Upon succumbing to the effects of the ratification process, Josef was returned to that eternal darkness which has no name and leaves no imprint on one's consciousness. Its blankness is absolute, unredemptive, but utterly nourishing. He was the shadow turning into itself, hiding within itself, hiding within his own internal darkness, all the while receiving the gift of ratification against all odds.

When his eyes first flitted open, he felt like he was prancing through a field of butterflies. His eyelids felt light as lint; it was as if his soul, his entire being, had made fabulous new arrangements to breathe anew. Air felt more delicious; life, once again, awaited him.

He remembered mocking Claudius after Mal had ratified him and slithered back into the lake. He remembered dropping to his knees as waves of joy coursed through his body. And lastly he remembered falling face-first to the stone floor of the dais rather quickly.

Now he pressed his hands against his eyes. He had no idea what time it was. The eternal gloom of Gangdrup made it difficult to discern anything. He sat up in bed. The room was dark but there was light coming from the hall.

"Claudius?" Josef said slowly. He waited for a response, but it appeared the Sea Gwell wasn't in the room. As Josef's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see there was another bed opposite him. He was still dressed in his rag sack. It fit horribly, smelled horrendous, and also, he discovered, made him itch.

Now that he was slated to live for at least a few more days, he might have to acquire himself some new clothes, if they could spare the money.

Josef lifted himself up from the bed but pain shot through his body. It wasn't debilitating, but it brought him to a shuddering halt. It was especially pronounced in his legs. His upper torso wasn't much better.

Since breaking free from his goo-sac, he'd been on a diet of pure adrenaline, running and running and running — but he had something to show for it: he was alive. But he would need to take it easy.

Josef flexed his toes, snapped his neck. To his right, lying on a nightstand, was his short sword. His empty herb pouch was still tethered around his waist. He dragged his hands across his face. He was alive. What now?

He'd made a promise to Mal, but it seemed distant. After sprinting for his life, anything longer than a few hours away seemed to be located in eternity. He knew nothing about this Rose Cloak Mal had requested. He wondered why she'd asked for it — and what was it? Questions for Claudius.

His mind then shifted to his conversation with Primfeather and the green-glowing seedling he'd left twirling in his mind. A feldspeaking, Claudius had called it. The seedling was still there, occupying a sizable speck of real estate in his mind. He doubted the crows would appreciate him planting it in the first patch of dirt he happened across. But where then?

That question and the others began to jostle for space in his mind. He felt like he'd recently ingested an entire cosmos and was just now beginning to process all of it. Luckily, despite his body being quite sore, his mind was fresh and live. He had no idea for how long he'd been asleep, but the Ba'ha Grotto's record of 164 hours was now in sight — or perhaps not in sight, but at least now he was actually in the race.

Jalousie slats covered the only window within the room. Josef stood, wobbled, and peered through their horizontal rungs. He saw them immediately: the sewerbreeze mushrooms and their delicate pulsings. He'd missed it when he was in Riles' barge, but now with the advantage of distance and height, he could see that the water surrounding the mushrooms had a subtle phosphoresce to it and was lighter in colour than the water surrounding it.

Once again, he was taken in by the sight of the lantern-bearing barges slipping across the lake's surface. With every oar stroke, the lanterns wavered ever so slightly in the darkness. Directly below the window was a street bordering the lake. Josef could see the dock he'd leapt onto just to the left and then even further in the same direction was the amphitheatre and the very steps he'd ran down to make his appeal to Mal.

Mal, he thought, as he watched a team of oversized frogs pull a carriage down the street. She'd almost died trying to ratify him. He remembered the silence on the lake when she lay still, barely breathing. The strange goo in his system had almost killed her. He understood much more clearly now why the crows had been hesitant to aid him. It would've destroyed them, he was sure of it.

Josef's stomach grumbled with vigour. He realized he hadn't eaten anything except goo for an extremely long time. No wonder he felt so weak.

He readied himself to leave the room, grabbing his short sword from the table, but then he paused. Did he need to bring his sword? He pictured himself waltzing through Gangdrup with his short sword just swaying around in his hand. He could hurt someone. Most likely himself.

