"You are very sure of this?"

The room was cold and dark, lit only by a single flickering torch. Ancient granite walls were carved deep into the earth, marking a room that few would ever see. There were no carvings, no signs of habitation or even construction. It was almost as though the chamber had appeared from the ground, deep beneath the surface. Only a single slat-backed chair, bolted to the floor in the center of the room, held any hint that the room had ever been entered at all.

That, and the two men who stood beside it.

At first glance, they might have been shadows, or even stalactites rising from the ground. But only if one looked long and hard would the eye catch the tiny motions that marked both for what they were. The rise and fall of breathing, the tiny shifting and movement of weight, the occasional hiss of murmur of sound. Both men were quiet by nature and by training, and that was only magnified by the overall silence of the room. Not that it mattered, there-- the walls were designed to absorb sounds. And, as needed, screams.

"Her abilities could be....invaluable. Someone with those skills, those instincts, with the training we could offer? Not to mention her gender, which offers he a unique chance in international society. There are none who understand such things as you, and our numbers are...."

Both men looked away from the other, the knowledge heavy in their minds. Their numbers had dwindled in the past few years, lack of apprentices and incidents that had slashed through those that remained. The crown had never retained many of them, but in the present days less then 400 could be found around the world, and that was unacceptable.

"Lord Isaac, I truly do not-"

"Darius, you are youngest Master we have." The older man-Lord Isaac, by name if not birth- kept his deep voice firm. There was a strength in him that wrinkles and snowy hair belied. The horrible scar that crossed his face had driven him from 'good' society years before, but his intelligence had not suffered from it. Nor had his cunning and judge of character, and both were turned on the younger man before him. "There has never been an assassin raised in this modern age who can match you. More, you understand how this...strange magic works, and how to deal with young people. Who else could I ask?"

"Someone who could be spared from the field?"

"There are other assassins." The reply was blunt, and yet there was a sympathy to it. "I do not cast insult on you by saying so, but there are knives now a plenty to bring down those who are needed. There are not many who can train the ones who will replace us. And none so qualified, as I have said, as you." His tone hardened one more. "Do not force me to make it an order."

Silence fell between them again, but there was a tension that did not exist before. Offense was still there, for all that it was not offered, and Darius found it hard to swallow. It was true that he was the youngest of the master assassins. He had been born into a world of locomotives and telegraphs, of small pistols and repeating rifles. And there was no question that he could navigate society better than most of his brothers-in-arms, and he had the money and cover to support him. And more, his own instincts as a younger person would enable him to understand and aid this girl in her own.

His instincts as an assassin and, though he was less proud of it, as a Lord's son. His father was an English lord, and his mother his Indian servant. It was a hidden scandal, and yet one that had benefited Darius well. As an assassin, he had learned blackmail from a young age. It had resulted, after a private meeting with his father, with Darius's having an estate of his own and an allowance. And then, with his father's death, had also brought along a heavy inheritance. He had, with those gifts and his skills, traveled farther and fulfilled more missions then most. And seen many things.

But her abilities were new to their order, though the assassins who knew of it were intrigued. And he had worked with others who held that sort of talent. But to train them with the skills an assassin would need...

"What is she like? How bad is she?"

"You'll meet her in a few moments. Decide for yourself." Isaac made a last study of the man who had once been his apprentice-tall, muscled and lean but hiding it well in semi-fashionable clothes- and nodded. "Prepare yourself."

The man walked out with an assassin's lack of flourish, and Darius-cursing below his breath- found a convenient wall against him and tried his best not to sigh. Assassin's were made to be flexible, and yet he found his opinion on the subject as stiff as oak after a storm.

"Well." His voice was quiet, more to the shadows then himself. "Well."