We rushed into the city, our positions switched. Bab lagged behind, puffing and panting, his stubby legs failing to propel him through the Foot at anything approaching an acceptable pace. I pulled him along, though at the rate we were going, slinging him over my shoulders would most likely be faster. I settled for taking his jingling satchel, stripping it from his back before he could protest. He stretched an arm after it, too out-of-breath to stop me.

The pack was surprisingly heavy; I nearly tripped and fell at the suddenness of its weight. “Gods, Bab.” I panted. “What’s in here? Rocks?”

“No-“ he coughed, “-it’s just-“ huffed, “-a few-“ puffed, “-potions.” The boy gasped for breath; each inhale accompanied by a dry wheeze – a sure sign Bab was nearly at the end of his rope. “For the expedition.”

“Hold on, buddy,” I reassured him, “we’re almost there.”

It wasn’t a lie: the abandoned buildings we stomped past had morphed into several storey-brick homes, the occasional store flashing past us. People began appearing in the street, some dashing faster than us, some urgent task driving them ahead. Slowly, the streets filled, and then the trickle of people became a lake as we crashed into the market.

The seething crowd enveloped us. The clatter of feet and roar of peddlers was omnipresent, the abruptness of the noise making it seem all the louder. The peppery stench of unwashed bodies was awful – worse for how short the both of us were. Usually I would have time to acclimatise, but today there was none.

I kept a tight grip on Bab’s hand. It would be too easy to get separated, and then any hope of completing our task would vanish. Neither of us could break in, alter the documents, and then break out on our own. Forgoing my usual finesse, I shoved and battered my way through the crowd, hoping we would be able to make it before the expedition left.

“Where are the offices!?” I shouted, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the mob.

“The berths!” Bab was barely audible, only just close enough to hear.

I nodded and – despite my aching legs and pounding chest – accelerated, the satchel on my back lending me the mass required to barge through the crowd. The mass of people was too thick to make out any landmarks, so I operated purely on instinct, trying to cross-reference the crowd’s thickness and my sense of direction with an internal map of the city generated from years of scampering through the streets.

My tactics paid off; soon enough the horde of people thinned enough I could make out the lake. With it, barely a hundred paces distant, were various dingy fishing boats, and behind them were the docks.

We picked up more speed. By this point, even I could feel a stitch developing in my side. My respect for the chubby scribe I dragged behind me grew. It astounded me that someone so obviously used to sitting at a desk could keep up. Whatever fuelled his willpower was incredibly powerful. He truly must have despised the Foot if he was willing to work this hard to leave it.

As we sighted the building our sprint slowed to a jog, then a complete halt. The two of us keeled over, panting. I took deep breaths, attempting to stabilise my breathing and still my pounding heart. Hearing a splatter, I turned, only to be greeted by the sight of Bab hurling the contents of his stomach onto the ground. I rubbed his back as he retched.

I used the time to inspect the offices in front of us. It was three storeys tall, yet far narrower than the squat edifices I was used to. Unassuming, were it not for the emblem studded above its double-doored entrance. It depicted a red hawk in the process of catching something. Probably the Lizard, if House Es-something had its way. Sturdy brick was in the process of being concealed by crimson paint from the ground-up. The most worrying component was the complete lack of windows – we would have to enter through the front door.

“How are we getting in, Bab?” I asked as the boy’s heaving slowed down.

He coughed once more, then straightened, still grey. “Just… we’re just going to walk in.”

That was a horrible plan. “That’s a horrible plan.” I stated blandly.

“You, uh, you look like an Oxblood has just taken an axe to you.” It had been easy to forget my aches, in our rush.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No-no, I mean you look sick. Just… hunch a bit. Pretend you’re hurt.”

“Will they even let me in?”

Bab gave a heart-hearted shrug. “Maybe? Probably? It’s a bad look, to turn injured kids away.”

I thought for a moment. “So… what you’re saying is that we need to make a scene.”

Bab looked at me quizzically. “I guess?”

This was going to be great.

It took less than two minutes to put my makeup on, applied with the assistance of an alley and a shard of broken pottery. And by makeup, I mean vomit and blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Bab stumbled forwards, trying and mostly failing to shoulder my weight. His efforts were hindered slightly by the satchel now on his back – it would have looked strange for me to carry it. The young scribe shied away from the filth caking my skin; I would’ve shied away too, if I had the opportunity – the stench of Bab’s regurgitated lunch was awful. The sharp pain of fresh cuts didn’t help. Still, all the greatest artists made sacrifices – it was only right that I did as well.

“Help!” Bab called as we lurched towards the offices. I let out a groan to help sell the performance. “Help! Please!” There was a legitimate note of panic in his voice. The poor kid seemed truly scared; he was a natural method actor.

