Sergeant Donovan whistled an upbeat tune as he walked toward the Inquisition's compound, watching the banners shimmering above the white stone walls. He was in a grand mood. For a while, that cult business had hung over the boys in Inquisition like a funeral shroud. Now, though, everything seemed to be clearing up. Donovan didn't know any details, of course. They were above his paygrade, and he was just fine with it staying that way.
Up the stairs, through the colonnade. The sergeant pushed open the heavy brass doors with his left hand, carefully maintaining his grip on the steel box in his right. Every two weeks he stopped by to pick up the watch relays, detailing which cults and organizations had been active recently and how to watch for signs of their work. It was a long walk, generally considered a bum job, but Donovan didn't mind. The Templars did fine work. It was an honor to have a few minutes to chat with whoever was on duty while a secretary retrieved the files.
The first thing Donovan noticed was the smell of the place. It was... off. The familiar steel and leather, paper and ink were all still there, but a sweet (and likely expensive) fragrance undercut the more familiar scents. The sergeant wrinkled his nose in an unsuccessful attempt to dispel the aroma. Who would be wearing that? The Templars, naturally, were all male. Secretarial work was handled by women, but they were veterans who had done their time with the city watch before working alongside the inquisitors. None of them were younger than fifty. Donovan shrugged. Enough musing.
It seemed that Margaret wasn't working the front desk today after all. Donovan realized, looking around, that none of the office workers were familiar. They were all young. They were all beautiful.
The girl sitting at the desk smiled at Donovan as he approached, causing his heart to flutter briefly. "Hi mister, can I help you?"
"Here for the watch relay, miss," he said, setting the steel lockbox on the desk. "Precinct Fourteen."
The girl turned in her seat and ran her manicured fingers down the sleeve of the Templar seated behind her at the intake desk. "Marcus, sweetie, run and fetch watch relay for fourteen for me, won't you?"
Marcus Fulbright, fifteen-year veteran of the Templars Inquisition, blushed like a schoolgirl. "Of course, miss Emma." He stood quickly and began walking toward the storeroom, nearly tripping over a stray waste bin as he turned to look back at his assistant.
Donovan furrowed his brow, staring at the retreating Templar. "Huh." He frowned, refocusing his attention on the woman seated in front of him.
Her perfectly toned legs were clad in sheer black stockings, left leg crossed over right, absent-mindedly bouncing the heel the was half-hanging off her foot. She wore a tight black miniskirt, short enough to show the floral pattern at the top of her stockings. A white dress shirt clung to her large, firm breasts; it was just translucent enough to hint at the warm pink of her skin underneath. The upper four buttons were undone, revealing an unprofessional amount of cleavage and the top of a black satin bra that could more accurately be categorized as lingerie. Her golden blonde hair was done up into a messy bun, held in place with a scrunchie the same dark red as her lipstick.
The girl gave a satisfied smirk when she caught Donovan staring. Surely she couldn't be older than eighteen, he thought. Twenty at the most. This wasn't someone who'd served in the watch -- why was she working front desk for the Inquisition? Why were any of these women? One was sitting on Templar Warren's lap. And
she
appeared to be dictating a letter to
him
.
Not that it was Donovan's place question any of this. It was certainly odd. Unsettling, even. But what was he going to do -- report his superiors for changing their secretarial pool?
Templar Fulbright returned, walking at a brisk pace. He deposited a sealed envelope into the lockbox, fastened it shut, and handed it to Donovan.
Emma stroked the back of the Templar's hand as he sat, eliciting a slight shiver from him. "Thank you, baby." She turned to Sergeant Donovan and smiled, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear and drawing his attention to the pair of gold bangles on her wrist. "See you later, handsome." She winked.
Donovan opened his mouth, realized he had nothing to say, and walked briskly from the complex. He needed to have this conversation with someone. But who was going to listen?
***
Magistrate Valken was an honest man, an old friend, and had agreed with Donovan's concerns about the Inquisition compound. Unfortunately, Valken had explained, the Templars were a powerful organization and it would be impossible to launch any kind of inquiry without hard evidence. Valken had given the sergeant a meaningful look, explaining that his hands were tied. Donovan knew what that look meant. He would need to acquire the evidence on his own.
Espionage -- or any kind of duplicity, for that matter -- was not Sergeant Donovan's forte. His stomach churned unpleasantly as he entered the Inquisition building for the second time that week. The atmosphere, accompanied by that same lingering perfume, was unimproved from a few days ago. He spotted a broad-shouldered Templar leaning his forearm against the back wall, talking animatedly to one of the girls as she giggled and played with her hair.
Emma was at the front desk, holding up a hand mirror as she carefully reapplied her lipstick. Donovan coughed quietly. Emma took several more seconds to finish up, put her makeup away, and looked up at him from her seat.
"Is there something I can do for you?"
"Oh, it's just... I mean." Donovan cleared his throat. You're doing this for the city, he reminded himself. The sergeant flashed a slip of cream-colored paper bearing Valken's seal. "Magistrate just wanted me to dig through some records. If that's alright."
She pursed her lips. Gods above, she was gorgeous. He could almost imagine those full red lips, wrapped tenderly around... Donovan worked to suppress the thought. You're here on business. Keep it together, man.
"I don't see why that would be a problem. I'll get one of the boys to help you look."
"Oh, no need to trouble them," he rambled, waving his hands in a dismissive gesture. "It's an old record, might take a while. I can tend to it myself."
Emma smiled cheerfully. "Such a gentleman! You know where record storage is?"
"Yes ma'am." Was it really going to be this easy? Donovan knew he shouldn't be pleased to see the Inquisition's security measures had lapsed this badly, but at least it made his job easier.
"Alright, just head on back then." She waved him off.
Donovan made sure to keep his pace even. He was calm, collected, and stared at the ground as he walked.
