Sertorius; A Golden Dancer

Sertorius was not pleased by my request. I found it intolerable to leave the Anbar or even the cul-de-sac in which my residence stands, but I needed the care of a Physician. He carried with him his usual pleasant demeanor and delightful couchside manner, scoffing at my resistance to walk my own indolent ass into a more 'proper' district where a thorough examination could be conducted. After having a slave of his apply some antiseptic oils, scraping it clean with a stirgil, he saw to the retaping of my torso. I mentioned to him that it was a bit tight for my liking, but he merely muttered about my posture and left the dressing as it was.
I had plans for that evening, a fête of some sort for one of the politicians of Ar, a man named Bonnane. It was not my usual choice of entertainment, to be certain, but the invitation came from one of my peers in the Magisterial ranks and I was resolved not to remain a recluse forever. It seemed as good a time as any to be seen in public.
Flame-eaters, wire-walkers, jugglers and the sort performed in the spacious hall. The wine flowed freely and musicians kept the atmosphere festive. I was seated next to a rather large fellow, a man of Tor judging by his coloring and choice of dress. His name, too, suggested a southern origin. "Tal to you, man of Ar," he said. "I am Ibrahim, Merchant of the Kasbah!" I responded in kind, though I was starting to think it was a bit premature for me to be out of doors or, at least, my first destination might have been somewhere less ebullient. I had allowed Elise to accompany me, and indicated that she should pay attention to the technique of the men playing the tabor and kaska. She was given the opportunity to learn to play different hand drums and when a chance to further her training arises, I see to it she makes the most of it.
Bonnane, the guest of honor and owner of the House and Hall within which we dined, seemed in good spirits. Jovial, in his cups, his eyes lit when a golden cocoon started to lower from the ceiling. I had assumed it was a gift of some sort and that gift would be a woman. Ibrahim, the apparent giver of such generous measure, exchanged a smile with Bonnane, confirming my second assumption. The first assumption, that the gift was a woman, was confirmed as the cocoon unfurled to a hammock and a tall female with dark hair, painted from forehead to toes completely in gold, stepped out. She danced for a time, an elaborately choreographed routine that removed veil after veil from her face. I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy and that was only increased when the man Ibrahim gained my attention, sliding a lockbox my way before taking his leave. I was about to protest, not comfortable with accepting this fellow's parcel uninformed as to its contents, but the dancer turned her attention to me. Crawling, she removed her veil, the last veil, as she met my eyes. She placed a coquettish finger before her lips and uttered 'shhh.' I saw a small blade spring from a bracelet at her wrist. She then turned on her knees, stood and spun back toward the dais where the guest of honor sat with eager anticipation. As the music swirled, she flung herself between the man's legs, slicing at the high, inner part of his thigh. In the next moment, she was spinning away from him and being hurried from the room. The time between crawling to my table and doing murder between the legs of the guest of honor couldn't have been more than a few ihn. Had she not shown me the blade, I would have been as oblivious as the rest of the room to what occurred. I did not remain at my table for long, instructing Elise to carry the lockbox left by the man, Ibrahim. There was a truth that was starting to unnerve me as I took my leave from the house of the recently deceased politician Bonnane. It was a truth of many layers. The scent of clove root was on the air. The woman painted gold was no dancer. Most disturbingly, I knew the Killer of the recently deceased politician Bonnane.