She was Iskarian, judging by her clothes. Delicate, probably young, and most definitely nervous. She tried to look away from him, but every few seconds, her eyes darted back to watch his progress as if they couldn't bear to look away.

"My condolences," said Steppo as he came to a halt by her side. "May I sit down?"

She stared at him, and he put his plate and bowl down onto the table without waiting for a reply.

"Yes," she said belatedly. "I mean, thank you."

Her voice was deeper than he would have expected of such a slight figure, a bit muffled due to the shroud that wrapped around her head and face, leaving only her eyes visible.

"It's the first time you're joining us," remarked Steppo. He knew he was speaking the obvious, but he had to start somewhere.

"Yes," she admitted. "It's not what I was expecting."

She took a sudden intake of breath, as if she'd only just registered what she'd said, and Steppo ducked his head to hide an unbidden smirk. Pulling out the chair opposite this new and intriguing addition to their organization, he glanced back up again, trying to appear welcoming and patient.

"I'm afraid we don't do a lot of dealings in shady warehouses by the dockside," he apologized. "It's a breakneck competition, getting hold of one of those, and we have no need for them." He gestured towards the room at large. "These have been our headquarters since we first began."

"But... how? How does the Academy allow you to function?"

"This was the Academy's doing in the first place. With a heavy contribution from yours truly."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and brought her hands together to rest on the side of the table. Steppo tucked into his food, awaiting her next question. She cleared her throat.

"I heard you were the person to speak to around here. They call you Speaker, Strategist, and Captain. And also «my lord»."

So the question would be inferred. Steppo rarely liked it when people took an undue interest in his person, but he supposed her inquiries were justified. To some degree.

"I'm all of those things, to different people. Liberty Pies and Pool started out as a project in our Sociology class back when I was at the Academy. My teacher and a few of my colleagues devised a system to attract ordinary folk into an organization designed to protect and fight for their rights as free citizens, in the context of a political system that doesn't have their best interests in mind. My colleagues abandoned the idea once the class ended, but I carried on, and with the support of several teachers in the department, put our system into practice. That was years ago, and everything's changed, but it was all for the better. I could not let the project go then and I have no intention of doing so now."

He glanced at her expectantly, and she looked away at once.

"What are the requirements for membership?" she asked quietly.

Steppo's eyebrows shot up.

"Requirements?" he repeated, bewildered.

"I heard there's a monthly contribution..."

"Oh no," he laughed. "That's not how it works."

He leaned forward over the table and was gratified when she didn't move away.

"What's your name?"

"Meri."

Her eyes widened at once, as if she had once again spoken without thinking, and that suited Steppo just fine. At least this way, he could count on a little bit of honesty.

"Well, Meri," he said gently, "we don't just take your money and issue some monthly membership pass."

He paused, considering. «Why are you here?» was a reasonable question, perhaps even an important one, but he sensed it was entirely the wrong thing to ask.

"What we need to know, Meri, is what we can do for you," he said instead.

When she didn't answer, he put down his spoon, and glanced earnestly at her.

"Who died?"

She blinked in surprise.

"My uncle. A few days ago."

"If he was the main provider for your family, you can register with our Emergency Fund Committee. And if there's one thing you should know about us, it's that we always take care of our own."

"I thought that you just wanted to take over the Government."

Steppo couldn't hold back a chuckle and would have bet that she was blushing furiously right then, amazed at her own audacity. She couldn't have been faking that.

"In time, we intend to garner enough influence to have a say in the way our country is run, because we feel that the current ruling class have their focus in entirely the wrong direction."

"Are you going to build an army?"

"An armed force is necessary first and foremost as a defensive means," he explained. "We do not fool ourselves into believing words alone can solve our problems. Violence, or rather the threat of it, is crucial in signaling that we would not be cowed into submission."

"Are you interested in recruiting us? I mean, us, Iskarians."

"Do you want to join our fledgling army?"

She spluttered, and fidgeted with her fingers, gripping them so hard, Steppo thought they might break.

"We are not prepared to take up arms-"

"I meant you, personally. Are you here to join our army?"

She gaped at him, and Steppo suddenly realized he wanted to see her face in its entirety, especially when she was flustered.

"Have you ever held a sword?" he teased.

"No, I... Mistress Honga said..."

She cleared her throat nervously, and Steppo decided to ease off. Leaning back into his chair, he picked up the spoon again and dug into the stew, which somehow tasted even more flavorful than before.

"Mistress Honga is the head of our Recruitment department," he said, pausing after swallowing the first bite, "and I front the Training part. If you are to join her in her efforts to attract more members, you are expected to produce some of the best food ever created. And you'll have fierce competition."

"I like to cook."

"I'm glad to hear it. And to answer your previous question, my interest in the Iskarians is currently focused on their limited rights as a minority community. Even though you have a stable presence in the region, our civilian systems do not cater to you, and the political side isn't much better. I don't suppose you found it easy, dealing with your uncle's funeral, or finding the necessary supplies. The pyre, the burial urn, the offerings?"

She shook her head, clearly taken aback at his breadth of knowledge, and he smiled sadly.

"We don't show you nearly enough regard as you deserve," he continued. "Just because you have more conventions than us, and follow them more closely than we do our own traditions, doesn't mean we have cause to belittle you, or marginalize you, or make it difficult for you to carry on with your everyday lives. We are not looking for eager soldiers, we just want to make sure we consider your needs as well."

"Is that why you have some of us working for you?"

