"What about Count Bruges' body?" asked Blunt.
"It is being looked after by the police at the moment," a guard answered. His rat face made an attempt at sympathy. "We had wanted to bring his body here, but with all the chaos at the station... you know. It was difficult to remove it secretly. It's being looked after in the morgue for a while."
"I see. But they said that they didn't know anything about his body?"
"That Watteau man is observant. It was decided that it was best the body was kept in secret."
"Well you don't have to worry about that, Inspector." The young Methuselah's nostrils flared a little as he spoke with an air of inflated importance: "The entire mansion is covered by surveillance technology. No expense was spared. This is the best system possible. The central surveillance room is manned twenty-four hours a day, so there is no chance of an intruder being missed. It would be impossible for even a Methuselah to enter here."
"That is impressive," the young aristocrat enthused. "I was wondering if I may take a peek. I would like to see this Lost Technology of which Count of Brussels was so proud."
"Yes, sir." The Methuselah felt pride, empowered by his position. He wanted to show off. "Please walk this way. But I must ask you to not touch any of the machinery." He unlocked the thick metal door and pushed it open, signaling for the young Methuselah to enter. The many Terran who were carefully watching the monitors turned to see who had entered, but when the familiar Methuselah indicated that they didn't need to worry, they turned back to the screens.
"This is astounding. This system is indeed extraordinary. The aristocracy of Brussels is very impressive."
"This room alone cost almost the whole state budget." The man was getting into his new role as tour guide now. "I know His Eminence is very attentive to these things, though, so I guess he wouldn't mind paying whatever it took."
"But it doesn't matter how excellent the system; it all depends on the operator. Used by people like you, it might as well be crap." The sudden change in tone took guard by surprise; in seconds, he pushed his sword against the young Methuselah's neck.
An odd noise came from deep inside his throat. The wound would keep healing, but with a swift twist of the sword, the victim's head could be forever sliced off. It was one of the few weak points that Methuselah had.
"What is going on here?!"
The guards had noticed the commotion going on behind them; they all turned around. There was nothing of the young Methuselah to see, though. They started to rise from their chairs... But in an instant, the rest of them were drowning in a sea of their own blood.
"Too slow. A few seconds and you would have gotten me," Blunt muttered, pistols smoking in his hand.
He pushed the surveillance men's bodies out the way and inspected the console. He turned off the switches, one by one. "Right. The surveillance system is down now, Bosch."
"Good work, Blunt. The rest, now."
The man called Bosch smiled. Twiddling the many knives in his hands, he quickly followed the Methuselah's orders. "Clear each floor, as we discussed. But you must not touch Darsus. I will call our master."
"I am already here." The quiet voice came from the open door. Blunt hadn't even heard it open. Men and women in plain black suits followed the man into the room. The leader was conspicuous because he wore a different color from the others. He had on a thin mask, and his blonde hair was tied back. "Good work, Bosch and Blunt. But you're thirty seconds late. Please hurry." His voice was so well moderated that you would find it hard to imagine anyone would disobey his orders. Almost twenty Methuselah and one Terran immediately moved to the next phase. "Yes, sir!"
The masked man watched them run off. However, he suddenly noticed something and approached the console. He touched his rose tattoo and then carefully chose one of the many switches and flicked it. "Humph. It seems that he is here, too. Earlier than I expected."
With a buzz, one of the screens had come on. Looking at the display, the man smiled.
On the black-and-white screen was the main entrance. The grainy shadows of costumed performers were lit up by the burning bonfire. However, the purple eyes behind the mask were looking at one shadow in particular — a ghost dressed in priest's garb.
Clutched in his left hand was a metal stick as tall as the man himself. The man had his right sleeve turned up. The masked man smiled. "Just as you hoped. A stage for revenge! Take your place, Sword Dancer!"