A River Dream

Dalia had a dream. She dreamt of stepping barefoot into a river, its surface shimmering with white light. The river, although quite shallow, barely reached her knees, but a small boat sailed by. She tilted her head to the side and saw the rowers. Their faces were blurry and indistinct, as if they were formed haphazardly, molded from the air with no discernible features. On the boat's deck, a man and a woman were dancing. She was sure there was music playing, but she couldn't hear a thing. She found it odd that people would be dancing on such a simple boat.

She looked down and suddenly had the urge to find the little fish that had swum past her feet, but her efforts were in vain. The water was empty. At that moment, she heard someone say ahead, "Do you see them?"

See who? she thought but responded in her mind. She raised her head, and in front of her in the water stood a person. Again, she couldn't see their face, but she somehow knew them.

The lake's glaring white light made her want to shield her eyes, but in the dream, it was impossible. "Who are you showing me?" she asked.

"It's too late," they said, "the boat has already departed."

When Dalia woke up, she found that her feet had extended beyond the edge of the bed. This was probably why, in her dream, her feet felt the icy water. She pulled her feet back under the covers, but she couldn't fall back asleep. She stared at the pattern on the side of the teacup on the table by her bed, and her eyes felt heavy and strained. The pattern resembled the ripples on the water, and the boat from her dream suddenly brought back memories of the fishing boat she had owned back in Menethil. Once she remembered this, she knew she wouldn't fall back asleep and rose from her bed. She drew the curtains halfway open.

The dim morning light hadn't yet reached the distant spires of the church. Dalia lowered her gaze and saw a man standing outside her house, near the perimeter wall. She recognized him as one of the detectives working under Jorgen. He didn't seem to be passing by but had stationed himself there, watching everything at both ends of the street.

The maid hadn't woken yet, so Dalia decided to prepare herself and went outside to where the detective was posted. The sudden drop in temperature was evident, and a light breeze brushed against her ankles as she walked, reminding her of the cold river from her dream.

"Good morning," she said.

The young detective turned towards her, looking somewhat surprised. Dalia's appearance was clearly unexpected.

"Good morning, Lady Dalia," he replied. It appeared that he had been standing there since the previous night.

"What are you doing?" Dalia inquired.

"I'm sorry, I can't say," the detective replied.

"Did I disturb you? If so, I can go back inside."

"No," he tried not to meet Dalia's eyes and inexplicably managed a smile filled with apologies. "Not exactly."

"Jorgen sent you."

He initially wanted to shake his head but hesitated. In the end, he nodded and said, "Yes." Even to Dalia, it was evident that he was not an experienced detective. However, this gave her some relief because if there was indeed something particularly dangerous and crucial, Jorgen wouldn't have sent someone like him to stay there.

"It seems like you've been standing here all night."

"It's hard to say."

"I can bring you some food and another cup of coffee."

"Oh, no, there's no need."

"Very well," Dalia nodded. "I'll go back in."

As she turned around, the detective suddenly raised his voice, "I... don't have any cups or anything."

"Not a problem," Dalia said, "I'll lend you the guest's. Two bacon sandwiches and a coffee. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great, Lady. Thank you very much."

Dalia found this shy detective quite interesting. Starting the new day like this wasn't bad at all. She went back into the house and prepared what she had promised, then brought it out on a plate. Halfway to where the detective stood, she saw Jorgen talking to him with his head down.

She paused for a moment, then continued walking towards the two men. Both of them looked up at her, but the young detective quickly lowered his head again.

Jorgen gazed at her with a hint of confusion. "You're up early today," he said.

She handed the plate to the young detective. He took a deep breath but didn't accept it, stealing a glance at Jorgen.

Jorgen examined the contents of the plate and then said to Dalia, "You made this for him?"

"Yes."

"You asked Lady Dalia to prepare breakfast for you?" Jorgen turned to the detective, who stuttered in silence.

"Alright, Jorgen," Dalia said. "Let him have it. It'll get cold soon."

"Take it and move over there," Jorgen instructed his subordinate. "I didn't call for you, so don't come back."

