The day of Henricus Heinemann of the Cartographers' Guild had started so well.

His lovely wife snuck out of bed before dawn, to return with fresh hot jelly-filled pastries from the bakery. They ate them in bed and one thing led to another, as so often happened in those rare moments they found time for themselves. They even managed to clean up the mess before their first child woke, a minor miracle. He would be sure to say a few devotions to Drineli on his next visit to the temple as thanks for keeping his six children's minds locked in dreams for an hour longer than usual.

His late morning meant more traffic as he traversed the city, yet he found his team still standing in front of the jailhouse for those awaiting Judgment. They hadn't even taken off their packs.

"What's going on?" was the first thing he said, too harshly.

Old Swirt spat a hefty globule of brown phlegm on the cobblestones. He'd been chewing cloves again. "Tain'tere. Must'a been a newly 'atched spike'orn who go'tall 'cited 'bou sum little ebb 'n flow."

"What?" Henricus asked, more asking what the retired sailor was talking about, rather than his exact phrasing.

Poko shook her head. "He said the dungeon's up and run off, boss."

Vettias, the fourth member of their team, just nodded in agreement. The dangerous man didn't say much. His job was to make sure any dungeon monsters they stumbled across died fast, before any harm could befall the team, and he was frighteningly good at his job. He might have a slightly harder time in the city, but Henricus had no doubt the man carried enough seeds with him to grow his own jungle should the need arise.

"They don't—"

"We tripping know they don't Henri," she snapped. She never forgave him for getting the promotion over her, despite him being far more qualified for the job.

"Then we get the data. I'll file the report back at the office."

Swirt cleared his throat and spat again, sounding worse than Henricus's childhood cat. That poor thing seemed to have a hairball with a return enchantment living in its throat. The man pointed, in towards the inner city. "Dungeon'sattta way," he drawled.

Henricus sighed. "You're sure?"

The man glared at him, his glowing blue eyes shocking against his leathery, wrinkled face. "'Taint no fool, boss. I see wha'tai see."

The man's Bond let him actually see mana when densely packed. Such vision had its niche uses, such as spotting dungeons and dangerous beasts who hid beneath the seas. He navigated the seas for most of his life, and only once did his ship fall prey to the sea. Once, however, had been one time too many, so the man sought out a job at the guild once he washed ashore, claiming he'd not set foot aboard another sea-bound vessel for the rest of his life.

Swirt wouldn't be able to pinpoint a dungeon's location exactly, but he could get them close, usually. He could certainly tell if a dungeon was nearby, saving them from needing to waste time assembling their equipment until it was truly needed.

"I thought we had confirmed reports of dungeon rats?"

The other two shrugged.

"Maybe they get around?" offered Poko.

Dungeon rats from here to the inner city. Just great.

"How far?" he asked Swirt.

The man shrugged. "I'll know when I know."

Explaining their purpose to the inner city guards went exactly as Henricus imagined, which was to say they needed more proof than the ramblings of an old sailor, even with his mana-seeing eyes staring them in the face, and the assurances from the leader of the Cartographers' Guild's top field team.

Poko assembled their mana compass while the guards got their captain.

Mana compasses were too fragile to leave assembled, the parts not just expensive, but nearly impossible to replace. One rough shake and the needle could shatter, so it had to be carefully stored in a well-padded container between uses. One family, a clan of the Empire, held the secret to making the devices. Needless to say, acquiring them in The Gray Depths took some doing.

His team had exactly one needle. It breaking would be a black mark on all their guild records, but especially on the one who mishandled the item. He and Poko had developed a routine over time, swapping roles. Last time he assembled and she disassembled, so now she got to put the needle on the compass. Sometimes it felt like they played with a marsh frog, tossing it back and forth as kids did, knowing eventually it would burst apart in someone's hands. At least with a marsh frog you'd be fine in an hour, once the numbness caused by its blood faded.

"What's all this then," said the captain when he arrived. He clearly held some rock affinity Bond, as beneath his city-issued armor his skin was entirely encased in stone.

"There have been reports of dungeon rats in the city, and our team was tasked with finding the new dungeon."

"Aye, at the jailhouse. Ain't news."

Swirt opened his mouth, but shut it at a glare from Henricus.

"The reports were mistaken, Captain. Swirt here has a Bond that lets him see the dense mana, and our mana compass—"

"Trip me! It's moving!" Poko announced to half the city.

Henricus and the Captain shared a glance, before moving to the tripod upon which sat the mana compass. The frail crystal needle glowed orange, indicating a moderately weak dungeon, but not the weakest. That, or it pointed towards a singular creature with all the mana of a weaker dungeon within itself, some ancient beast roused from its slumber.

The needle, set on its mount which allowed for a near full spherical range of motion pointed towards the inner city, aimed a hair above ground level according to the graduated markings on the stationary portion of the compass.

