The Neophyte I had thought was Rory looked almost identical to him except that this Neophyte’s black hair had several streaks of silver in it and he was admiring the fountain while leaning on a cane made of some kind of bright tan wood with a head that resembled a crane made of a material that looked like aged brass. He also wasn’t wearing a wooden mask like Rory did so I got a good look at the Neophyte’s face. It resembled Rory’s in a way except there was no look of lust in his emerald eyes unlike Rory’s when we encountered him in Kuclin’s hideout. His thin face was covered in various wrinkles and he had a short gray beard.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I responded, “I thought you were my friend Rorikori Clavicula.”
“Well son, you’re about half right,” the old Neophyte whispered, “My name’s not Rorikori, its Vomer. Rory is my son’s name.” He looked around where I was standing before he continued. “He’s been traveling around with you?”
“Only for like a day or so,” I responded, “I found him hanging out in a cave over on Moop Island.” I neglected to tell him however that when I found him, Rory was bloodthirsty and tried to attack my dwarven “friend”. Why spoil Rory’s homecoming by telling his father, whom I just met, that his son was now a vampire that had to wear a mask to control his lust for blood? It’d be better for Rory to tell his father than me, that is, if he was around.
   Papa Clavicula tapped his cane against the side of the fountain, gave a sigh I barely heard, and said, “Well if you find him, tell him to come here. I want to talk to him. Tell him, if you see him, I’ll be here most of the day.”
“I’ll tell Rory if I see him.”
“You’ll tell Rory what?” Rory said as he turned the corner of one of the hedges that separated him from me and his father. Vomer looked towards where Rory had come around from behind the hedge and said, “Rorikori Clavicula, it’s been awhile.”
“Dad,” Rory responded. “Is it really you?”
“Yes it is, my son,” Vomer said, “But is it really you beneath that mask? Take it off so I can see you better.”
“No, Dad, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
   Rory appeared to be formulating a plot different from the truth. I began to tell Vomer about the real reason his son now wears a mask, when Rory began to tell his father the truth. I expected Vomer to laugh and ask, “No really, why do you wear a mask Rory?” Instead, Vomer tapped his cane against the ground twice and said, “Good enough for me.” Rory definitely seemed relieved to hear him say that.
“But son, just because you’re a hemopinocyte*16 now doesn’t mean you’re no longer a Clavicula and that I don’t want to see you.”
“But, Dad, if the citizens found out your son as a vampire, wouldn’t they impeach you from being the Governor…”
“Governor?” Vomer laughed, “I’m not the Governor of Daggerra. The citizens wanted me to be Governor but some thought I’d spend too much of Daggerra’s  money doing some kind of risky stunt like building the city into Anghus’s Rage or using the military to find you. That got around and I was forced to leave the campaign.”
“I’m so sorry Dad…”
“It’s not your fault, Rory. I’ve always said politics wasn’t my forte.”
“Somehow,” Rory replied, “I remember you saying that.”

   As the two Neophytes caught up on old times, and with their permission to leave them for a short while, I decided to have a look around. The first place I found myself at was the domicile of my traveling companion; a rather plain looking house made of weathered rock and a slate gray roof. It looked more like a converted army barracks than a home. I didn’t enter, seeing how the occupants were out in the plaza and also because I chose not to meet Rory’s mother. I figured she was as kind as Vomer was and that the fact that I was talking to her without Rory in my presence would dampen the affair. After walking away from the Clavicula residence, I walked up the road from the dock where the Cassandra sat waiting and found myself in front of a building with the words “Candee’s Sugar Shack” written in bright neon colors on a plain wooden sign. Listening to Rory and his father catching up on things made me thirsty and I decided this place would serve the solution to my thirst problem.
   The interior was lit by alternating red, green, and blue lights that seemed to stream around the room in cascading patterns. Every once in a while, the lights, especially the ceiling-mounted ones, would seem to form symbols that any layman or wizard would’ve seen in his common everyday living. As a matter of fact, as soon as I walked through the strange spinning door, the ceiling lights seemed to point me towards a long table in the back corner. As I approached the bar, a young Neophyte that looked to be about my age, plus or minus a year (but seemed to be more like a “minus a year” by her looks), seemed to appear from nowhere and asked me what I’d like.