The detective gingerly raised his hand and picked up the sandwiches and coffee from the plate, as if he were rescuing something important from boiling water. He hurriedly thanked them and said, "I'm sorry, Lord Jorgen," then turned and walked towards the corner at the end of the wall. Before his figure disappeared, Dalia could see him using his left hand to put the food in his mouth.

Jorgen looked at her. "You shouldn't have done that. He's on a mission."

"What kind of mission?"

"A security-related one," Jorgen replied after a pause. In reality, he had his subordinate prevent anyone from posting flyers related to MI7 near Dalia's house.

"I don't see what's unsafe."

"That's just your perception, Dalia."

"Everyone can have a snack when they're working."

"Whatever you say. Just don't do it again next time. He was about to end his shift, and now I have to make him stand an extra twelve hours. This is a punishment."

"Because of me?"

"Because of himself."

The two of them fell silent for a moment. The sun had risen considerably, and in the distance, the spires were beginning to show a faint golden outline. Across the street, the sounds of shopkeepers preparing for the day's business filled the air.

"It's been a while since I've seen you," Dalia said. "Have you been busy lately?"

"I've always been this way," Jorgen replied. They hadn't seen each other since his negotiation with Farad. Most of his time was spent helping Mardias become familiar with the procedures and environment at MI7 headquarters, and they never had any conversation outside of official matters. He had hoped that Mardias would ask about Dalia, even casually, but that never happened. Now, when he looked at Dalia, he had no doubt that he saw entirely different eyes.

"Before going to Darkshire, you used to make time for afternoon tea."

Jorgen didn't continue this topic. "Has the Council given you a hard time?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Some members of the Council aren't pleased with my work in Darkshire. So, I thought..."

"No, they didn't. They just went through the motions with me and sent some tokens of sympathy for my injury. A carpet."

"They sent you a carpet? That sounds exactly like them. I can't figure out what they're thinking."

"Neither can I. Would you like to come in? There's no need for us to stand here. I see we haven't had breakfast yet."

"No, I should go. Listen, Dalia, it's best if you limit your outdoor activities for a while."

"Why? Has something serious happened in the city?"

"Not exactly. I don't intend to restrict your movements, but... remember that I said this. I'll inform you when everything is back to normal."

Dalia nodded slowly. "Alright."

"I'm leaving."

"Goodbye."

"I'll go tell that lad to return your coffee cup."

Jorgen left. He didn't know when Dalia had returned to her room. He found the detective and informed him that he would need to stand guard for another twelve hours. The detective appeared not the least bit disheartened; instead, he seemed invigorated. Perhaps it was the effect of Dalia's sandwiches and coffee.

In fact, he had wanted to accept Dalia's breakfast invitation, reminiscing about their times drinking afternoon tea together. But he couldn't bring himself to face her right now. Every second he spent with her, he had to be a better liar, concealing something that mattered most to a mother. He told himself that it wasn't the right time yet, but he never considered when the right time would be. He told himself that there were more important things to do, but that was also self-deception because he hadn't accomplished those things he believed were more important.

Yesterday, he had loitered near Farad's lodging for a while but hadn't gone in. Contacting Farad without the knowledge of the old man and Farad was a very dangerous strategy, especially when he had no idea what he could learn from Farad. During this indecision, he had contemplated numerous potential conversations, even conversations where Farad demanded his betrayal of MI7, but no scenario allowed him to escape the dilemma. He had never experienced this: forcing himself to appear nonchalant, aimlessly wandering, attempting to avoid the gaze of pedestrians, occasionally glancing at the door of the house and immediately moving on. Regardless of how he thought about it, the course of this matter was entirely in the hands of the old man and Farad. He had no way to influence it. Deploying an inexperienced detective to guard Dalia was a last resort, as it involved using MI7's human resources without authorization. This assignment, along with the loitering outside Farad's residence, had diminished in his mind into childish behavior.

Time was running out, and here I am doing these things.

He retrieved a small note from his pocket and reread the words. The note was handed to him at the MI7 entrance by a deaf and dumb beggar earlier this morning, and the handwriting was indecipherable. He wasn't sure whether it indicated an impending uncontrollable situation or a turning point; he would have to take action to find out.

The note read:

"Jorgen: If you don't want things to get out of control, come to the Boar and Whistle Inn at eight tonight. Alone."