It was still early enough spring that the late afternoon air held a slight chill.

McKenzie, after going through the motions of shaking off anyone who might now be following him, had found himself not really knowing what he should do next - so he'd wandered for an hour, doing nothing more productive or useful than brooding over Lemuel's continuing unwanted interference in his life.

The curse was not broken, then - was it malfunctioning, instead? Could it snap back into force at any moment, having repaired itself, or was it still in the process of coming off the rails, and McKenzie's newly rediscovered inability to unload at Leni was it's last lingering effect?

Lots of questions. No answers.

It was tempting to simply go back to the Assassin's Guild and invest his remaining ammunition in targets which could reliably be shot, but even McKenzie had to admit that the movable-rooms thing was going to be a serious problem. Going after Bladehand, though, was starting to look like the only game in town.

There seemed to be quite a lot of people around him wearing robes of various colours - McKenzie looked around himself properly. If he was where he thought he was, there was one thing he could do, at least.

"Oi! David Copperfield!" He hailed a passing robe-wearer. "Is this the Magey Quarter?"

The robe-wearer - a thin-faced man of middle years - eyed him suspiciously. "This is the Magus District, yes."

McKenzie held back from snapping a response. "Thanks - you know a place called the Shiny Satchels? S'a pub."

"The Shining Sigils Inn may be found two streets that way." The man pointed. "The tradesman's entrance is around the back." Then he walked off.

McKenzie wasn't overly stung by the man's attitude: he hadn't been a picture of politeness himself, after all. The directions were spot on, though: McKenzie found the place easily. The whole place radiated magic - the doorway definitely had something special going on, and the sign was all glowy.

He got a demonstration of what the doorway did when an overly persistent street trader attempted to follow a robed guy into the pub: the mage walked easily inside, but the hawker might aswell have tried to walk into a rubber wall - he was bounced, literally, back into the street.

This didn't especially worry McKenzie: he poked his hand through the door. He was expecting to feel the usual tingle of dissolving magic, but there was nothing there.

"If you're wondering why you can get in, you've probably got some relatives who are fey, demonic or otherwise magical folk. It's keyed to magic, not mages: common misconception. Either way, welcome, I'll be with you in a moment," a man's voice told him. McKenzie looked over: it was the bartender, currently pulling a pint for the mage who'd walked in before him.

McKenzie had a pretty good idea what it was that was giving him his free pass, but he didn't mention it.

"Oh, right," he said instead. "Is Talius about?"

The bartender nodded towards some steps. "Downstairs."

"Thanks." He started for the stairs, then replotted his course to return to the bar, where he exchanged a couple of silver coins for a double firewater and a bottle of wine.

"Would you like a towel or a cloth or something?" The bartender asked.

"Why?" McKenzie responded, slightly confused.

"You've got, um, a bit of dust on you," the bartender answered.

McKenzie sighed - he was indeed once more covered in something mucky. "Literally just had this jacket cleaned, aswell." He skipped on the towel.

Downstairs was deserted, apart from Talius, who had hung up his black robe and was calmly eating a late lunch at a corner table.

"Your mate on the bar said you were drinking this." McKenzie put the wine down on the table and sank into a chair, then knocked back the firewater, grabbed his shoulder and worked it around - the fight with Statue Guy had left him with a fair few aches.

"Thank you - most kind," Talius said, looking at the wine. "One presumes your day isn't getting any better?" He asked, taking in McKenzie's appearance.

"Hunh. What tipped you off?" McKenzie responded sourly.

"Let us characterise it as a fortunate guess," Talius said.

McKenzie grunted. "Yeah - you called it. I managed - by luck more than judgement - to track down another one of the women on the to-rescue list, but I got no way of getting her out from where she is to where she needs to be to be safe without tipping off the scary dagger guys. After that I nearly blew up again, or so I'm told, anyway. I thought my day was looking up a bit when I found these," he twitched his jacket aside to show where he'd jury-slung the machine pistols, "and the rest of the girls' stuff - they were staying at an inn, but there was no sign they'd been back - but then I went to Aghkar's Den, well, I suppose it's Iyanus's Den now, and was right on the verge of taking Iyanus and Leni the fuck out when - and this is the really good bit - I find out the curse isn't quite fucking broken yet and I can't do it. This is after a living statue shot me twice with a ballista and then threw me through a stone wall. So yeah: shit day."

