Leni woke to a gentleman calling. It was four in the

afternoon. What day was it, though? How long had he been

sleeping?

        “Bonn!” Leni’s throat was dry, his mouth gummed

with sleep and the vile aftertaste of tonic. He called his

valet again, rasping like a musket-box. “Bonn! The door!”

        There was no response. Leni grunted, shook his head

and rolled off the couch where he had last passed out.

He glanced at the grandfather clock with its pendulum

swinging in a terse, rapid method. Was that really the time?

        The doorbell rang again. Its clamor could be heard all throughout the house. Leni lumbered out of his study,

his legs pumping but working clearly in some autonomy they had acquired on their own. He fumbled at the balustrade overlooking the inner atrium. A few startled birds squawked, but nothing took to wing.

        A splendorous statue loomed at him from across the corridor. It was of Nada, the warrioress who fights in the mythos of these people. All their saints and prophets!

        The heroic figure was carved of alabaster and the spear it held was gold. Leni still hadn’t gotten used to seeing it there; seeing it now nearly sent him sprawling.

        “Top of the morning,” Leni muttered, tipping an imaginary cap. He was loopy, and he was off to answer the door. Scrambling down the stairs, Leni took notice of the chandeliers and other appointments that he’d ordered and paid for over the two and a half years that he’d been living in bliss with Amos.

        All this vast opulence, Leni thought, and all I want is you.

    Leni made it to the door just as the gentleman calling was turning around to depart. “Wait, wait!” Leni pronounced, flinging his own front door open, stumbling out into the light of a long afternoon. “Here I am. I’m here,” he added, with a comical hiccup. Leni tasted the tonic he’d been on all week and made a face.

    The gentleman was no one Leni had ever seen before, very wealthy, and in the dignity of his advanced seventies. He was dressed elegantly and used a walking stick carved of black alpsamwood. Leni’s eye caught notice of the cane, and saw that this man carried it out of real dependence, most probably from an old injury. He did not appear to be a military sort, so the bad knee or ankle was entirely a mystery to be solved. There was something else, about the curious shape of the walking stick…

        “Good afternoon,” the visitor said. “I am the one you’re looking for. I believe it is time we should speak.”

        Leni squinted at the man, and sucked on a tooth that lately had been bothering him. He took a long moment from the top of his steps and then he said: “Well, bite my balls off. I believe you’re right.”

   

        Leni caught sight of his reflection as he passed once more through the foyer, where still other treasures he’d procured for Amos were arranged about the place: [2 examples]. He noted even in this drink-daft state that he looked a frightful mess. He didn’t care of course about impressing any visitors – but he did want to look his best if he found himself facing off with his arch-nemesis.

        He led the old man, who moved at a steady, determined, but quite a willful pace, to the main ajdunctuary. Here he rang for his footman, even though there seemed to be no sign of him throughout the House.

        The gardens that grew about the floor of the atrium were being tended by a lithe woman who padded across the flagstones in bare feet. “That is Gert,” Leni pointed out, and he gestured at a table set near the low wooden fence that overlooked the gorgeous gardens. A fountain gurgled at the center, and many mirrors cleverly placed about the skylight brought sunlight down to sparkle upon its waters all the day long. “As for my man Bonn, I don’t know what’s become of him. If you should desire refreshments, I will be obliged to fetch them myself, it appears.”

        “I assure you,” the gentleman said, “I am already quite refreshed. It is quite an honour to meet you, man from the past.”

        Leni issued a smile that he hoped would be a threat. “I assure you, the honour is all mine. And we both know that neither of us is from here.”

        They sat together, each examiner the other, both of them unreadable in different ways.

“Is Arlo your real name?” Leni asked. “Or should I call you something else?”

        “I’d be most comfortable if you called me by that name,” the Warlock replied smoothly, “if it’s all the same to you.”

        Leni looked off into the gardens, watching Gert working her shears. “All the same,” he murmured. He was still rather out of his head, and it was perhaps appropriate to be having such a surreal encounter in his own home under the influence of the midradials he’d been administering to himself daily.