As was completely natural for a person covered in puke and gore, I drew stares. Bab’s yells were ceaseless, however there wasn’t yet enough eyes on us. Purposefully loosening Bab’s grip, I collapsed to the ground, letting out a cry of pain. That would probably be sufficient. A few members of the crowd began to head towards us, so I let my co-star pull me upright, towards the building’s entrance.

The moment we reached the door, Bab immediately began pounding on it. “It’s me! It’s me! I have an injured boy with me; I need help!”

The door inched open, revealing the green eyes of a tall, blond man, dressed in leather armour dyed red. “Tasmaronian?” I was reminded his name wasn’t ‘Bab’. It was easy to forget, especially with such an awful name. His parents must hate him. “What- who is that with you?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” His voice shook – I hoped the soldier wasn’t too perceptive. “Please, Peeler,” I barked a laugh, then disguised it with a coughing fit. What kind of name was ‘Peeler’? “Look at him. He needs help.”

Peeler – I supressed a chuckle – opened the door, yet stood in our way before Bab could pull us through. I could see the refusal in the lines of his face. I spluttered, retched, and bit my tongue hard, spitting blood onto the dirt, all in an attempt to draw as much attention as possible. The man wore a look of pure disgust, yet simultaneously began to notice the gazes on us. He schooled his face in an impressive display of acting ability.

“Come in, then. Let’s get him fixed up.” His next words were spoken in a whisper. “If he makes any mess, little scribe, it’s on you.” Bab nodded rapidly, and we entered the building.

The entranceway was impressive, even as dark as it was. Plush red-and-black patterned carpet brushed against my bare feet. It was a pleasant sensation – though I could see from Peeler’s expression that he wished I didn’t have the opportunity to feel it. Coupled with the red brick walls and wide wooden ceiling, the area felt strangely welcoming. Someone had a good eye for interior design. The furnishings were sparse: there were only a few chairs arrayed against the walls and a large desk bisecting the room. The desk was entirely bereft of any paperwork or receptionists. The air even smelled nice – someone had burned floral incense recently.

“Keep quiet.” Peeler snapped. He jangled as he moved; there was a scabbard alongside a hoop of keys buckled to his belt. “If you interrupt the meeting in any way, I’ll have your head, little scribe.” Bab nodded. “And the what in the gods’ blood is in your pack?”

“P-potions, sir.”

“I see.”

“Could I, um-“

“Enough with the stuttering. Spit it out.” Peeler’s words were themselves accompanied by a spray of spittle.

“Take him to my workspace?” The soldier scowled. “Just to fix him up a bit. Sir.”

He considered Bab’s request. “Fine. Better than him bleeding on the carpet. But remember – any mess, and it’s your head.” The conditions of Bab’s decapitation had changed slightly, but I was wise enough not to point it out.

My assistant shot the man a worried look, but continued lugging me around the desk, revealing a set of stairs behind. The steps were large, and I had to actually use my own legs instead of making Bab drag me up all of them. As we thudded our way up them, I whispered the most important question on my mind: “Is your workspace where we need to be?”

Sheepishly, he shook his head. “No. The storeroom is opposite the room I work in.”

“Is it locked?”

“Always.”

“Does anyone have the key?”

“Uhm. My boss? Her boss? And, uhm, Peeler, I think.”

“Why in the blood does that jackass get a key?”

“Usually he’s a bit nicer.” Only a bit? “Peeler guards the building. I think he’s upset he has to stay here. Uh, while everyone's out. On the expedition”

“Right. Okay.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll try to pick the lock, but if I can’t, we need his key.”

“What?” he turned to me, his face so close I could see the veins in his eyes bulging. “I thought you were some sort of, uhm, master thief?”

“Uh, no.” I rubbed my head in embarrassment. “Blake’s the one who usually gets into places. That’s why I wanted to get him.”

Bab hung his head, mouth drawn in a trembling line. We had cleared the lip of the stairs, revealing a narrow hallway with two doors. His eyes were wet. “What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to keep a lookout, and I’m going to try to get in.”

I knelt in front of one of the doors, drawing my picks from their hiding spot in my trousers. Bab tapped me on the shoulder and gestured to the other one. Still on my knees, I spun around and slid over to the door opposite. I inserted my torsion wrench to apply torque and one of the picks, wiggling them through the lock in order to get a feel from it. Tactilely, I rooted around and realised there were at least six or seven pins: an amount I had never dealt with before.

Bab nervously fidgeted behind me, tip-toing back and forth through the hall. I fiddled around with the lock, rapidly realising this task was far beyond my abilities. Hands shaking, I painstakingly set the first pin to its correct place, then moved onto the second. More confident, I was able to set the second more rapidly than the first. I met far more resistance at the third, and with a sharp tap, accidentally overset the pin, shoving it upward in a way that would prevent the lock from opening.