"You mean Garuvv and his lot?"

There was no hiding the tremor that went through her at the mention of the man's name. Still, he pretended not to notice.

"They're working with us, not for us. And I didn't employ Garuvv, he's the one who found me. Are you interested in joining their department?"

"No," she said, a bit too quickly. "Mistress Honga has spoken of my duties if I am to take the apprentice position at her side, and I was thinking of bringing some of my own recipes. I know Iskarian cuisine isn't popular here, but I really believe it's worth a chance."

"Perhaps more than one," smiled Steppo.

He slurped the last spoonful of stew and let out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back, clasping his hands atop his stomach. When he next looked at Meri, he noticed she was watching him with unfeigned interest. Even though he still hadn't deciphered what she expected of him, Steppo felt oddly at ease with not knowing.

"Here," he said, pushing the dessert plate over to her. "You should give ours a chance too. I'm turning around now."

True to his promise, he spun the chair and hopped a little to the left, so that he blocked everybody else's view of her. Still, he was surprised when she took him up on his offer, rustling the shroud as she peeled it away and clinking the fork against the plate. Steppo closed his eyes, imagining the face he was missing out on.

Being right about Meri brought little consolation, even as he congratulated himself on a relatively accurate judgment. She had chosen to wear the mourning shroud simply to hide herself. Given that he'd revealed his knowledge regarding Iskarian funeral practices, she should have already guessed that he knew which members of the family were required to wear the garb, namely spouses, parents, and direct descendants. Steppo was almost certain nieces didn't count.

It was a dangerous thing, allowing himself to be led by speculation. Nothing good could come of it, so he simply decided to let it all be. He wouldn't drive her away, nor discourage her. But he couldn't trust her, either. Just as it was possible for her to have sneaked out of her household to join their ranks and hoped her family didn't discover her, she might very well be a spy sent to watch either him, or...

"Do you know who it was that died in Garuvv's family?"

Steppo resisted the urge to turn his head and study her. Instead, he crossed his arms and kept his eyes trained forward.

"It's just that..." she continued, "I couldn't help but notice the color of his shroud. It's very unusual."

Steppo could feel her gaze burrowing into the back of his head, and nodded. The customary color for such an item was ashen gray, the kind Meri herself was wearing, but Garuvv and some other members of the Intelligence and Cleaning Department had chosen a dirty red instead.

"His is a peculiar mourning," said Steppo. "He says he weeps for the loss of his people's prowess, and would wear the shroud until he can set you free again."

"I don't think I want to be set free by him," mumbled Meri, and Steppo smiled, at ease in the knowledge that she could not see him.

Another moment passed in silence, then he heard the plate skidding down the length of the table.

"I saved you half."

He turned around, and saw that she had already refastened the shroud around her face. She looked exactly as she had when he had first approached her, apart from her eyes. A new depth seemed to gleam within them, and he frowned at the temptation they offered. Not just attraction, but the promise of secrets and the chance of their being shared one day, if tender feelings prevailed.

Perhaps she didn't know how much she revealed in her eyes, perhaps he had just read too much into them. He briefly wondered what she could see in his own, now that she was studying him just as intently.

They were still staring at each other when Mistress Honga approached. Steppo hadn't so much as looked at the pudding.

"Speaker, we have two new recruits," she said joyfully. "And I see you've met my new apprentice."

"So you've decided to hire her anyway," mused Steppo, turning away from Meri at last.

"Are you against it?" asked Mistress Honga, a tinge of worry in her voice.

"Of course not. I'm happy that we are growing. This is what we are meant to be doing."

Bracing himself on the side of the table, he stood up, took the bowl of stew and inclined his head before the two women.

"I thank you for your work and dedication. With you at our side, we are strengthened."

Walking away felt easy, especially when he was reminded of how much had to be done. He complimented Cook, found Addi, briefed him on the new recruits, scheduled the next general training session, caught the ear of a few Council members, and stayed behind to help place the furniture back into storage. The pool was expected to open for regular business on the morrow, and part of their agreement with the University was to keep the little house clean, functional, and available at scheduled intervals.

By the time Steppo found himself staggering back home through empty streets at twilight, he had almost convinced himself that there had been no mysterious stranger named Meri, that he'd forgotten what had mesmerized him for an instant, that everything was going to fall into place. But the memory of those eyes came back to him as he entered the gate of his father's estate and stumbled into a colonnade. Holding himself upright was suddenly a monumental chore, and even though he hadn't had one drop of alcohol, he felt inclined to crawl into a tight ball right in the middle of the yard and fall asleep.

As always, he had underestimated how tired his constant exertions would make him. Dragging his feet up the stairs to the house proper, he tried banishing the specter of the stranger, even while promising to find her in his dreams later that night. Dreams were safe that way, sometimes even desirable, for in their realm, he had already built the ideal state, seen it flourishing and triumphing over its enemies. To achieve this, every waking moment was dedicated to bringing reality as close to his dreams as possible. Perhaps his mind could find a place for a pair of midnight eyes, watching him curiously as he gave a powerful address to thousands of citizens crowding the Main Square.

Steppo yawned, exhaustion and warm contentment seeping through his weary limbs as he made his slow way towards his room. He might have continued indulging in these pleasant dreams all the way to his bed if a rude awakening hadn't abruptly sent him sprawling onto the floor, clutching at his bleeding nose.

The figure who had tripped him pounced on him from behind, and Steppo's thoughts cleared before the onrush of overwhelming anger.