Ghost in the Roses

I should have known this was going to happen, but there is nothing I can do to stop this. Earlier today, during my mail run I picked up my reply letters to my announcement for accepting cases, and amongst the stack of white envelopes, I find a red one. Without even opening it, I know who it’s from. Ripping off the top flap, only confirmed my suspicion.

Just having something red in my possession will put me under the radar and I’ll make enemies before my career will even get a starting chance. Throw it away, I tell myself, but instead of fear, I feel a smile creep up on me. Something in me wants to accept this challenge, but not for fun. Political suicide is not my idea of fun. So, why am I doing this?

Curiosity, maybe? Sympathy? Sense of being true to the duty to the people? Maybe, it’s something more. I don’t know why I pick this case or what I feel, but I do know what this letter is. This is bait, but I dare to take it and hope that I don’t bite off more than I can chew.

After dinner, I take my leave to conduct business at the location instructed in the letter. It’s not much of an address, but I am to meet with my potential client to discuss her case plausibility. As innocent as this meeting might be, my uniform is out of the question; the last thing I need is to be followed or harassed. Dressed in casual, yet professional wear I go where I swore to never come back to The Capitol’s downtown alleys.

The difference this time is that I don’t have to sneak out in the middle of the night to go there. My second-semester pass allows me to walk right through the front gates and like a regular civilian I take the taxi carriage. Once at the crystal heart of downtown I pay my fee and step out into the sidewalk. For a while, I go with the flow of the walking traffic until I am brave to break the current and slip into an alley.

The few people who hung around amongst the damp stone walls paid very little attention to me. They are much more preoccupied with the tasty waters hiding in their paper bags and with the kisses of a beautiful stranger.

As I go a little deeper, there is another layer of life, and not as sweet. Instead of hands rubbing and feeling skin on an exposed back or a pair of thighs, they are reaching for spare change. My wool riding hood, an apple that I forgot I had in its pocket, and all of my paper bills answer their silent call. Just enough for a taxi fare to get me back is all that I keep for myself.

The farther down I go, the narrower the path gets, and brings me into a world of make-shift shops made of scrap materials or embedded in holes in the wall. Strange markings and writings in traditional languages of the Domains tell stories I’ll never live to understand. I only recognize the ever-spreading Universal language and Mariskiy, my village's native language that fewer and fewer care to learn. Amongst side them, numerous graffiti illustrates the morals of their messages.

How do I tell where I’m at? I’m supposed to meet someone who’d take the lead the rest of the way and bring me to the client.

Look for the king waiting at a doorway closed shut. He’ll lead you to me if you ask politely. I mumble the last few lines from the letter, but I see no one who looks even remotely like a king. All I see are cheated emperors in their new clothing.

This must be some kind of a riddle. Frustrated and anxious, I begin to look around for clues. But then, a bejeweled crown catches my attention. A street portrait of a fearless creature wears it. Face to face, I stand in front of a lion spray-painted over a doorway that has been bricked over ages ago. This is how I meet Lada’s king.

“Good evening. I have an appointment scheduled for tonight regarding a legal pursuit,” out of my pant pocket I take out the red letter as proof.

The lion awakes and the borders of the outline begin to shift. The image abandons its one-dimensional state and I back away to make room for it to step out of its hiding spot. The face forces its way out from the depth of the brick and takes a more realistic color fit for a living animal. Right behind it, a four-legged body with a tail follows but leaves his crown hanging on that wall.

“I’ll take you to her,” there is a growl behind this Leo’s voice. “Here, take this blindfold and tie it around your eyes. Take my tail and I’ll lead the way. Don’t you dare take a peak!”

Of course, I should have known he’d be here. A long time ago, at one particular ball, Lada told me that Leos hang around in the alleys.

“Alright,” I obey the massive carnivore.

This path goes farther and farther into a downslope and so does my realization that I’ve been granted exclusive permission into the underground tunnels. The lengthy pattern of turns is familiar. This must have been the same place where my friends and I have been brought against our will that one night.

This endless road finally ends with a greeting, “Hello, Adrien.”

My host takes off my blindfold and exposes my new surroundings.

“Hello, Lada.”

“Thank you, Leo. I’ll take it from here,” she bows her head to him.

He nods and without the need of opening the door behind us, the beast walks right through it.

I’m impressed, “That’s quite an assistant you have.”

“Yes, he’s good. His brothers and he make a good entourage too when I need one.”

“And does your friend knows what’s going on or are you telling him and his brothers only what you want them to know.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Your story about your father.”

“Did I lie?”

“No, you just conveniently told me only half of it.”

“I had to think of something to get you to come back again.”

“I’m here. Finish the story.”

“My ending is different from popular opinion.”

“I love story retellings.”

“My father was not a cruel man. He never hurt anyone. On the contrary, he tried to help the less fortunate children by educating them with the help of private tutors. The more educated the villagers became, the less they depended on their Green King and dared to innovate, question, and create. This rising independence threatened the Green Family’s rule, so they got rid of my father and smeared his legacy with the “Vita the Terrible” myth.”

“Not a bad storyline.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t know what to believe, but that’s not why I’m here. I’ve got your letter and I’m here to hear what you’ve got to say.”

“Of, course. Let’s get to business. Please, sit down,” she motions towards a chair as she lowers into hers. “I promise not to tie you up this time.”

“Much obliged,” I accept the invitation.

Out of the desk that’s placed between us, she takes out some folders thick with files. “This is the data that my team and I collected from the Domains’ hospital public records and it should help validate our request.”

Intrigued, I reach for the stack of papers from my receiving end, “And what is it you want to ask the High Court?”