Chapter 16
The Sect of the Sightless Eye is an information network of spies. Its members take up any role needed to keep an eye out for critical information. Each national branch of the Order has regular feedback on political schemes, royal drama, corporate plots, gang actions, and events in the adventuring field.
Day 75, Temporikday
As it turned out, Rose was a year ahead of me, a Tier-One trainee in the Crimson Blade. She had come outside for some sun just as Nel came running for help. Since then, she had spent Quenchendays with us to ‘keep us out of trouble’. She was an authentic badass at sixteen. Her father had been a member of the Order but died three years before, stopping a rampaging ogre. He had trained her whenever he was home. When he died, Rose knew she would join the Order to make him proud. Three years later, she was at the top of her class and working to become a Mastlok, a member of two or more sects. She wanted to specialize in martial combat and assassination. The desire for deeper violence was concerning, but it was obvious she had a hero complex. Rose wanted to save people and do the right thing, but most of all, she wanted glory.
But clearly, ‘for the greater good’ meant me sitting through a spycraft class I was failing. Master Mystagogue Kellar stood at the head of the class, lecturing on adopting a persona. The bland man was so plain you could overlook him in a crowd of six.
“When infiltrating any location, you are to take up a role,” he droned. “We refer to this as a persona. It should be someone inconspicuous most of the time: a maid, a janitor, an office worker. The key is to select a role that gives you a reason to be where you are. The identity you take up needs to be complete: history, contacts, likes, dislikes, memories, goals.” As he went on, my eyelids grew heavy.
“You must become your persona,” the sudden emphasis on the phrase jarred me from my doze. “You must become this character and, at the same time, a shadow. Your goal is to hide in plain sight.”
As he monologued, I noticed something odd. My senses snapped to alert. He gestured to the holo-board behind him with a laser pointer in his left hand. Last class, he had used his right. I also noticed he frequently touched his nose with his free hand. On reflex, I pulled up a new document on my therra-node and noted these behaviors. That was until he made direct eye contact with me as I saved the notebook. The moment lasted a fraction of a second, but I knew I had picked up on something.
As class continued, I carefully examined him, but I found myself uncertain of anything else. After the lecture, we were moved to a set of elevators and ushered down to the third sublevel.
We stepped into a black-surfaced viewing room. The walls reflected light like dyed glass, the seams curved, giving the room the sense of a massive bubble. Holo-screens lined one embankment, displaying an empty, white-paneled room.
Mystagogue Kellar stepped in front of us. “This is the viewing room. Through that door, you will enter the adaptive test chamber one by one. I will give you a scenario. You are to pick a role and act it out as I play an opposing one. You will find props and outfits in the linking room.”
One by one, classmates were called out. The environments ranged from an office to a manor. With every inevitable failure, Kellar would point out each failing.
Soon, my turn came. “Iver Maverick.” I stepped forward, shuffling my feet.
“Your environment will be a government facility. Your goal is to get past the guard at the checkpoint. You have five minutes to prepare.”
I mechanically nodded and stepped into the prep room, a gray space with tables of props and racks of outfits. My mind raced. Government facility. What should I wear? A military uniform? Too much attention. Janitor? What if I need to get into classified areas? File clerk? I didn’t know. I was on the clock. I threw on tan khakis, a navy dress shirt, and black wingtip shoes.
In a panic, I turned to the props. With the clock counting down, I scooped up a handful of files at random. As an afterthought, I picked up a pen and made my way to the entry door.
I stepped into the blank, white room. The Mystagogue stood in the center. He made a series of gestures, and the room altered, shifting into a hallway of steel and glass. The wall to my right was large panes of glass looking out over a city skyline. The instructor slipped on a ring, and his bland appearance shimmered, his clothes shifting into the gray-blue uniform of a security guard. He stepped in my way, arms crossed.
“Halt. You are approaching a restricted zone. Please provide your name, department, and reason for entering,” he said, sounding bored but professional.
My mind raced. “Umm, m-my name is Gavin S-Sislock. I work in production. I need to drop these files off with the product testing manager.”
He looked me up and down, nodded, and stepped aside. I let out a sigh and hurried past. Three steps later, the pen slipped from my grip. I stooped to pick it up.
“Stop!” he snapped. I froze. “Turn and face me.”
I did as ordered. “First, the good. You chose a reasonable outfit. I’d recommend adding glasses and a wig to further hide yourself. The files and pen were safe choices.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “And what did I do wrong?”
“Many flaws. Your files should be pertinent to your cover. You have files on finances, network schematics, and fashion designs. A guard would certainly catch you. You need to have your persona prepared before you enter. Avoid ‘umm’ and stuttering unless they are part of the persona. Lastly, dropping the pen. It draws attention to how nervous you are, but you can also intentionally drop a pen to postpone moving or hide your face.”
I took careful note of each point on my therra-node. “I’m sorry, Master, but what do you mean by ‘last factor I can change’?”
He raised a brow. “What permanent factor about you would impact your cover?”
It took only a few moments. “You mean the fact that I’m a Darkling?”
“That is part of it. The other is your skin pattern. I have never seen anyone with your pattern. By mundane means, your blending will be very limited.”
I nodded slowly, looking down at my hands. Mundane means, I thought.
“I understand, Master Mystagogue. I’m assuming I failed?”
“Yes. Your score is not hopeful if you want to join the Sect of the Sightless Eye.”
“I understand,” I said as I turned and left, my eyes downcast, pinching my chin in thought. I was vaguely aware I was leaving without being excused.
I really should have thought about how much I stuck out. The test made me realize something: I needed to become a Mastlok. To find my father’s killer, I’d need to blend in. If I couldn’t hide by mundane means, I’d have to use Myst. Master Kellar used a ring to change his clothes; why couldn’t I use magic to change my skin and hide my horns?
As other students took their exams, I was lost in thought, pulling up documents and diagrams of illusion-based items and body-altering enchantments. I was going to need something advanced, which meant a larger host item.
What type of spell? Illusion would be easier if I had the elements, but if someone touched me, it would break the spell unless I linked it to their mind. Alteration would physically change my body but was extremely unpleasant and a constant high drain on myst. Either way was going to be a serious drain. The deciding factor would be what I could craft with the least amount of runes and crystal batteries. I could probably get plenty of crystals if I asked Master Mallock. He seemed to have taken a liking to me.
As the day passed, I was so engrossed in reading runic formulas and design diagrams that hours of research became days, which became weeks, and so the cycle continued.
