bar one of the many sculptures along the façade of the mezzanine moved.  Cylus almost jumped back toward the doors then realized it was the bard’s legs dangling over the side from the floor of the balcony’s front row.
     “I do believe that is the perfect note for a Second Trade,” the smooth voice came from above those legs. 
     Following his statement, the bard put his lute down and swung under the railing, deftly landing one legged on a barstool. 
     “You won’t tell Rosario I’ve put my booted foot on the fine cloth of our barstool now will you, Cylus?”
     Cylus was shocked and a bit awed that Ashenbach remembered his name.  But had he given the bard his name?
     “I shant sir, I promise you that.”
     Ashenbach hopped down off the stool then and walked over to one of the tables, taking a seat.  He motioned Cylus to the chair across from him.  Cylus hurried over and sat down.
     “First point of business young lad,” the bard began as he looked back over his shoulder toward the kitchen entrance.  “Graves!  Graves fetch us some juice and a couple of Rosario’s muffins would you?”
     A muffled voice from behind the door replied, “Coming right up!”
     Ashenbach turned his attention back to Cylus, giving him a look both casual and yet unnervingly piercing.
     “Second point of business, I am not a sir.  I may be of fine stock and I may know my way around a horse - don’t dare think that joke lad! -  But I have never been knighted… Well except for that one time in Ensdorf but it didn’t really count because –“
     “Your food sir,” Graves the old waiter interrupted as he put the tray upon the table then soundlessly turned on his heel and returned to the kitchen.
     Cylus wasn’t sure if it was polite to grab his plate or if he should wait for Ashenbach to hand it to him.  The bard took his and then just looked at Cylus who took the cue and reached out for his own.
     “He gets to call me sir because I pay him.  Now tell me why have you shown up here before the morning sun has even had its coffee?”
     “Well si… I mean Ashenbach.  Can I call you Ashenbach?” Cylus asked nervously.
     Ashenbach gave him an inquisitive look as he took the first bite of his muffin.  “Perhaps you should call me sir after all.”
     “Yes sir,” Cylus continued after taking a bit of his own (and how exquisite the muffin tasted!  ‘Mama Chesca may have a rival,’ Cylus thought).  “This is a matter of the heart, sir.”
     The bard made a rolling motion with his hand, indicating for Cylus to continue.
     Cylus took a deep breath and decided to just dive into it. “Well sir, I was in the Arena Ward here, just a few blocks away actually, a few days ago and came upon the most stunning woman I have yet laid eyes on in my twenty four twelve-moons.”
     Ashenbach nodded as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a brightly colored linen he’d seemingly pulled out of thin air.
     “The problem, sir is that she is a woman of some station.  She lives on Fountain Hill I am told and well… I am just a city boy from the Lower Ward.”  Cylus dipped his head a bit as he proclaimed his common status.
     Ashenbach laid down the napkin and took on a thoughtful expression.  “Observe,” he said as he reached for the various cutlery and accoutrements on the table, arranging them into a strange pattern.
     “You see?” he asked as he gestured toward the arrangement.
     “Ummm… no sir, I’m sorry I don’t understand.”  Cylus looked quizzically at the seemingly random arrangement of items.
     “Of course not, because this has nothing to do with it!” Ashenbach declared as he shoved the items aside with his forearm.  “But that new haircut and shave you are sporting does.”
     Cylus balked, both impressed anew that Ashenbach noted such a thing and stymied by the meaning of the statement.
     Unaffected by Cylus’ bewildered expression, Ashenbach continued. “Like myself, a lady from Fountain Hill must be of fine Aachenite stock, yes?  And you, lad, are clearly of Virensian heritage.  While I am not one who prescribes to a care of such things, I can assure you that the lady or at the very least, her father does.”
     With that Ashenbach paused and gave Cylus a look as if he’d made the entire point.
     Feeling stupid, Cylus pushed out the question, “What am I to do then?”
     Ashenbach sighed and rose from his chair.  “If I had the time I’d sing you a song that should solve all your woes young Cylus.”  The bard was walking toward the kitchen entrance now and continued on, “But I have a ghost to placate and a play to write so…” Ashenbach’s voice trailed off as he crossed through the swinging doors.
     Cylus sat there for a moment, unsure what to do.  Finally he assumed Ashenbach was done with him and dejectedly headed for the front doors.  When he pushed them open he was greeted by the morning sun and Graves who stood across from him on the top step.
     “Your instructions sir,” The butler drawled as he handed Cylus a white envelope.
     “Uhhh… thanks?” Cylus said as he took the letter.
     Graves simply nodded and slipped through the doors before they had come closed again. 
     Cylus paused a moment then opened the envelope.  Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half.  Atop the paper was Ashenbach’s crest and below a hand written note with a city address in a neighborhood of the Lower Ward Cylus had been to once or twice.  Above the address was a single statement in the same flowing handwriting:
     “To catch a noble, one must become a noble oneself.”