SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

The establishment two streets down suited Halbrecht better than the open street.

It was quiet, expensive, and full of people who preferred their conversations unheard. Engineers, senior assistants, minor nobles with technical hobbies, and a few alchemists occupied the booths under amber lamps. Enough noise to hide a conversation. Not enough to ruin one.

Halbrecht did not ask for a table.

The attendant recognized him and led them to a booth near the back. Caelum followed as Edran von Voss, cane in hand, old vampire face in place. The cane was unnecessary, but useful. People gave old men with canes a little more patience, and patience made them easier to guide.

Halbrecht removed his gloves before taking his seat. Left first, right second. He folded both with careful precision and placed them beside the hand wearing his ring. His thumb brushed the metal once before he spoke to the attendant.

”Bring the Arvine red, the older bottle. Not the one you serve to visitors who think a higher price means better judgment.”

The attendant bowed. ”Of course, Master von Halbrecht. I’ll bring the correct bottle.”

Caelum sat across from him and let the borrowed vampire face show mild amusement. ”You managed to insult the wine, the visitors, and the staff in one sentence. That takes practice.”

”If the staff brings the correct bottle, they have nothing to complain about. If the visitors recognize themselves in the insult, they needed the lesson.”

”Fair enough. I’ll trust your wine, then.”

”You should. I trust very little in Aurevane during event week, but I trust bad wine even less.”

That told Caelum plenty.

Halbrecht disliked noise, valued control, and treated incompetence like a personal insult. His thumb touched the ring when he judged a person. His gloves had to be folded properly. His contempt came wrapped in manners, which made it easier for foolish people to miss.

The wine arrived in a narrow bottle sealed with dark wax. Halbrecht inspected the seal before allowing the attendant to pour. He drank first, a small controlled sip.

Caelum matched him.

His body could process the alcohol without consequence. Halbrecht’s could not. That difference would carry the evening.

”This is acceptable,” Caelum said.

Halbrecht gave a quiet sound through his nose. ”High praise from a man who publishes regulators and insults ammunition merchants within five minutes of meeting someone.”

”I prefer efficiency. If something is flawed, I see no reason to walk around it politely for ten minutes.”

”That explains your paper.”

Caelum let the old vampire mouth curve slightly. ”You read it thoroughly?”

”Enough to disagree with two sections and respect the rest. Your pressure-transfer model assumes a cooperative lattice, and real buildings rarely cooperate once people start decorating them.”

”Real buildings have owners,” Caelum replied. ”Owners are usually the flaw.”

Halbrecht lifted his glass. ”That is the first sensible thing anyone has said to me all evening.”

They drank.

Caelum guided the conversation without rushing toward The Glass Atrium. A direct question would make him sound hungry, and hungry men were noticed. He spoke instead of old ward systems, exhausted mana veins, decorative crystal placed near conduits, and noble requests that made engineers age faster.

Halbrecht answered more with each glass. He did not become foolish, only comfortable. That was better. Foolish men told stories. Comfortable men corrected you, and in correcting you, they gave away what they knew.

By the second bottle, Halbrecht’s posture had loosened. By the third glass from that bottle, his thumb lingered longer on the ring.

Caelum filed it away.

”You mentioned earlier that The Glass Atrium has lower technical levels,” Caelum said, returning to the topic as if it had wandered back on its own. ”That surprised me. From outside, the building sells itself as glass, taste, and arrogance.”

Halbrecht snorted. ”That is Aurevane architecture. If the public can admire the surface, they assume the difficult parts solved themselves.”

”And tomorrow you have to inspect those difficult parts?”

”Unfortunately, yes. First bell after sunrise, western technical gate.” Halbrecht drank again, irritation warming with the wine. ”I was meant to review the lower ward registry today, but an administrator decided the guest barrier should be moved three paces outward for visual balance.”

”Visual balance?”

”Yes. A phrase invented by people who have never watched a conduit overload and somehow believe symmetry can apologize for bad planning.”

Caelum poured him more before touching his own glass. A generous host. A harmless colleague. An old vampire with no reason to hurry.

”Is the western technical gate the only access?” Caelum asked. ”I ask because if the lower levels are arranged like most glass complexes, one route would turn the evacuation plan into a confession.”

”There are three proper routes,” Halbrecht replied. ”Public eastern access, administrative interior lift, and the western technical gate. The western route is mine tomorrow, along with whichever nervous assistant they assign to carry documents and misunderstand instructions.”

”Poor creature.”

”Do not pity him. If he survives one morning with me, he will be more useful by noon.”

