Discrete Revelations

My fingertips hovered over the fresco as I walked by, elaborating the details to the girl, Noemi. Often, she seems utterly uninterested in the particulars of past events, but now and again a light sparks behind her blue eyes. It is difficult not to admire Dietrich of Tarnburg, and history has been kind to him. He is a mercenary, but the record of his deeds show he has a conscience. A ruthless conscience, but a conscience just the same. The more I stared at the frescoes, studying their relationship to one another, I started to realize the inaccuracies of what was depicted. This was not a case of blatant revisionism at the expense of the truth, but a subtle bending of the truth. Certain events were depicted that never occurred, or occurred differently than represented. I studied the wall more closely, keeping mind of the guardsman that was posted at the end of the block. It was all starting to make sense. It was a beacon, to those that could read

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Beneath the city, I realized the walkways over the massive well were laid out much like the streets above ground. Once I had my bearings, I could see where the water from the Issus aqueduct entered the well and, too, the run off from the springs at the Hills of Eteocles. Some of the entrances to the surface were marked on the wall, either by name or pictogram. When I found an exit that corresponded to the Market Square, I repeated the process to exit, I

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