"That would be a golem: very strong, almost impossible to kill - a deadly, implacable enemy. Also: what curse?" Talius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't say about the curse?" McKenzie asked.

"You did not," Talius stated flatly.

"Oh. Right. Better pour yourself a drink there T, you're gonna love this one," McKenzie said. "Danandra, Sharinta, Callena, Leni and I - oh, and the Archmage of Melindron and her right-hand woman, plus probably some others, whodafuck knows - were under a curse set up by a guy name of- is it magically shielded in here?"

"Yes. Proceed."

"Name of Lemuel. He's a big deal here, apparently, you may have heard of him. The curse is a doozy: total obedience, can't hurt the innocent - I mean, we didn't anyway, apart from Leni 'cos she's a fucking troll. At any rate, Lem's definition of innocent was never what you'd call conventional anyway. How far'd I get? Oh yeah, and we can't hurt each other. He makes us do stuff for him which only fucking crazy people would do normally, i-fucking-e, my first charming little task as part of this was to take out Makrah the Undying, this zombie mage motherfucker - that's why I was kinda nervous about the knife thing earlier, well, that'd make someone nervous anyway, but you know what I mean. With me so far?" McKenzie explained.

"Unbelievably, yes, I am. The most powerful mage on the entire planet, your friends and you were all curse-slaves of a semi-mythical figure, as part of which you were forced to do things such as assassinate the second most powerful mage on the entire planet – who was called Mahrak, by the way. You may now skip ahead to the part where you attempt to break the curse and earn the antipathy of Lemuel the White, who, if he were to suddenly move from legend to reality, would eclipse even your fellow cursee the Archmage of Melindron in sheer terrifying power. I might add that I will share a portion of this antipathy through my new association with Danandra and your good self," Talius sighed.

"See what I mean about today now? Shit on toast." McKenzie poured a splash of the wine into his own glass and took a drink. "So yeah, the Archmage did something which plugged into my quintessence somehow - about four months ago I fired it off in a massive emotional rage. We thought at the time it'd done jack shit, but then yesterday the girls realised they were free to do what they wanted, again. They abandoned Lemuel's latest gig and took off - I was already in deep with the assassin's guild at this point, and I'd already killed Aghkar. Damage done: now Jenata has Danandra, Sharinta - or rather Callena now, they take turns living, it's this whole big thing and I don't wanna get into it - is unconscious in a posh brothel controlled by the assassins, Leni wants to eat 'em both and has chucked her lot in with Iyanus. This brings us right up to the latest bloody development, which seems to be that the bit of the curse which stops me from shooting Leni is either not quite broken or was broken and is coming back. Feel free to do a runner, now, if you want - wouldn't blame you in the slightest. If it is self-repairing or something, you don't wanna be around us when it gets back to 100% - you might end up getting cursed yourself."

Talius seemed to give this actual consideration for a moment, but eventually just shook his head. "No - I think I'll see this through to the end. Perhaps I'm being a fool, but I do believe I've found something worth the risk."

"Ain't no perhaps about it, Tal, but good for you anyway," McKenzie raised his glass in a casual salute. "How 'bout you, you dig up anything on our undead adversary? Pun intended."

Talius either didn't get the quip or, more likely, didn't find it warranted a smile, but he did explain what he'd discovered.

"The Lady Jenata and her followers have been active in Vyrinios since the republic was declared - they are recent arrivals. The Declaration of the Republic had a side-effect that nobody thought about: the undead were allowed back into the city," Talius said.

"Seems kind of an odd thing to write into a constitution," McKenzie commented.

"It was not written in - it was entirely unintentional. There was an old, magically-enforced law - a sort of a curse, if you will, but a protective one. It stated that the undead could not come within seven leagues of the Palace while an Emperor sat on the throne of Vyrinia. A President, it seems, does not receive the same perks, and Lady Jenata was smart enough to realise this: she was the first to arrive, and was able to translate this into de-facto control of the undead and were underworld," Talius said.