He would leave it here. He was just going to get food. If Claudius had left him alone, he must be reasonably safe. Reasonably. He would also see to buying a scabbard.

Josef placed the sword back on the night stand and crept to the door and entered a hallway full of flickering candles, their light revealing numerous panelled doors to his left. Right in front of him were a set of well-worn stairs that doubled back on themselves, leading both up to the next floor and down a floor as well.

All around Josef could hear creakings and groanings, muted voices echoing from nearby rooms, the clank of pots, the odd shout. An older woman with a cane ascended the stairs in front of him. She wore glasses thicker than five windowpanes pressed together. She smiled at the stairs; she smiled at Josef.

"Lend a hand, sir?" the woman asked, her cane wobbling as she prodded it forward towards the next stair. Her hair, almost completely white, was pulled back in a massive bun while two jade seaweed-shaped earrings plummeted from her ears. Her free hand reached out towards Josef for aid.

He only hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and taking hold of her outstretched fingers, helping the elderly woman ascend the last few stairs. Holding her, Josef felt like he was propping up a ghost or a hollow mannequin. She was so light.

As she drew closer, she sniffed Josef. Her nose retracted while her magnified eyes shifted all over him. "Frolicking in the sewers, I see, or rather, I smell…" she said, laughing and gripping Josef's entire hand as she turned to look down the lamp-lit hallway. Josef wondered if she recognized him from his brash entrance into the harpist's performance during Moonsneeze.

Apparently not. For she thanked him and continued to totter down the hallway. Josef watched her for only a second before descending the same stairs the old woman had just climbed. They had barely made a sound when she'd climbed them, but now Josef heard their horrid creaking in full as he bounced down the first flight and then the next.

Downstairs, he found himself entering a great room, complete with a bar, a crackling fireplace, and a smattering of round tables. Patrons, no more than twenty, drank from flagons and pulled up simmering spoonfuls of soup. Just below a glittering chandelier filled with over a hundred stubby candles was a small pedestal filled with water.

A few eyes took note of his entrance, but no one moved. Every step he descended brought a round of whispers and mutterings. Eyes appraised him like he was both a shining treasure and a wart to be cut loose. So this was The Backwards Flow, thought Josef, the inn Riles had pointed out while they sped towards his ratification. An odd name for an inn, surely.

Josef spotted an unoccupied crumb-dusted table near the fireplace. He was unsure of the protocol for ordering food, but the fire's heat enticed him so he ventured over and warmed itself next to its flames. He was starving. It was only after he sat down that he realized the harpist, Lancel, was oiling his harp next to the fireplace. His harp's strings glimmered with the flicker of firelight.

Josef pretended he didn't see him, but the harpist had already seized upon Josef's brief gaze as a sign denoting a conversation was warranted.

"So, the goo-drinker awakens from his slumber," Lancel said as he plucked a deep, resonating string on his harp, letting its quicksilver sound fill the resulting silence.

Josef turned from the fire and squared himself up to the harpist. Was he peeved because he'd interrupted his performance? More than likely. "My brain was going to explode, or implode, one of the two," Josef stated as if sharing a recipe. "Please know I don't plan to make it a habit"

"Interrupting Moonsneeze music or having your brain combust?" inquired Lancel.

"Ideally, both."

The harpist flashed a row of gleaming white teeth, as he did so his blond hair seemed to almost glimmer as well. "No harm done, goo-drinker. I've performed The Sewers Belong to Us more times than I can count. It's the third time Gangdrup's council has sought out my skills to entertain Mal." He then looked around at the other patrons, leaning in close to Josef. "This place is a right dump. I only come because they pay extraordinarily well. Every time I return to Kaway Mahay I bathe for a week straight. Fragrant oils, scrubs, lotions. A very, very light dose of merrycherry works the best. Burns the skin right off."

Lancel's eyes lingered on Josef after he finished speaking. Josef could tell the harpist was inspecting him, a so-called goo-drinker. Josef was then about to enquire about how one ordered food, but Lancel spoke again, more rapidly this time: "Say, goo-drinker, what's your plan now that you're ratified?"