”That is one way to train staff.”

”It is the only way certain people learn. Gentle correction breeds repeated mistakes, and repeated mistakes breed reports no one wants to sign.”

Caelum stored every detail.

First bell after sunrise. Western technical gate. Lower ward registry. Assigned assistant. Halbrecht expected.

The disguise would not have to sneak inside. It could arrive on schedule and complain its way through the door.

He needed a little more.

”Will you be alone inside, or will the Atrium administrators insist on supervising every panel you touch?”

Halbrecht’s mouth tightened around the next drink. ”They will hover. Lady Ilyra di Nareth oversees internal permissions, and she has the charming habit of asking whether a ward is safe while standing directly in front of the panel I need to examine.”

”I know her name. Funding committees?”

”Among other crimes.”

”Then I understand your suffering.”

Halbrecht drank deeper this time. The wine had reddened the edges of his face, and the ends of his sentences had begun to lose polish.

”The morning review should take two hours. Three if di Nareth insists on defending changes she does not understand. After that, there is a closed technical meeting before the afternoon previews begin.”

”Closed to whom?”

”Anyone spared by fortune.” Halbrecht leaned back, comfortable enough to complain properly. ”Engineers, senior ward staff, two representatives from the event committee, and a Rosenthal observer, I believe. The Atrium wants to appear cooperative after the train attack.”

Caelum kept the borrowed expression mildly interested.

A Rosenthal observer. That could connect to Aubrelle, or it could be ordinary security theater with a noble crest pinned on it. Either way, Trafalgar would want to hear it.

”The attack has made everyone nervous,” Caelum said. ”I imagine privacy wards are receiving more attention than structural wards.”

”They always do when important people are frightened. They care less about whether the ceiling holds than whether someone hears them panic under it.”

”That should be printed on the event invitation.”

”It would be the first honest thing on it.”

Caelum gave a low chuckle and poured the last of the bottle into Halbrecht’s glass, enough to be generous without looking eager.

Halbrecht noticed the empty bottle and frowned at it as if it had failed an inspection. ”That disappeared faster than I expected.”

”Good wine often does.”

”Bad company makes it disappear faster.”

”Am I bad company, Master von Halbrecht?”

”You are tolerable, which is rare enough to be suspicious.”

”That is the kindest accusation I have received this week.”

Halbrecht laughed, rough and brief. His hand lifted toward the ring, missed it by half an inch, and corrected itself with visible annoyance.

Caelum did not push harder. He let Halbrecht complain about apprentices, committee language, decorative mana lamps, and an architect from House di Merrow who apparently deserved professional exile. Through it all, Caelum measured him without making it obvious.

His voice dipped when tired. His ring-touch slowed after wine. He tilted his head left before disagreeing. He used full names when annoyed, titles when dismissive, and a dry stare when someone’s intelligence no longer deserved language. Certain consonants softened near the end of a sentence, though never enough for anyone casual to catch.

Caelum had not been casual once tonight.

When Halbrecht finally pushed his glass away, the hour outside had thinned into that awkward stretch where even festival streets began regretting themselves.

”I should return,” Halbrecht said, though he did not rise immediately. ”First bell comes early, and Aurevane will not ruin its own Atrium without me present to witness the crime.”

Caelum inclined his borrowed head. ”Allow me to walk with you part of the way. You have given me better conversation than I expected tonight, and I would hate for the city to lose you before tomorrow’s disasters.”

Halbrecht exhaled through his nose, amused and tired. ”Very well, Master von Voss. If I fall into a fountain, tell the committee I was inspecting water distribution.”

”I’ll make the report respectable.”

They rose together.

Halbrecht reached for his gloves, fumbled once, blamed them with his expression, and put them on in the wrong order.

Caelum recorded that as well.

They stepped back into Aurevane’s night side by side. Caelum walked half a pace behind him, listening to the rhythm of Orven von Halbrecht’s tired breathing, the drag in his right step, and the dry mutter he gave when a group of loud guests blocked half the road.

The street ahead narrowed into a service lane between two administrative buildings. It had fewer lamps, fewer witnesses, and enough noise from the main road to cover a brief interruption.

Halbrecht slowed, rubbing two fingers against his brow. ”I may have underestimated the second bottle.”

”Only the second?”

”Do not become irritating now, Master von Voss. I was beginning to tolerate you.”

Caelum’s borrowed mouth curved faintly as his hand slipped into the inner pocket of his coat.

His fingers closed around the small glass vial.

Halbrecht had talked enough for one night.

Now he needed to sleep.

For some time.