"Bullshit - there hasn't been a proper emperor for decades, there's been like thirteen of them or something," McKenzie interjected.

"Bullshit?" Talius queried.

"An expression - means made-up, worthless or similar. Sorry. It seems unlikely, is all," McKenzie apologised.

"Not when you consider that at least one of those thirteen pretenders was occupying the Palace at any given time. The magic did not care if the throne was in dispute: simply that there was someone sitting on it on a semi-regular basis." Talius shrugged.

"It always comes down to bums in seats." McKenzie gave his own shrug. "Anyway - she wasn't here and now she is. Fine."

"Indeed," Talius went on. "Jenata and her followers are careful to keep a very low profile, but those who have knowledge of such things know that she is indeed powerful. The old syndicates have been losing small but noticeable chunks of business and territory to her: old arrangements with the city watch and local politicians are no longer honoured. Jenata has much influence at very high levels - such is the power of the vampire. The new united front the gangs are presenting - a united human front - may be, at least in part, a reaction to this threat."

McKenzie nodded. "So where do we find her?"

"We don't," Talius replied. "That is the problem. She cannot be found unless she so chooses."

"This is going to be another magicky-cursey type deal, isn't it?" McKenzie said, groaning inwardly.

Talius nodded. "Jenata's lair, wherever it is, is protected by powerful charms of concealment. There could be a door into her lair in that wall there, and we would be unable to see it."

McKenzie turned to stare at the wall. It was doorless, but certainly appeared to be ordinarily doorless.

"That was meant as an example," Talius said heavily.

"Oh okay." McKenzie turned back around. "So we find someone who works for her and follow 'em round until they report to head office. Sorted."

"It is not that simple. Even if we were to do as you suggest, it would be next to impossible to gain entry. Without performing the sort of magic that would be likely to level a large area of the city - and there's been quite enough of that today already - there is only one certain way to enter Jenata's lair," Talius told him.

"Well, let's do that then," McKenzie said.

Talius smiled a grim smile. "One has to have an invitation."

McKenzie's brows furrowed. "I've watched a lot of vampire films, and in every case it's totally the other way round."

"An ancient folk belief with no basis in fact, but it is ironic, is it not?" Talius drank some more wine.

"Kinda. Y'know what'd be good? If I'd met with one of Jenata's weres earlier, got her to take a message asking for a meeting, and arranged to meet her in a pub later to find out what the reply was. That'd be really useful right about now, wouldn't it?" McKenzie said.

"You really aren't a subtle man. Nevertheless, this is excellent news," Talius told him.

"Today's karma hadda start balancing out sooner or later," McKenzie said, and lashed back the rest of the wine in his glass. "So you ready to tangle with the undead?"

"It would not be my first time," Talius replied. "A word of caution, however. Danandra is exceptionally good at teleportation. Most mages of any consequence can manage to transport themselves a few paces, and, perhaps, if they are truly gifted, to negotiate their way through a wall. Danandra can flash through shields and, I suspect, hundreds of paces without taxing herself overmuch."

"I kinda picked up that it was her thing, but what's this gotta do with our current problem?" McKenzie asked.

"I shall elucidate further. You said it did not appear that Danandra had returned to her room at the inn?"

"Yep."

"Then it is safe to continue to assume that she is still a prisoner of Lady Jenata. Now, if she felt like it, Danandra could simply blink into the street outside and hail a carriage. The fact that she has not done so could imply one of several things," Talius lectured. "First, she may simply be being kept unconscious. Or possibly her will is no longer her own."

"Yeah, right," McKenzie snorted. "Nothin' short of Lem's curse seems likely to persuade Danandra to do anything she doesn't want to. She makes granite look flexible and accommodating when she's made up her mind. Could she have cut some kinda deal with vamp lady?"

"That is a possibility. More worryingly for you, she may be prevented from using magic," Talius said.

McKenzie thought about it. "No, sorry, gone blank. Why is that more worrying for me?"

