Chapter 100 Show.

He’d stopped screaming, which was nice, but in another way, inconvenient.

The robed figures gathered around the ruined body on the altar. A knife glistened with fresh blood.

Lamps burned with an emerald glow from all around the room, slime dripping down the walls occasionally sizzling as it hit the open flames. The soft sound of lapping water echoed in the dark, a sound like a frog being choked to death.

One of the figures sighed and began cleaning the knife. "Damn. What a mess."

"It’s okay. Sometimes, things happen that cannot be foreseen," another robed figure said.

"But the idol is lost. Who knows where it was fenced! What are we supposed to do?"

"Honestly, crime in this city has gotten so out of hand," another figure said.

"Indeed. The city government should really step in."

"What, now?"

"Well, no. I meant before. It won’t matter once we find the idol, will it?"

"That’s true. Which is a shame because my daughter just got into Miss Langstrom’s Academy."

Several hoods turned towards the speaker.

"Really?"

"Oh well done!"

"Little Emily. That’s lovely! She’s such a smart girl."

Hands patted padded shoulders as the circle crowded around the proud father, for the moment ignoring the ruined shape of a man left on the altar.

Into this congratulatory air came the slow, soft tapping of a finger on stone. "Gentlemen. And ladies," the figure said, nodding. "We can congratulate our brother on his sire’s success later. We have more pressing matters. Our... interrogation produced little information of worth. We know the thief sold it, but even he couldn’t remember to whom."

"It was his alcoholism," another hood said, shaking their head with disgust as they finished cleaning the blood off the knife. "That stuff messes with your brain. Vile stuff. Simply vile. We should shut down the inns, in my opinion."

"The vice of New Larrin is well known to us," the first speaker said.

"...Maybe we could use that?"

Hoods turned to one of their number, who was rubbing their shadowed chin with thought.

"You have an idea?"

"I may. Crime may be rampant, but it’s hardly out of control. Indeed, it is controlled by those who profit by it. Though we lack the resources to plumb this city for our prize, there are those who know the dark, inner workings of New Larrin. Might we not... enlist their aid?"

A hood nodded in slow consideration. "An excellent idea, brother. Perhaps we can. Why not use the very rot of this city to our benefit." He looked about the circle. "Then we are in agreement. Brothers-"

"And sisters."

"Yes, yes. Of course. And sisters. We have our plan. Now, if there is no new business, I believe the punch bowl is still quite full, and I, personally, would adore another glass."

"Oh, I agree."

"It was very good. You must give me the recipe."

"Oh, well, it’s really nothing. Just some sparkling water and cranberry juice, but I do throw in a hint of lime, you know."

"Lime you say? Good show!"

The voices murmured in agreeable company as they gathered about the refreshment table, two of their members lingering long enough to heave the corpse off the slab and carry it into the dark. There was a splash, followed by the sound of churning waters and the crunch of bones.

---

Ava Copperman didn’t get modern art.

She got the classics. After all, who didn’t love looking at lovely naked people? That many depicted elves such as her was an added bonus. Apparently, humans found immortal, lithe, eternally lovely elves to be ’inspiring’, which was very kind of them to say. But the modern art at the New Larrin Museum of Culture didn’t really strike her.

Nevertheless, she had a job to do, and that was to find Loris Lynch, and ask him questions. Not an easy task, given how little Ava knew of human culture. Fortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, she’d early on discovered that her good friend Ireen Igral was not only an entrepreneur, witch, and amateur necromancer, but also an aficionado of art. And according to her, though Loris Lynch was notoriously hard to find, he did frequent the museum.

So it was that Ava was now staring at a sculpture that looked like a steel girder had sex with an octopus, and found herself thoroughly baffled.

"I don’t get it," Ava said at last.

"Really?" said Ireen. "You don’t?"

Ava glanced at her friend. Usually, the witch looked like she’d just woken up, but for once she seemed energized. The shadows under her eyes were still there, but her eyes themselves were bright, her usually frumpy dressing robe replaced with a plush coat that hung down to her ankles like a robe. Dark hair done up under her pointy hat, she truly was a witch about town.

"Um, no," Ava said. "What is it?"

"It’s an expression!" Ireen said, waving her hand at the sculpture. "A demonstration of the emotional being. Raw and pure. Unfiltered."

"It is?"

"Of course! What do you think it looked like?"

Ava put a finger to her lip, considering the sculpture. "Um... You know when a tornado flings stuff really really hard into other stuff? And you get this weird mass of stuff? Kinda like that."

Ireen smiled fondly at the elf, patted her cheek. "Oh Ava. Never change. Now, come over here. They’ve got some really excellent pieces about lobsters."

Ava followed Ireen, the modern artworld passing her by in soup cans and rocks and strange, crumpled things that looked like giant wads of paper. Soon enough she’d lost Ireen, and was before a painting of geometric squares radiating from a central design, spiraling outward in waves. Oddly, the patterns seemed... familiar, in a strange way. She felt like she was staring into a deepening pit of paint without a bottom.

"Exquisite, isn’t it?"

Ava jumped, tearing her eyes from the pattern to see a man beside her. Thin, wearing a flashy jacket, he had an intense look on his face, with a forked goatee and a thin, curling mustache.

"Um, yeah. I like how the colours um... do that... thing..."

"Yessss," the man said. "The colours are an expression you see. A vision of cosmic uncertainties and hues which challenge the dream of man, drawing his mind out from beyond the eyes and into the realms above and beyond."

"Mmm. I like the purples," Ava said.

The man slowly raised a sharp eyebrow. "Hm. Yes, purple does have a certain something. I have heard that elves have a deep appreciation of all art’s forms. Is that true?"

"Oh yes!" Ava said, beaming. "I love art!"

"Delightful," he said, smiling, his eyes running up and down her form. "You certainly are a work of it, Miss..."

"Ava," Ava said, beaming. "Ava Copperman."

"Charmed," the man said, extending a hand, the sequins on his suit flickering. "Are you enjoying the show?"