They waited for the needle to twitch.

"Jumped up from ground level, saw it with my own eyes, I know I did."

"It wasn't just settling?" Henricus checked.

"I know how to do my mother tripping job, Henri."

The captain studied the needle. "No chance it's beyond the walls?"

Swirt spat to the side. "'Taint."

The captain focused on Swirt with narrowed eyes, seeming to consider whether he had just been insulted or not.

"The needle wouldn't pick up anything at that range," Henricus added.

"Well." The captain shrugged. "Either it's a dungeon and someone just caught the horn, else there's about to be a bit of a tussle." He paused. "I'll send a note and a squad with you. No telling who's estate this will be on."

When they reached the palace, Henricus wasn't even surprised. Seemed appropriate for his day so far.

The note from the gate captain did not impress the palace guards, nor did the position of the needle after Henricus assembled the compass. No, they wanted triangulation, mapped out with the aid of a full survey team, before his team would set foot on the palace grounds. Because, obviously, there couldn't be some ancient beast sucking up mana in the palace. That would be absurd. It had to be a dungeon, which was only slightly less absurd. What were the odds one would appear in the palace?

As a compromise, they allowed his team on the walls surrounding the grounds, to set up the compass on the far side. That way there could be no doubt as to the direction the needle pointed: back to the palace, roughly even with the height of the walls.

At that point Henricus decided to call for backup. He could navigate the wilds, but navigating the palace was altogether a different element. He sent an abbreviated report back via the instapaper linked to the guild office and got a reply back within minutes. "Await the Guild Leader."

Silas's day had gone pretty well, after he decided to dismiss Ai. That action had been enough for the pouting princess to leave him alone, giving Karen back her sub-optimal Ring of Literal Translation.

Eve had promised her linguistic patch would not only let him understand the local language, but understand the context behind the sayings, although she did add the patch would need updates as she collected more data. Analyzing the language use of a room full of nobles might not help him understand dock worker jargon all that well.

Prince Marindore the guard commander had insisted the royal family offer him accommodations for the time being, presumably until they decided how to best use him to their advantage, a problem for tomorrow's Silas. Today's Silas had nodded his acceptance, given the whole language barrier thing.

A maidservant with tall, curving horns and either a notable baby bump or something udderly ridiculous led him to his room, or rather his fully furnished apartment, sans kitchen.

Just inside was a small sitting area, a soft couch and two non-reclining armchairs around a table, facing a device on the wall which looked like it might be a space heater, a faux-fireplace thing. Beyond sat a small eating area, a dining room consisting of a simple square wooden table and four wooden chairs. The space seemed enough for a party, better than his living room back home.

A door connected the sitting area to a small study, which connected to a bathroom which connected to both the dining room and the bedroom, while the bedroom also connected back to the dining room.

The large copper tub filled by turning knobs for two separate pipes which came out of the wall, one for hot and one for cold. Once the cow maid showed him how to use the tub he shooed her out and reserved the mana for a do not disturb sign to hang on his apartment door, which didn't have a lock. The yellow sign had a little picture of an open door with a red X over it, and should require no translation.

He took a nice, long bath, after which he lay down for a nap. If things went well his translation troubles would finally be over once he woke up.

"What do you mean he's not in the room?" asked the second prince. "He's obviously in his chambers. We have someone posted at the door."

The guard tasked to watch the room assigned to the Ogre Hero, a nickname started by the fifth princess, shook his head. "Just the maid entered. She walked around to look things over, tested the tub, and left."

The prince frowned. He talked to that cow. She didn't enter by herself. "He doesn't show up on the security crystal, then. He definitely entered the room. I'll have to discuss this with the spymaster. This might require his touch."

Finding the Cartographers' Guild Master entering the palace surprised Headmaster Ainsley, who was on his way out.

"Wallroth," he greeted.

"Ainsley," the other man nodded back, prim and proper as ever.

"What brings you to the palace?" he asked, curious, as the luncheon broke up well over an hour ago.

"It's that dungeon. Either it's moving around, or we have some members in need of a reprimand. One team confirmed it at the jailhouse, and now, nothing. Dungeons don't just disappear."

That was true. Though rare, they could appear at random, but once manifested they were as permanent as a mountain, a permanent fixture of the landscape, a new focus to spill mana and monsters into the world, if left alone overlong.

"There isn't a dungeon, then?" Odd, if true. "What of the rats?"

"Forget the rats. If a beast were rampaging, I feel we would have noticed, yet why else would the mana shift from the jail to the palace? Can a dungeon move?"

Ainsley froze. From the jail to the palace. "The mana appears to be coming from the palace now?"

"That's what our tools say. Third floor. Guest wing."

Ainsley scratched his beard. "It's not a dungeon."

What was he going to do with that boy?