25 — DislodgedI felt it unlikely that the delegation’s lodge had changed. They weren’t the sort of folks to do change.

  I hadn’t been there in a while. Even back when I was in Daelus’ body I only went to the lodge for periodic, scheduled meetings. I would meet with the research institute head — Grégoire — whenever I wanted to improve the accuracy of one of the museum dispys.

  It had been a waste of time, of course; accuracy wasn’t what the Benefactors had wanted from the museum at all. Eventually I begrudgingly stopped scheduling those meetings. It was possible that my relenting had earned me a few extra months before they had decided to get rid of me.

  I approached the solitary entrance. It would be locked, with each delegate holding a copy of the key needed to open it. Naturally, I no longer had mine. Jonathan had offered to loan me his, but I had refused. It could be traced back to him if I were caught.

  If there were hidden side doors or alternate ways in, I had never found them. I didn’t need them, though. The front door would be fine — in fact, best. I had to look like I belonged here.

  There was a second, rger, more eborate lock as well. I wasn’t sure who held the key to it, nor had I ever experienced it being used to lock delegates out. I wasn’t going to have to worry about that tonight, though.

  A hand on the other side of the door undid the smaller lock with a satisfying click. It was my hand, projected inside, entourage-style. I both pulled and pushed the door open, and then shared a friendly handshake with myself. After re-locking the door, I straightened myself, and began to walk.

  All I had to do was act like I belonged here. There were at least a few dozen delegates. With the exception of the most gregarious among them, or those whose job required it, they had all accepted that they wouldn’t recognize every member of the entire society.

  I just hoped I wouldn’t meet anyone who wanted to make smalltalk.

  I went upstairs. I remembered the vague area the room would be in, and convenient signage did the rest.

  I was going to the internal affairs records room. Jonathan believed that an official report on Menzies’ killing would be kept there — likely filed by Beckett, the highest ranking delegate within the police force.

  I could see the door, but I wasn’t alone in the hall. There was someone nearby in a small sitting area, pacing back and forth. He seemed to be practicing a speech. It sounded like he was going to swing for more serious responsibilities.

  I was concerned that a simple of air of, I am supposed to be here, wouldn’t cut it. The records room was privileged, so anyone going in and out would be memorable to anyone nearby. It may not immediately cause arm, but it could come up if there were interviews or interrogations about my crime.

  I manifested an entourage in the other direction — just a shadowy shape. She called out to the man, and said she needed help with something. He wouldn’t find her, but I only needed him distracted for a second.

  The records room was also locked, but could also be just as easily unlocked from the inside.

  The room was filled with shit, but Johnathan’s instructions on what I was looking for was solid. I found the box, the binder, and the report on Menzies in no time.

  It described a crime scene. The victim had puncture wounds all over his body, made by small knives. There were at least eight of them, and each one would have been fatal. I shivered. Either whoever did the killing was lighting fast, it had been a crowd (likely entourage), or the killer had continued to repeatedly stab the man after he had fallen.

  It was odd, though. Johnathan was sure that this would be a report about the victim’s wrongdoing and why it was decided he needed to go. This did look like an assassination, or at the very least a simple murder.

  Was the decree that the delegate was executed a coverup? From the way things were presented it didn’t look like the delegation or the Benefactors were involved at all. They seemed to be taken by surprise. There were even notes about summoning a repcement so the delegated duties wouldn’t be interrupted.

  I quickly penned down a few important details into a small pad, and tried to put everything back where I found it. The way out would be simpler and faster than before, but just as risky. I took my time, slipped free.

  I wouldn’t return to Jonathan that night. It wasn’t inconceivable that I would be followed. Instead, after about an hour of walking, I slipped through a blind corner and slid the note into a small dead-drop; just a crack between two bricks. Once I turned the bend and emerged into a boulevard I pretended to absently knock over a flower pot, and then fix it, but rotated so that a mark was visible on the ceramic. It would be visible from a window across the street.

  It was a third-tier dead-drop, known only to Jonathan and myself.

  I knew I may not hear back from him for a day or three, and the thought of waiting made me anxious. We had a new mystery on our hands, and I wanted answers.