   In my years as a professor at Maiko Temple, I’d been a huge fan of this import drink from the Mainland called “L’Espirit Classique”, a sugary black soda that came bottled in green glass bottles. The stuff was so sugary, many people swore that the stuff could clean rust of a long sword in nothing flat or strip the meat off a drumstick but that was all legend and a huge waste of a good drink. There was even a widely circulated rumor (yes, even so-called communes like the Maiko Temple weren’t immune to gossip!) that the original formula for L’Espirit contained an extract that was considered to be highly illegal, and in order to prevent a huge fine and lost profits, the original L’Espirit formula was widely recalled and destroyed. The “Classique” suffix was added to its name so the company could maintain that this new formula absolutely doesn’t contain the illegal additive. It was made very sugary in place, and thus their new drink sold quite well. Since I was the only person from Maiko that liked the Classique brand, I figured that they have a placard in their CEO’s office that says “Note to all: Mikhalangelo Velleous is our best customer ever. If he comes by the factory, give him the tour and a lifetime supply of L’Espirit. Oh hell, just give him the damn key to the factory when he comes by!” Oh, the dreams I dream.
   I asked the young barmaiden if the place had L’Espirit Classique. Without hesitation, she told me that they had run out of it just ten minutes before I arrived. I asked her if they had any other L’Espirit flavors.
“We have L’Orange, Itomi, and a relatively new brand called Pecha that no one seems to want to buy.”
   I happened to know, from previous experience, that L’Orange wasn’t anything remotely like L’Espirit Classique flavored with oranges, it was actually tangerine. Itomi, if I remembered correctly, was cucumber-flavored. So instead of making my stomach suffer the results of drinking tangerine-flavored soda or even the stomach-knotting thought of a cucumber-flavored soda, I decided to test out the new Pecha.
   The barmaiden gave me my L’Espirit Pecha in a four-inch tall glass and looked on almost flirtatiously as I tasted the soda. It tasted like Classique except it had a peach flavor to it. I realized as soon as I identified the taste that the word “pecha” was an anagram of “peach”. Clever marketing, you guys, clever!
“That stuff is pretty good,” I said to the barmaiden, “Get me a larger glass, please. This stuff is awesome.”
   After she poured me some more Pecha, I turned to my right on the stool to watch what kind of entertainment this establishment would possess. When I entered, a man with slicked back blue hair was playing a five-string lute on the bar’s stage, a ten feet wide wooden platform. His playing was excellent; he played as if he practiced for hours a day or that he or his instrument was possessed by some force greater than itself. He wasn’t alone however, for he was accompanied on drum by this strange lime green rabbit with blue spiky hair. After the duo played their song, the man with the blue hair stooped to pick up his lute case which was filled with gold coins and the two of them left on the applause of those inside the bar.
   The next act was a trio of dancing Neophytes, all female. None of them appeared to be the type to suddenly throw off their clothes and dance nude. At least I hoped not. From what I’ve seen of female Neophytes, they seem to be somewhat taller than their male counterparts and had thinner bodies. I shuddered to think what a Neophyte, female or not, would look like nude. I had a pretty sheltered life, it wasn’t everyday at Maiko that women would dance provocatively.
   As I was watching the performance, my eye kept being drawn to one of the dancers more so than the others. The Neophyte in question was a blonde wearing a dress similar to the others, a dress that looked like one a human girl of about 12 would wear to an elegant setting, except hers was a dark violet color. She wore a hair ornament that made it seem as if she was wearing fox ears on her head. I wasn’t sure if she was sporting a tail with this ensemble or not, because also unlike her two companions, she wasn’t performing the provocative dances like they were. I couldn’t understand why she would do something like that; we were all adults here. Maybe that’s why she seemed to be so attractive in my eyes.
   Almost as soon as it began, all three girls struck a pose and the crowd began to clap. A short Neophyte in a black jumpsuit and pompadour came out onto the stage and gestured at the posing girls.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “The Dream Damsels.”
   There was much louder applause for the Damsels than the man and his rabbit. I didn’t understand it; why does someone who actually plays his own instrument and writes his own material get less respect than a group of girls who simply bump and grind to the beats? Somehow I don’t think talent has anything to do with it. Perhaps if the blue-haired man could round up a posse of women who like to wear less than nothing and have them dance around to his lute playing, then maybe he’d get the respect he deserved.
   But rather than think about the unfairness of the entertainment business, I’d be sidetracked by thoughts of meeting the blond Damsel and perhaps getting an autograph or something from her. Nothing too wrong with that is there? I bet other people will have the same motive.