On their way home they found a man at the doorstep. His clothes weren’t rags at all, just work-worn: a salt-streaked indigo jacket cut neat at the shoulders, light linen shirt open at the throat, and khaki trousers tucked into black rubber boots dusted white at the ankles. A shell-gate badge sat over his heart, pinned to a salt-white sash edged green, the mark of his rank in Saliena. A pair of clear goggles hung at his neck on a leather cord; a wide-brim hat rode the crook of his elbow; a short baton and a whistle sat on a plain belt with a loop for field tags. His long locs were messy, but his shining dark skin, oiled like any salt worker against the burn, made him the center of the scene. The bags under his eyes couldn’t hide the piercing stare and those unnatural black irises with a thread of green. People who didn’t know him looked twice at the mix of tiredness and handsomeness. People who did saw the badges, the sash, the boots, and stood a little straighter.

  He was Drah, one of the few friends Zokou had made on the job. The shell-gate badge over his heart and the salt-white sash edged green marked him as a Green-Edge Inspector of Saliena’s Salt Authority, senior enough to close a gate for a day, impound a cart, and file incident reports that wake bigger desks, but still a field man. His route ran the flats, the trench road, and the inland storage yards from Saliena up toward Azuma, which is why he showed up often with dust on his boots and a satchel full of inspection writs and ledger seals. He reported to a Field Captain back in Saliena and kept clear goggles and a whistle on his belt, but for reasons people didn’t say out loud he was respected in the trench more than some captains.

  “Oh hum... AHH at least let me rest a lil bit, huh sister,” he said with a tired smile while his eyes were begging the two men of the family to help him.

  “Ahem, let's enter the house first,” said Zokou, avoiding the stare of his wife.

  “Ahh thank you bro... I’m so hungry right no—”

  “We have already eaten.” Yasséna cut off his attempt before opening the door.

  “...”

  After Kazeem closed the door, the atmosphere in the house suddenly changed.

  I guess I will let them talk, he thought and directed himself to his bedroom. This situation wasn’t the first for him. His uncle rarely came to their house for an idle talk. They first talked about important stuff while he is in his room until they call him back and then the warm atmosphere of the house returns, and he can play with his uncle and his dad until Yasséna finishes cooking the dinner. But today was different.

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  “Stay,” said Zokou.

  “Hah?” said Kazeem and Drah.

  “You heard me.”

  They were still perplexing, but they didn’t want to question him. Especially Drah who seems to have understood something.

  “Say it,” the man said.

  “We found more bodies at the trench this morning.” Drah tugged at his own sleeve like it itched. “It’s the second time, and this time the corpses weren’t hardened yet, so the autopsy was easier and more accurate, and it also showed little holes in the back on the left side, like those in the previous incident.” He tapped his ribs, looking at Zokou and Yasséna. “You know the kind of hole I mean.”

  Kazeem did. His skin pulled tight under the ribs. He kept his face straight.

  “We think that it’s the same group of people since they wore the same white uniform although some had some modification apparently depending on their position,” he went on. “We don’t know their purpose but we think it’s important because they took...” He took a quick glance at Kazeem, a bit hesitant as for how much he can deliver.

  “Their artefacts,” said Yasséna. “Don’t worry, he already knows.”

  “The Pale Salt Veil, it’s a cult, a group of lunatics worshipping a ‘Deity’ but they refuse to state their name. You can easily recognize them with their unnatural white clothes and the mask and blade that usually hang on their hips. If you see a group like that avoid them at all costs, even if they seem friendly,” she continued, looking straight at her son.

  So, mama already knew where the mask came from. So, was the rusty blade also an artefact? Then why is the mask here when it disappears? he thought while nodding at his mom.

  His father didn’t nod and didn’t shake his head. “How many heard about this?”

  “Only the people under me. We discovered it early and cleaned the scene,” Drah said.

  “Then we are not too late,” Zokou said. “Tell your people to be more careful, I will tell the scavenger to stay out of the trench until we understand the situation better. I'm going to patrol there this night and see if I can capture one of those lunatics before they cause more problem.”

  Drah eyed the ink at the man’s wrists, old lines that looked like bracing, gone a little silver. He decided not to make a joke. “Fine, sigh, I hope we can find the issue and fix it before the End-Year ceremony,” he said and tried to go back.

  “Wait, come eat before you go,” said Yasséna, while walking to the kitchen.

  “Sister you are the best!” he said as he almost teleported to the dining table.

  While warming up the leftover Yasséna looked at the ground for a while. People are playing with things they don’t understand, she thought. Or they do, and that’s worse.

  Kazeem felt for the spot under his ribs. He was quietly processing all the information he got today.

  “Come sit next to me,” said his father.

  “Alright, pa.”

  It was time to ask some questions.

  Closing thought: The trench keeps its secrets until you pay.