I swore quietly and started again, applying the tension the opposite direction and tapping the third pin gently. From behind me Bab breathed heavily, so close that I could feel his exhales brushing my hair. I snapped at him to move backwards and he shuffled away almost immediately. The obstinate pin loosened and fell to its default position, and once again I tried moving the pin upward. Once again, I applied too much pressure and shoved it too high. I sighed and reset the pin, then withdrew my picks, tucking them back into my pants.

“Did you do it?” Bab whispered. “Can we get in?”

I shook my head. “I’ll break the lock if I keep trying. We need the key.”

“Gods’ guts.” Bab swore. I startled and held my laughter, amused at the filthy curse portrayed by such a squeaky voice. “Ho-how are we going to get it?”

“I’ll fake a seizure,” I said, thinking quickly. “Get him to hold me down. We’ll go somewhere I can knock a bunch of stuff over. If he wants to stop me from making a mess, he’ll have to get close.”

“Al-alright.”

Bab led me into the other door, which opened up to an expansive area filled with six low desks, the legs carved with ornate swirls, arranged against every wall. Most were empty, however two were littered with sheafs of paper, pencils, several fancy folders, a handful of jars of ink, and a few feathered quills. Wood shelves had been hammered into the wall, each neatly labelled things such as ‘applicants’ or ‘requests’. I noticed that the former was nearly empty, while the latter extended for several rows. Unlike the entranceway of the building, the room was lit by radiant bulbs loosely attached to the walls. Bloodtech.

“Nice place.” I commented, resisting the urge to swipe any writing implements.

“Yes,” Bab chuckled lightly, “I suppose it is.”

“So.” I clapped my hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

My companion yet out a yelp as I smashed a fist onto the shelves, then, when that proved ineffective, grabbed a chair and splintered it against them. Bab recovered his wits quickly enough, and dashed out of the room. I took his departure as a sign I should make as much mess as quickly as possible. I shoved desks around, slid everything off them, and in a rare display of acrobatics, attempted to flip onto one of them, only to crash my back against the edge and be sent sprawling across the ground.

I groaned, rubbing my back. Footsteps began emanating from outside. The noise shocked me out of my reverie. I slapped my cheeks and began performing my best convulsions, adding a few unique twists to ensure I knocked as many things over as possible.

Seizures were mostly foreign to me – the only ones I had ever seen had been eight years ago, while Ma helped Stitch triage injured soldiers after the Raven’s death. The scent of urine, faeces, and blood was difficult to forget. I had huddled with the infant twins in a corner, terrified at the sensation of so many passing from the world barely feet away from me. Feeling something die was always awful; it was far worse when they were human.

I embodied the distant memory as best as I could, arching my back and shaking my limbs. The thump of Peeler’s steps entered the room, and from the corner of my vision I could see his face contorting with hatred. The severity of it was so great I wondered whether he had seen through our ruse, but rather than draw his blade and gut me, the man knelt and grasped my hands, demanding Bab get my legs.

Twisting my knee upwards, I struck him in the stomach and rigidly slapped my arm around his waist. I had never stolen a loop of keys before, and unbuckling his belt would be too obvious, however after a long moment of my groping and Peeler groaning, I managed to work the hoop off his belt. I headbutted him, hoping it would serve as a decent distraction, and flung the keys across the room, under one of the desks.

I continued convulsing, only encumbered by Bab placing his entire body across my legs. Peeler stumbled upright, nose bloodied, and kicked me on the side of the head, the blow turning me onto my side. The world flickered for a moment, and I took that opportunity to roll onto my face and still entirely. Beyond the guard’s laboured breathing, the room became silent. Then there was the sharp retort of a slap.

“What did I say?” That was Peeler’s voice, anger restrained to a whisper. I could imagine his face contorted in rage. “What-” another slap, “-did-” another, “-I-“ the sound was duller, “-say?”

Still immobilised, I wished this man was someone else, anywhere else, so I could rise and break his bones. Yet he wasn’t. All I could do was lay like a log, hoping the sociopath didn’t try anything else.

Bab muttered something inaudible. Peeler whispered something back, then stomped off. I stayed still for a time, cautious of him returning and catching me getting up. Eventually, I felt a light tap on my back. “He’s gone.”

I used a desk to yank myself upright and staggered. My head was still ringing from the earlier hit. Sitting on one of the few upright chairs helped slightly. I glanced at Bab, then rose. His cheek had been reddened by the hits he had taken, and tears ran down his cheek. I stumbled over and folded him into a hug.

“I hate this place.” The child sobbed.

“I know.” I said quietly.

“I want to go home.”

“I know.”

I whispered gentle assurances into his ears and rocked back and forth, hoping to make him feel safe.