Josef shifted uneasily in his seat. He had no plans, beyond fulfilling his feldpromise to Mal, surviving, and perhaps getting some food to eat while also enjoying not moving. Carefully, Josef spoke. "Should I have plans?"

Lancel scoffed, he looked around, checking to see if anyone else had heard the words coming from the mouth of a goo-drinker. "Well, every goo-drinker is different," Lancel explained, his eyes lingering on Josef's choice of clothing, "with most being instructed and tempered by whoever kept them alive with their goo. Did you escape from The Ba'ha Company?"

Just the name itself brought back Kipfish's death sentence. They'd written him off. Josef briefly wondered if they even knew he was alive. Lancel's question hung the air and Josef wondered what he should reveal. Deception might be necessary. "No," Josef lied, "I came from the north."

Before Lancel could respond, a woman with a sweaty face and long bangs dropped a bowl of soup in front of Josef and then another bowl. She cleaned her hands on a towel. "Two bowls for the goo-drinker. A certain Sea Gwell said you needed to beef up."

Josef stared at the bowls of broth. There was something familiar about it. He could smell seaweed, a bit of cinnamon, and something else. Bits of white flesh bobbed on the surface of the stew.

"Sewerbreeze soup. The best soup in all of Gangdrup," Lancel said swiftly while glancing at the woman.

"Rayala's my name, I'm the innkeeper here." Josef couldn't help but notice her teeth had same blue-tinted glow as John's. "Glad to see you've finally made it down. You were out all night and almost the entire day. Your friend said to expect as much. He also said I should tell you to keep your curiosity in check until he returns." Rayala didn't wait for a response. She threw her towel over her shoulder as Josef thanked for the food and information and with one sweep of her hand removed the crumbs from the table while also kicking in a loose chair with her foot.

Josef was ravenous. He gripped his spoon and brought a heaping load towards his mouth when Lancel coughed and made a no-go motion with his hand.

Josef paused, soup dripping from the spoon and back down into the bowl. He wanted so desperately just to eat.

"You eat Rayala's sewerbreeze soup on an empty stomach and you'll be on the shitter until morn," said Lancel as if reciting a religious truth. Josef watched as he reached into the bag next to his chair and whipped half a loaf bread at Josef. "Eat this first. It'll cushion the blow."

Josef looked over the bread cautiously. Chances were random strangers didn't just carry around poisoned bread, but people were devious, as Josef had learned. He smelled it. He detected nothing nefarious. He nodded carefully at Lancel while shoving the loaf of bread into his mouth as if it were a liquid.

"My god, man, you are ravenous aren't you. Where did that go?" Josef ignored Lancel's appalled face.

He licked crumbs from his mouth. "You try not eating for untold septujinnys," Josef explained as he turned towards his soup.

"Point taken," Lancel said, returning his attention to oiling his harp strings.

Josef was about to take a slurp from the spoon, but he sniffed first, pausing. His stomach demanded food but he had to ask. He glanced at Lancel. "What's this white meat in the soup?"

Lancel turned, arched a brow. "What do you think it is?"

Josef knew the answer, but desperately he wanted Lancel to lie to him. "It's gujai, isn't it?"

Lancel stared at Josef, seemingly appreciating the goo-drinker's horror. "Only the finest."

Josef's appetite remained, but his will faltered. If there was a pile of dust bunched up in front of him, he would've licked it from the table, slivers and all — but gujai, gujai…he stared at it. He waited, cursed, and then took a bite and then tilted his head to the side as if expecting his brain to liquify. Eventually he was forced to nod in appreciation. It was actually quite good.

"I'd eat another slice or two of bread before you dive into the next bowl," suggested Lancel. But Josef was barely listening. Soup dribbled and glistened down his chin as he gorged himself on Rayala's sewerbreeze soup.

"So you come from the north, you say," Lancel said slowly, plucking a high-pitched note on his harp.

Josef nodded and continued eating.

"North north, or just a little north?"

Josef suddenly felt very uneasy. Lancel's questions were rapidly becoming more pointed. Josef could feel the sweat on the inside of his palms. Then he froze, his eyes narrowed, and he looked at the center of his right palm. He didn't remember getting a tattoo. He stared at the design, a single strand of green seaweed drawn on the inside of his hand.