        He looked Arlo in the eye, coming back to the table and the conversation with a new and sudden clarity. “This hasn’t been all the same, not at all. It’s been so much better; a world apart!” he said in a low tone, full of sudden passion. His face flushed in front of the Warlock, and he didn’t care, because he was thinking of Amos.

        Arlo smiled – a very soft, understanding, and gentlemanly smile. He was most refined in his character, and his comportment was spotless. Leni couldn’t help but admire him for it, even as he feared it. This was a show of superior skills.

        I suppose I should expect nothing less of an extractor! Leni thought wildly in that moment. He saw himself leaping over the fence, dashing toward the landlady and nabbing her sharp shears in a last-ditch attempt to get away from this bounty hunter who had come knocking so casually and confidently at his door!

        This was followed instantly by Leni imagining Arlo lifting up his carved walking stick – a dastardly but perfect prop – raising up level and firing from a hidden compartment a deadly dart.

        But then he remembered his inquiry – that meeting with Orel down in the Faith – the oracular meeting that had put him down to struggle in his current stupor. He remembered asking Yama if he would beat Arlo. Was that answer, from what could have been the god to father all gods, to be believed or trusted?

        Of course, the answer was always the same: trust no one.

        “I know what you’re thinking,” Arlo said.

        “That is a wonderful trick,” Leni commented. “I’ve seen one of my competitors on stage pull it off flawlessly no less than a half dozen times.”

        Arlo didn’t react to the belligerence. He was maintaining his charade, staying in character. What a brilliant level of professional commitment! Leni was determined however to get to the truth. He could see the old man was playing with him; he saw quite plainly that twinkle in his eye. He was enjoying putting his prey on edge, an old cat but still spry!

        “You want to ask me who I really am,” the Warlock said. “You want to know how I found you, and why I came to extract you.”

        “I think I deserve as much, don’t you?” Leni said with an easy smile. “I know what my successful capture is worth to you people.”

        “You are a rare breed, Leni. But you don’t belong here.”

        “Right, so tell me – who are you? What difference does it make if you tell me? I mean, if we’re both headed back to the fu-”

        “No,” Arlo said, putting a hand up. “Don’t say it.”

        Leni rolled his eyes. “Why be so cautious? No one here will care if we speak openly! That’s the problem with you people – you’re just too serious all the time! All those secrets and plots for power! No room anywhere for love.”

        “Is that what you think you’ve found here? Love?” Arlo’s eyebrow cocked.

        “Love found me, here,” Leni informed his foe. “And it is love that will keep me forever free. You can take me back; you can lock me up, or send me to the moon; but you can’t separate me from my destiny.”

        “I do not mean to separate you from it, but to reunite you with it.”

        Leni looked at the old man, this mysterious guest. Warlock? Extractor?

“Who are you?” he asked again.

        “I am the opposite of what you think I am,” Arlo said then, and stood up suddenly. “I am your one and only of escape. They are coming for you, Leni. There is nothing you can do to stop it from happening. In some sense, it has already happened. I have come here to warn you.”

        Leni saw it all now – Arlo hadn’t come as an extractor at all, but as a usurper. He was another exile, clearly one that had been living here for decades, perfecting his act. That’s why he wouldn’t reveal himself; he’d been Arlo for so long that now there really wasn’t anybody else, no former life that existed only far away and long ago as a distant memory. He had tried to frame Leni, but now he was just going to have him removed. How? How would he do it?

        “You’ve set them upon me!” Leni rose from his seat as well, aghast. “You’ve robbed me of everything!”

        “Have I indeed?” Arlo said, looking about [House] meaningfully, as if he really could read Leni’s thoughts. “Look around here, Leni. Do you see anything here that you really want to keep?”

        Arlo gave a stiff bow and turned to go.

        “I won’t let you get away with this!” Leni shouted impotently after the Warlock.

     “My poor man,” Arlo called back, raising his voice but not breaking his stride. “Don’t you know, I already have!”