Talius sighed. "Because such an interdiction could only be achieved by the use of a thaumatonet, or, more likely, a device generating a more permanent null-magic field. Remember what happened to you last time you encountered one?"

"Oh! Shit. Yeah - I see what you mean now," McKenzie said.

"You will need to exercise caution," Talius counselled him.

"Yeah, I'll make a special point of not blowing up again. It wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs last time." McKenzie nodded.

"Good," Talius said, and finished his wine. He rose, put his cloak on, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He then handed McKenzie a pair of spectacles and a small black velvet pouch from one his pockets. It wasn't big enough for the glasses.

"Okay, that's confused me." McKenzie looked in the pouch. It was empty.

"For reasons I will not go into now, it is highly unlikely that Lady Jenata would willingly invite me into her lair. However, when you do get there, would you give Danandra her glasses, and also a piece of jewelry for me?" Talius asked. "Be sure not to touch it - very bad things might happen if you do. Unlike you, however, it can safely touch null-magic objects and enter null-magic areas."

"Ah, that explains the bag," McKenzie said. "Listen, I know ladies love a bit of bling but I'm not sure this is the time or the place for gifts-"

Talius didn't exactly interrupt, but he did place his hands together, bow his head, and - in a billow of black smoke - turn into a necklace.

"Whoa!" McKenzie scrambled backwards, then walked around the table.

The necklace was lying on the floor where Talius had been standing. It had a gold chain, and was set with a large black jewel. McKenzie expected it to radiate magic, but it didn't, in the slightest.

"Hunh. Neat trick," McKenzie said, then he turned the bag inside out over his hand and carefully picked the Talius-necklace up. The bag had some drawstrings, which he tied securely, then pocketed it along with the glasses.

McKenzie paused only to grab some bread and cold meat that Talius had left. Five minutes later he was on his way back to the Izmodeian Quarter.

- o O o -

Cally came to very gradually - her senses returned one by one. Her first bridge to the waking world was smell: a flowery, cloying fragrance blocked out any other competitors. Next came awareness of her body, and sensations of touch - she was lying on her back, on something soft and comfortable, apart from a slight pressure around wrists and ankles. There was an unpleasant taste in her mouth, which she could have done without, but it was driven from her mind by the return of sight - blurry, at first - and then hearing. She heard the sound of chanting - a woman's voice, just murmuring, words of magic. They stopped.

"Danandra?" She asked.

"She's awake." Another woman's voice. "Are you finished, Madam Mage?" A young voice.

"Yes - and not a moment too soon. Powerful people may be listening for that name, if what your mistress says is true. Go fetch her, girl."

No, not Danandra: it was the voice of a different woman. Cally forced her eyes to focus. She was right - an older woman, human, with grey hair but an unlined face. She wore red mage's robes.

Cally tried to move, and found that the pressure around her wrists and ankles appeared to be restraints: expensively fur-lined ones, but restraints nonetheless. Then she remembered what had happened earlier.

"Release me!" She said.

"Not, I am afraid, my decision to take. I have been assured that you will not be harmed, however," the mage told her. "Water?"

Cally said nothing, but narrowed her eyes.

"Before you unleash whatever clerical magic you are about to call forth, you should know that I have just imbued this room with the most powerful charms of secrecy I know, because some very powerful, ruthless people are watching this house. Think carefully about whether you wish to attract their attention," the mage told her.

"I have heard little except lies since I-, since coming to this house," Cally told her. "Why should I believe you?"

The woman shrugged. "What you believe is your affair: I am just passing on the few facts I know. Someone is coming who can tell you more."

On cue, there was a knock at the door. The mage turned and opened it to admit a short, red-haired girl and a slightly taller woman, who closed it behind her. Cally recognised both of them: Listra and Hennara. The women who had drugged her.

"Is the room sealed?" The taller of the two newcomers asked the mage.

"Yes," the woman answered.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome," the mage said, then nodded at Cally. "I take my leave of you, mistress cleric. I wish the circumstances had been better."

With that, she slipped out of the room.

"Release me at once from this, this-" Cally said, initially forcefully and then less so as she realised that her surroundings were very...well, they were very Sharinta.

