Chapter One - China Flowers

The story started with a bag of wet mice. Wait... I should set the scene first.

If you tell someone you can dance, they will make their marionette. I made that mistake three years ago with Cadence Pritchard. To say I haven't looked back would be a downright lie. Although, to say that working for one of the greatest minds in the world hasn't thrilled me each day would also be a lie.

I can't tell you my name for legal reasons, so I will have to remain anonymous. I hope you don't mind. And even if it does: I still can't tell you. Just know, that to most people, my notoriety is labelled as le Renard.

"This is a bag of wet mice," I told Cadence.

"Yes."

"What am I supposed to do with a bag of wet mice?" a stench of something similar to compost, combined with wet dog and sewage encircled us in the tiny studio - I preferred to call it The Shed, because it was more apt at describing the size of it.

"What do you think you're supposed to do with them?" Cadence challenged. I hated his challenges. They were almost impossible to decipher. Almost. That was the fun part. When you got the better of Cadence, then (and only then) you knew you were something special. I'd gotten the better of him one day... and you can work the rest of the story out yourself.

"Is this some sort of trick?" I inquired.

Cadence said nothing, did nothing. He was a statue, in his concrete movements and fixed emotions. Some in The Company said he felt nothing. I disagreed. He had to feel something. Even if it was only the power of his own intellect.

"I don't play tricks on my employees, you know that," he corrected me. A slightly stern note in his voice told me that I was aggravating him. You never wanted to anger Cadence. If you did, you would never be seen again - that much was certain. He inspected the silver cuff links on his suit jacket as I thought. What was he trying to get at? What?

His benign facial expression unnerved me, not only because he knew something I didn't, but because of the way he looked. Ageless face, perfectly brown hair, plain blue eyes, like pools of water that shone only your reflection back. His eyes weren't the window to his soul, but mine: and every time I glanced into them, I saw something I didn't like. Myself.

I'm not exactly what you would call attractive. I preferred the adjective: invisible. That worked to my advantage in my line of work because no one knew anything about me. (That tends to happen when your very existence goes unmarked, but I liked it that way.) I was one of those people who had hair, a face, arms and legs and a relatively flat stomach. The unremarkable sort.

"Come on Ren, you're not concentrating," Cadence chided.

My attention snapped back to the bag of rotting rodents. What was I supposed to do? I was busy getting distracted, far too distracted to notice... that was it!

"They were the decoy! The distraction!" I announced.

If Cadence were to actually smile, the contorted wave of a curve into which his lips had curled in that moment would have been it. "And about time," he took a few steps back from me, towards the door of the shed. Promptly, he opened the door and tossed the bag outside.

"In future, if you could urge your mind to work faster involving the more potent challenges it would be much appreciated," Cadence spoke quickly as pulled a napkin from his suit pocket and dabbed at the skin around his nose.

"Was that it?" I asked, somewhat uncouthly.

"'Was that it' she says. I ask you! How long have you been in this company for Renard?"

"Errr, five years Sir," I don't know why I added the Sir, I guess I felt like I was being reprimanded.

"Exactly. And in that time, you've come to expect nothing from me other than simpleton tasks have you?" Cadence narrowed his eyes at me.

"In fact, I've come to expect nothing from you, period. You're too unpredictable to premeditate."

Quiet consideration.

"Touche Renard. So tell me, what is the next stage of my challenge?"

"You want me to explain what the decoy was for, what was the bag of wet mice a distraction from," I replied.

"No."

He stood, akimbo, looking at me as if I had sprouted another head. "I wonder sometimes why I hired you," he tutted.

"What I want you to tell me, Ren, is what you already know. You already knew what the distraction was for."

Did I?

You couldn't hesitate with Cadence (and not just for legal reasons.)

"The... the China Flowers?" I asked hesitantly. This warranted a round of applause.

"Well?" he urged.

"Well what?" I regarded him carefully as he flooded towards me.

"Where are they?"

"The China Flowers? I don't know Sir," I looked at the floor so as to avoid having his eyes upon me as I said it.

"You know what to do then Renard. Dismissed." He strode to the Studio door and wrenched it open, suggesting for me to walk through it.

"I do Sir?" I mumbled as I slipped past him.

"Find them. Bring them to me. Go."