Mes amours dans l'enclave gauloise. How exquisite et overtly finespun you are.

[Enkidu]

Sender ID: Achille Augustain Nadeau. A fine and enterprising buisnessman. Knight of the Roi.

Subject: Do you remember me, my loves? I do not presume that the mere recollection of partners can blot the stain of loss, oh, phyric, withering loss, mon coup de coeur.

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There are only so many gene therapies and medications against the spectre of clinical expiry a man cresting fifty can have before they lose their memory with the faded lines, ami.

So I will not fault you if you do not recall my face, my finespun thunderheads against the abyssal dark. Against the neophyte regime, where all regalia tarnishes into a patina of corrosion - of glory on the fade.

Oh, but you stand, do you? With your boy king slipping into his old position with a practised familiarity?

How uniquely scintillating. Pray tell, whose fingers must a man kiss to gain the key to the ossuary? I have plenty of skeletons in my closet that I so would love to resurrect. Humour me this.

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I am Augustian Nadeau, son of Normandie, although I hope to the heavenly powers above that you will not hold that detail against me, and adopted child of our, hm, dearly surrendered Marne. I am willing to turn over my files in exchange for a rendevous. Although, should you request details of my former collaboration, and, as to what I have been busying myself with over the last seven years? Mm. A willful line of inquiry.

I wonder if I am without a friend in the world, mi amores? Now that the Corvidians are a historical mote. You see, I hold the gateway to the sirian edge systems, and the abyssals beyond. I have been there. I have feasted upon their entrails - just as the service de renseignement de Gallia willed. My Iridium, purloined from the tombs of dead gods as if I were a new-age Carter amongst the pharaohs, lined the accelerator rails of your wonderful twists of ironic historical linguistics - the warwolf siege gun.

But now you are under siege, are you not?

Have your annals forgotten me? Of course, they may have. Scum like myself deserve nothing less.

I will bequeath you a bottle of Chateau D'France, should you have one. It's the price of my time - and I believe that the customer should know the vendor's position, and it, like me and my concerns, are tastefully pre-war. Inside, and out.

I bend the knee and trust to fate.

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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