"Bed," Hennara supplied helpfully.

"Bed," Cally finished, somewhat deflated, but then recovered her ire. "This is highly undignified and entirely unprovoked - as was my earlier treatment. Do not make me free myself - you may not like the results."

"You are a cleric of Arctan: you will not harm us," Listra said. "Nevertheless I am truly sorry that you have been so ill-used. It is not out of choice that I do this."

"Isn't it? Oh, if that's the case that makes it perfectly alright. I'll just lay here and await whatever perversions you have planned for me," Cally stated, as close in tone as she ever got to Danandra, then started to gather her clerical powers.

"You have my word you will not be harmed, or forced to do anything against your will. You are in very great danger, Mistress Callena," Listra said.

"Yes, I noticed that almost immediately," Cally said scathingly.

"I have a letter from McKenzie. He knows you are here, and he agreed with me that this was the safest place for you, at least for the time being. Please read it and hear me out before you decide on any course of action. You are a powerful cleric - I know that you can break those restraints and walk out of here any time you choose - but doing so may not be in your best interests. I beg you to trust me - if you are observed leaving here, then none of us may live to see the sunset," Listra said hurriedly, producing a scrap of parchment and holding it between herself and Cally as if it was a shield.

Cally stopped. The woman sounded genuinely distressed, and one look at the younger girl made it clear that she was terrified, uncomfortable and even embarrassed.

"Release me from these intolerably...fluffy bindings. In return, I give you my word that I will read this letter and listen to what you have to say," Cally proposed.

If Listra or Hennara thought that 'intolerably fluffy' was a sufficiently odd combination of words to provoke a smile or laughter, they didn't show it.

"Very well," Listra assented, and nodded at Hennara. Hennara moved to undo the fastenings.

Cally sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her right wrist hurt a little, and she rubbed at it.

"The right one chafes a bit," Hennara told her. "I usually put a scrap of silk underneath it when I'm in here with a client, but I forgot. Sorry. It's probably not as bad as it would've been if you'd been-"

"Hennara!" Listra cut in hurriedly. "Mistress Callena is not interested in that."

"Oh, of course. Sorry." Hennara fell silent.

"The letter?" Cally prompted.

"Here," Listra handed it to her.

Cally started to read it, and then gasped, and nearly fell off the bed.

The curse is BROKEN.

"No. It can't be broken," she said, eyes wide.

"Are you well, Mistress Callena?" Hennara hurried to her side, eyes almost equally wide.

"It can't be broken," Cally repeated, then looked up at Listra. "You've evidently spoken with him, did he say how he knows it is broken? Did he say what happened?"

"I know little of your situation except what he set down there - he bade me read it," Listra said.

The curse is BROKEN. She read again, and then, forcing herself to stop shaking, she went on to read the rest of the letter. She hadn't actually known McKenzie for very long before she had faded into the dreamless dark and her sister had taken over, but nevertheless she was entirely certain that the letter was genuine: McKenzie wrote just like he spoke.

"Oh dear," Cally said. If Lord Lemuel's curse was indeed broken, there would be nothing keeping her sister from pursuing the reckless, dangerous lifestyle she naturally gravitated to, nothing keeping Danandra from turning to darker and darker magics, and nothing to stop McKenzie from, well, being McKenzie. Leni, it seemed, had already reverted to type.

"Tell me what you know," Cally said to Listra.

Listra told her a tale of secret arrangements, botched infiltrations, kidnappings and hostage-taking.

"I am truly sorry that we have treated you the way we have, but we must look to our own protection, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure my friend's release from the Assassin's Guild," Listra finished.

"I understand," Cally replied. "If it was not for the actions of my sister and McKenzie, you would not be in this unfortunate predicament. I will do what I can to help you."

"You will? After we drugged you and tied you to a bed? Why?" Hennara asked, sounding relieved.

"Hennara!" Listra said, fearing, perhaps, that Cally might reconsider in light of this reminder.

Cally forced a smile. She pointed at her necklace, with the symbol of Arctan on it. "Because I swore an oath to protect the innocent, and, for the first time in a very long time, I get to keep it my way."

