They found him sitting alone at a small table set for two, looking off towards the bay. He was a short man, shaved bald, dressed in an expensive but unostentatious suit, the outfit of a man with plenty of money but no need to flaunt it. 

For a moment, Atos was inexplicably unsettled by the way in which the sun reflected from the man's round spectacles, replacing his eyes with featureless white disks, like the optics of an automaton in one of Guerea's fanciful stories, or the eyes of those weirdling fishes pulled up from the dark reaches of the sea.

“Mr. Fish,” said Atos, in appropriately grave tones.

The man turned, his glasses losing their unnerving glare, and stood. 

“Inquisitor,” he said with small nod, “An honor.”

Atos took a seat at the table, gesturing for his Practicals to keep out of eavesdropping distance. They retreated to the far side of the balcony, adding menace to an otherwise quotidian scene.

“You are familiar with why I am here, Mr. Fish?” Inquisitor Atos asked.

Fish sipped his tea for a long moment, then placed it on the saucer with a loud clink. “Your note was terse, your excellency, but I take it you are interested in our Pan-Dessian investments?”

“Quite, Mr. Fish. Quite interested, even concerned. You understand, the only reason I am interviewing you here and not in my offices is because of the services rendered by your firm to the Crown in the past. But should we discover anything illegal or you fail to comply wi-”

Mr. Fish held up a small, perfectly manicured hand. The inquisitor got a whiff of the man's cologne, a pleasant, understated, clean smell which almost but did not quite mask a hint of corruption beneath it. 

Atos frowned, wondering if Mr. Fish was ill. The lawyer offered a perfectly white smile, his flawless teeth and sharp green eyes flashing in the setting sun. 

“You will pardon the rudeness of my interruption, excellency, but he firm has nothing to hide from His Majesty's Inquisition. In addition to the records my office has already provided, we will be happy to comply with any of your inquiries or demands. What, may I ask, about our Pan-Dessian activities has aroused your interest?”

“The children missing from Teors and Valdis.”

A small, puzzled smile crept across Mr. Fish's mouth. “I'm afraid I don't understand, excellency.”

Atos nodded grimly, “Teors, Valdis, New Gapos, all colonial towns with mining and fishing interests owned, through one legal contrivance or another, by Barrow & White. All colonial towns with large, state-run orphanages.”

Fish cocked his head to one side, “I was under the impression that Superior Vorna had jurisdiction over the colonies.”

“So he does. I am an Inquisitor Exempt, recently appointed. Vorna has no jurisdiction over my inquiries.”

“I see,” said Fish, “I see. Well, the accusation implied by your line of questioning is most serious.”

“Most.”

Fish leaned back slightly in his chair, finger tips together, pondering. Atos watched him.

“We were very careful.” Fish said at length, offering a small shrug.

“Yes. But I am very good at my job.” said Atos, “Despite the efforts of your firm's pet Superior. I will settle with him once you and your employers are under lock and key.”

The Inquisitor made a surreptitious gesture and his Practicals approached the table. “I appreciate you not denying it, Mr. Fish. It makes what comes next easier for me and much less painful for you.”

Fish smiled slightly, eying Atos' black-robed minions as they approached. 

“That a Firm as illustrious as yours would look for an easy dollar in the illicit battery trade surprised me, at first,” said Atos, “But whale oil is getting more expensive by the day. Yours isn't the first company of reputation I've discovered dabbling in the black market. If you cooperate, expose others in the same racket, it will go easier for you.”

The lawyer nodded, still smirking.

“May I ask what's funny, Mr. Fish?” Atos asked.

“Yes, you may,” replied Fish with a small chuckle.

The shadow of one of the Practicals fell across Atos, and a heavy hand seized the Inquisitor by the shoulder. Atos turned, his mouth falling open in surprise. 

The Practical grabbed his master by the chin and forehead. A loud [i]snap[/i] and it was done. 

Inquisitor Atos slid lifeless from his chair. Mr. Fish sipped his tea and turned back towards the harbor.

His glasses once again reflected the fierce white glare of the setting sun.