To the Royal Architect,

I will tell you everything I have learned, everything I have done, and what I now plan to do since I have left your home, by the name of Zeus whose hospitality you invoked.

Please do read this entire letter first.

I was able to converse with the Assassin, after much difficulty. Her wish was that even some small part of her could live, without the curse written into her bones. Which is why her severed head is currently living in my spare closet. She could not give a clear timeframe as to when it would regenerate a new body. Apparently this sort of thing hasn’t come up before. I fear her makers would have built a countermeasure if it had.

Now comes the bad news. The only way she could speak with me, the only way this process could work, was if her mission was not disrupted by it. She could bend the rules of her curse so far, but no further. Afterwards, I was to launch the coffin back to you. I have enclosed with this letter my best approximation of our position and time when I did so. After the warp you kindly gave us, I imagine she will have a long, long, long journey.

Which brings me to the discovery: She has no name upon her bones. Only a title. I suspect that many of the Assassins sent after you are made in the same fashion.

I have until she completes her journey back to you. In that time, I will search for a place where you can continue your mission, with something better than polite knives from those around you. If I can manage this, then when she wakes at last, she will be of no danger to you. No Assassin that has been born will be of danger to you. And your colleagues may find other, more relevant friends to send their gifts to.

I think, should we find such a place, that your work would be all the better for it.

I won’t ask you to not defend yourself, should it come to it. I ask only for patience. We have time, and I will be making offerings for her safety, but also for a long voyage. I wish both of you to live. This is the only way I know how to make it so. All I ask is the chance to try.

If you discern any changes to the coffin, please let me know. I will keep you updated on my search.

Faithfully,

Dolce, formerly of Beri

**********************************************

Vasilly,

I am okay. I am unharmed. I am in no imminent peril. 

I am sorry I could not write you any sooner. I am sorry for quite a bit more besides.

I left Beri, thinking only of taking a short trip, just a few days, with the other sheep who is often with Mayor Kaspar. 20022 is his name, by the way. He had told me of some opportunities in the civil service, and, you remember our talks? About the Skies? I was wondering…well, I was wondering quite a bit, but mainly, I wanted to know if I could help Beri beyond running our little cafe. I wanted to know if I could help everyone on Bitemark.

We met the Crystal Knight.

[i](Here, there is an uncharacteristic scribble. Words written, then taken back, but too much had been said already to start anew.)[/i]

The Royal Architect was coming to mine the planet. We were to get everyone out of the way, to safety. She wanted the ship in the sea. The Royal Architect was not going to wait for everyone to get clear of the peninsula. 

I thought there must be something I could do. I thought I could get 20022 to see how…monstrous a thing this was. 

I couldn’t do anything.

What little I thought to do was seen, and overridden. And most of my days were spent

I was so happy to hear that everyone got out safely. There is a prayer, apparently, of Mars, that tells you that sort of thing. We saw another ship come down, and then nothing after that. But you all got out. You all got out, in the end.

I am sorry. Please. Tell Mosaic I am sorry. For everything.

I was onboard the Slitted, at the time. Something happened, and the ship was damaged. 20022 and I were busy with the escape, and neither of us could do a thing. I couldn’t slip away, and we both left on one of the escape pods. We were gone, I think, before your ship took off. 

Much has happened since then. We visited the Royal Architect. He gave us a shuttle, and he warped us rather far across the galaxy, somehow. He sent with us a slightly damaged machine intelligence, and an Assassin frozen in a coffin. He didn’t want either of them anymore, and they didn’t seem particularly happy to stay with him. There’s too much to write for one letter, so expect a second one shortly.

But 20022. I have told him I want nothing to do with a Service that allows such things to happen. He refuses to listen to me. Despite what we’ve been through together, he acts as though he hasn’t heard me at all. He wishes me to stay. He wishes me to join the Service, and if I were to give him a firmer rejection, then he will leave me behind the next chance he gets. At first I thought he was upset because I kept him from doing anything when the Slitted was attacked. Now, I am not so sure. I don’t understand him. I don’t know how he can pretend this is good.

We are headed, I think, to try and stop you. But that means we are getting closer to you, and that is better than any planet he could leave me on, so I suppose it is working out alright. 

I will write more. And I will wait for your letters. I will keep them close to me, always. Maybe I will sew a little pocket in my vest? They do those in the stories, sometimes. It seems a sensible idea. I will keep your letters close by, and whenever I want to hear your voice, I will read them. 

And I promise I will do a better job of things than I did on Bitemark. I promise.

All of my love, and always yours,

Dolce