There was a party at the Savant Estate a few evenings prior, a masquerade ball. Though I was invited personally by
the scion himself, and endeavored to go, I found myself working late into the evening. If pressed, I would admit that I was not entirely keen on attending. I felt I would be a little out of place. I am, of course, of the Poets. At such gatherings, men of my caste are often sought to recite something topical, providing one of many diversions for the guests. At the moment, however, I am also the People's Magistrate of the city. The invitation was extended to
that Szol of Ar, the fellow which wears
that particular mask. I am between two worlds and the longer I remain there, the more out of place I feel in both of them. How does one attend a soirée for Ar's elite and continue to be regarded as the voice of the People? It always comes back to the concept of
fact and appearance. It is as important to
appear ethical as it is to actually
be ethical. How would it appear to a Weaver or a Saddle-Maker or a Leather-Worker that is skipping a meal to satisfy the demands of the latest unjust levy if his 'voice' is supping on choice viands amongst well-heeled company? There are those amongst my constituency that already harbor doubt.
"The list of the corrupt, does that include you, Magistrate?" The outward appearance, these days, seems to outweigh the inward truth of things. Circumstance presumes guilt.
The
delka made an appearance again, this time in the chests of two men seen leaving the very party I declined to attend. While I can be reasonably certain that recent appearances of that mark in the
Anbar and on the sheer face of the
Cylinder of Initiates were painted by members of an anarchist faction, I would bet heavily against the Brigade having anything to do with the
murders of Nero Bronte and Tiberius Vilios. It just goes to show that Scribes of Accountancy and a Poet named Szol are not the only people cognizant of the power of appearances.