- o O o -

Life in the Izmodeian Quarter seemed to be progressing at much the same pace as earlier in the day - the same guy McKenzie had asked for directions earlier pushed the same barrow past him as he got out of the cab (he couldn't help but think of them as cabs - he could remember when people started using the word to refer to single horse carriages back in London in the 1700s). The Snow Leopard was the same, aswell - except that there were a few customers, now, and Onzanali was not behind the bar.

"Is Onzanali around, mate?" McKenzie asked the guy tending bar: another Izmodeian.

The man looked pleasantly surprised to be asked, which puzzled McKenzie until he remembered that he was a linguistic idiot-savant, now: he'd probably spoken to the guy in Izmodeian without knowing it.

"She is not, good brother," the barman told him, then noted the state of his clothes. "Have you been in an accident?"

"I was doing a bit of demolition," McKenzie replied, dusting off his jacket for the fiftieth time since Statue Guy had thrown him through the wall, and thinking: and I was being used as the wrecking ball.

"An honest day's work, good brother. What'll it be?" The barman asked.

McKenzie did a brief mental tally of what he'd drunk so far today, and arrived at an answer of 'bollocks to it'.

"I'll have one of whatever those are, ta, good bruv." He pointed at what certainly appeared to be bottles of beer. After he'd paid for it and wrenched the cork out, he discovered he was right - it was lageresque, anyway.

He checked his tweets while he waited. His comparative lack of activity didn't seem to have had an impact on the popularity of the account, at all. People were still talking about the newspaper article, and, like these things do, it had spawned a few other articles aswell as requests for interviews. He refreshed his emails - there was a progress report from the detectives: a guy was on a plane to Canada with a phone. His ETA in the area in question was two days at least - the email pointed out that the strange newspaper article about Narra had been a couple of months old, so the weather in the area may not be ideally suited to finding a missing person, but they would certainly do what they could.

Well, that was a bit of good news. He returned to twitter and typed in 'Day still going about as unremittingly shit-like as a day can. If you want interviews, btw, GO BUG LEMUEL! I'm on another planet.' which would hopefully cause him some hassle dodging the press. Lemuel hated the press: McKenzie hoped they were really persistent about it.

"Hello again." Onzanali's voice jerked his attention away from the phone.

"Hey," McKenzie said. "Also, wow."

Onzanali had changed out of her workaday clothes and was instead kitted out in a rather low cut black evening gown and shoes to match. Her hair had also received some attention - it was much shorter than it had been earlier: the look was like a manga heroine off on a night out at a posh hotel. She was the centre of attention of every single one of her customers.

"Thank you," she said. "You, on the other hand, are even more bedraggled than earlier. That must really have taken some doing."

"You have no idea how accurate that statement is," McKenzie answered her. "So, what's the occasion?"

"You're going to buy me dinner," she replied.

"I am, am I?"

"Yes, you are. C'mon, finish up," she indicated the beer.

McKenzie did so. Onzanali led him out of the Snow Leopard and across the street, to where a trio of distinctively apprehensive goats were tied up outside a butcher's.

"I'll have...that one," she pointed. "He looks tasty." The butcher, sensing trade, hurried over.

"Would you like him butchered, good sister?" He asked.

"No - alive as usual, please," Onzanali replied.

Really? McKenzie thought, but he was weary more than surprised. "Fine - how much for billy goat gruff there, mate? We'll skip dessert." Then he narrowed his eyes and looked back at Onzanali. "Are you havin' a laugh?" He asked.

Onzanali laughed, and the butcher did too.

"Yes," she admitted, with a grin that turned into a pout. "You could have had the common decency to look a little more shocked."

"With the company I've been keeping recently, you're lucky I even thought it was vaguely out of the ordinary," McKenzie told her.

"Humph," Onzanali responded. "Well, hail us a carriage, then. You're taking me out on a date."

"This isn't a date," McKenzie told her.

"Pah – technicalities," Onzanali dimissed that with a wave of her hand. "We've been invited to a cocktail party." She eyed his dusty jacket and the by now disreputably shabby backpack over his shoulder. "You might've made an effort."

McKenzie declined to respond.