B.T.V. -- Session 16 Prelude: The 'Thief' in the Night

Benedict looked away from the shattered, mirrored fence he’d arranged in his study. He examined the man next to him. The man had grown despite or because of the losses he’d endured. Benedict hadn’t had a lot to do with this distillation. Maldon was self-made. Benedict glanced back at the mirrored arrangement. The shattered reflection showed a blonde woman moving through a pleasant looking spot. Flowering grasses swayed in the breeze. The places where the pieces of mirror intersected could be distracting depending on the view they were allowing a person to see. In this case, these divisions only added to the scene. The leaves of the trees in the woman’s location dovetailed neatly with the distortions made by the gaps in the crystalline shards. The woman was fair and seemed entranced or delighted with the place. She turned a full circle. Breathed deeply. Moved her hand carefully across the tops of the clover and yellow flower stocks. Benedict decided he should say something. He realised as he did, he would not have had a chance if he had waited.



“Do you want your sister dead?’

The assassin couldn’t answer immediately. Benedict waited as it was the only option he could determine was appropriate.

“A strange question.” the assassin managed.

“It often comes up in my family.”

The assassin managed a half-smile. To deflect from the topic he said, "Weren't they supposed to get back to us?"

Benedict answered as if he hadn't heard what had been asked, “It’s something you will have been thinking on, I’m certain. This woman reminded me to ask it”

Maldon knew not to be impressed by Benedict’s grasp of details the man shouldn’t have but did. The strategian of Amber had the capacity to understand deeply motivations merely implicit in the world. Benedict went on to say, “There’s a bottleneck approaching. A place where things must be resolved. In some places they used to say, ‘Why put off today what you could have done yesterday?’. Put it off, we have. Remind yourself and others, when you reach that point that a cost must be paid for all our tomorrows, won’t you?”

Benedict was grave. Maldon decided he should take this most seriously.




Benedict’s arm was alien to the Final Man. There was no secret in the fact that it was a Profane armature. It had become a part of him. The thing could almost be ignored by everyone, it had been with Benedict that long a time. Maldon was surprised when it was this arm’s hand that crushed the stem of the delicate, sapphire goblet Benedict sipped from. The pale wine splashed down Benedict’s doublet. He looked up from examining this personal ruin and said, “We need to go to the Watchtower. It is beginning.”