15

You were still a fledgling when the Second Inquisition burned through the centers of Camarilla power—places like the Vienna chantry, arcane fortress of Clan Tremere. You weren't important enough to draw the SI's attention. They've been quiet for years—quiet enough that some Kindred are starting to use phones and email to conduct their night work again, cutting into your business. But you know they're fools. The SI was never beaten. The Inquisition is just collecting information now, waiting for an opportunity to strike again.

Prince Lettow does not want to give them an opportunity.

"You come highly recommended," he says. "And I hate to see a proud member of Clan Ventrue brought low by circumstances. I need you to run letters to a few cities near Tucson. Don't worry…nothing is more than a single night's trip."

Yes, the thousand dollars you earned is enough to get you a Greyhound ticket to anywhere in the country, isn't it?" the Eagle Prince says with a cruel little laugh. "And then you can try to have this sort of discussion again, in Denver or New Orleans or Kansas City. Is that what you want, Krarr? To have a conversation like this one with a Prince who is much less patient than I am, with less money in your pocket? Or do you want to do what you're best at?"

All Princes argue that the alternative to their rule is worse, but you've seen Princes much worse than Prince Lettow—or at least, more obviously terrible. You might be trapped here.

Prince Lettow hands you a printout marked with three locations and three faces. You recognize one face instantly: it's your sire, Elin Olivecrona. She's standing beside an American flag in a smart navy jacket, like she's a senator or something. You don't recognize the other two faces.

"Three people need to know about the final death of Jasper Knowles and the mysterious circumstances around what happened to Reremouse's childe." (That wight you faced.) He points to each face in turn. "Invidia Caul worked closely with Jasper after she escaped New York and showed up here. When Clan Tremere fell apart, so did their working relationship, but she needs to know about his destruction. She also needs to know that, without Jasper Knowles's considerable private wealth funding her, she can no longer sustain her research, and she must return to Tucson."

"Should we tell him that she'll go crazy when she finds out?" Dove asks the Prince.

"I'd been meaning to get around to that, Dove, yes," Prince Lettow says. "Krarr, deliver my letter and get out. You won't like Dr. Caul's reaction when she realizes she's broke."

"If you can't survive a grumpy witch," Dove says, crossing her strong arms over her chest, "you don't belong in this job."

Lettow points to the next face. "Pattermuster is one of the Rabble—a Brujah. He lurks in St. Basil's Hospital in Phoenix, looking after the lost lambs of our flock—other Rabble, the Clanless, thin-bloods, the Mad Ones…maybe even Gangrel!" Lettow chuckles at his own wit. "But he actually keeps them in line, though they are dangerously lax. In fact, I would like you to, hmm, encourage a bit more tidiness from the Kindred at St. Basil's. No open feeding, no drug-running, no unauthorized Embraces, that sort of thing. This is not a formal mission, you understand. But if you can make our dissatisfaction known, I would appreciate it. But more important, with Knowles gone, the hospital will be up for renovation. Those renovations will compromise St. Basil's usefulness as a haven. I'll write instructions for what Pattermuster needs to do."