“What do we know about Merrick Dillingham?” Ash asked, pacing back and forth across our parlor and sounding for all the world like one of my tutors.

After we left Irimina’s, we’d detoured through Nightmarket for a preliminary survey of Gaddoc Rail Station. With cargo train after cargo train gliding through the lightning barrier to belch out exotica from all over the Imperium, Dillingham’s domain made the Old Rail Yard seem even more forlorn, and home sweet home even more ramshackle. In fact, we were holding our second official crew meeting with me in the lone chair and Faith perched on the edge of the table.

We really needed more chairs.

Since Faith was busy examining a tea stain on her hem, I summarized for Ash, “We know that Dillingham’s office is at Gaddoc Rail Station and that he works ‘long hours.’” That was Irimina’s incredibly precise description of his schedule. “We should tail him for at least a few days. If we learn his route to and from work, maybe we can fake a mugging.”

“Or we can poison him,” Ash suggested. Doskvolian urban legend associated Iruvians with not only sash fighting and curved swords but also subtle, deadly drugs.

Speaking of Iruvians – “We need to investigate the Avrathi family to identify a scapegoat.” (A task I was looking forward to.) “I recommend picking one first and then tailoring our assassination strategy to that individual.”

“I like that,” Ash said approvingly. “We should start by learning all the names of Elstera’s relatives in Doskvol.” I could have sketched out the entire Avrathi genealogy for him, of course, but I feigned ignorance. He turned to our last crewmate, who’d been conspicuously silent. “Faith, are you in?”

Dropping her hem, the Whisper faked an exaggerated yawn. “Oooooh, my time is far too valuable for simple surveillance jobs! You two go ahead – I’ll be your behind-the-scenes spidery criminal mastermind.”

That was fine with me.

Darkening my skin and hair and donning Iruvian tunics and leggings, I spent the next few days as a fresh-off-the-train immigrant. In Brightstone and Nightmarket, I loitered behind the homes of Elstera’s allies and relatives. When servants left after their shifts, I crept up to them timidly and explained in heavily accented Akorosian that I’d just moved to Doskvol. “Might your master need a maid?” I asked hopefully, over and over. “What manner of man is he?”

Through the servant network, I learned that Elstera had a nephew named Rahan who lived in a luxurious townhouse in Nightmarket. He even maintained an office at Gaddoc Rail not far from Dillingham’s, from which he managed some sort of import business on her behalf. “Y’know, fancy rugs and cloth and suchlike,” shrugged one of his maids, another Iruvian immigrant. My best guess was that House Anixis funneled some amount of low-level courier activity through his office, as a sop to the Akorosi monitoring it for espionage. (At least, that was the tack Father would take. “You mustn’t disappoint your opponents,” he’d mock.)

“Eh, Master Avrathi ain’t so bad,” said the kitchen girl, also an Iruvian. “’Course, he don’t think of us as people, but if you have a problem, he fixes it just so’s things run smoothly.” Leaning close, she hissed, “It’s his aunt you have to watch out for.”

I feigned confusion. “His aunt?”

Rolling her eyes at this simpleton, she whispered, “His aunt the consul. She handpicks all of us because she’s that scared of Akorosi spies.”

Well, that put paid to my plans to infiltrate Rahan Avrathi’s household.

Meanwhile, Ash disguised himself as a visiting scholar who specialized in Iruvian political history. As everyone in Doskvol knew, the College of Imperial Science up in Whitecrown had the finest Iruvian studies department in the entire Imperium. Playing on their pride, Ash wormed his way into a group of students there and, under the guise of collaborating on a research project, questioned them about the Avrathi family.

“Rahan Avrathi?” said one student dismissively when Ash brought him up. “Nah, he’ll never amount to anything. He’s not as experienced as Elstera, not as canny – and nowhere near as hungry.”

“Him?” asked another incredulously. “That hedonistic peacock? Don’t waste your time studying him.”

Apparently, general consensus held that the consul’s nephew lacked both the talent and inclination for his family’s grand political tradition. Content with his cushy job handling minor administrative tasks, Rahan devoted his free time to supporting local tailors, courtesans, and restauranteurs – exactly the sort of insignificant relative whom spymasters would suspect of leading a double life.

Rahan Avrathi it was, then.

Scapegoat selected, Ash and I turned our attention to the target himself. Disguised sometimes as passengers, sometimes as runners, sometimes as clerks from merchant houses, we infiltrated Gaddoc Rail and scrutinized Dillingham’s every move. Very quickly, we discovered that he, like Rahan, lived in Nightmarket, albeit in a less luxurious townhouse. On a typical workday, he arrived at his office at the hour of smoke, when the shattered sun glowed briefly through the mist. Unfortunately, even though he walked, the man had a healthy streak of paranoia and varied his route frequently. He then stayed in the station all day, surrounded by scores of eyewitnesses, and finally left work after the evening commuter rush, around the hour of song. Following no schedule we could discern, he either headed straight home or caught a gondola to Silkshore’s red-lamp district.

Frustrated, Ash applied for an accountant position at Gaddoc Rail.

Now we played the waiting game, the bane of Slides everywhere.

While Ash waited for his job interview results, I tailed Dillingham in the mornings and evenings and spent my afternoons settling into the railcar. First on my list was carving out a secret compartment for Grandfather. Next, I set up all manner of traps and warning systems around the entire car and my compartment in particular. (Faith hunted for and triggered as many as she could find, but of course she didn’t recognize all of them.) Since Ash kept moping over not driving a harder bargain with Irimina, I put him to better use helping me carry a mattress pad from Charhollow, which we installed in my upper bunk. Another time, we triumphantly bore back two almost-not-broken chairs, casualties of a drunken brawl, that a pub owner had tossed into an alley.

At long last, Gaddoc Rail sent formulaic regrets that at this time they could only make a tentative offer of a future offer if a position should open up.

For the very first time, we convened a crew meeting where all of us had seats.

“How do we want to do this? Should we waylay Dillingham or poison him?” Ash asked, resting his elbows on the table and leaning towards us intensely.

“Yes,” replied Faith, sweetly.

I cast a quelling glare at her and edged my chair away from Ash. “Based on how busy his office is, I think waylaying him would be safer.”

“We could disguise ourselves as Iruvians then,” suggested Ash. “Did you get a good look at the Avrathi livery?”

Did he even need to ask? But I had a better idea. “Yes, but let’s dress up as Gualim. That will absolutely petrify the Lord Governor.”

“Goo-ah-lim?” Ash carefully sounded out the word, looking perplexed. “I haven’t heard of those. What are they?”

“They’re the U’Duashan City Guardians,” I explained. “They’re kind of like the Bluecoats.” In a manner of speaking, anyway. Purged of their humanity inside one of the black crystal spires that imprisoned the Demon Princes, the Gualim were swathed in layers and layers of black gauze in an approximation of silken robes, with silver wires running eerily across and into and out of their bodies.

Perking up, Faith enthused, “You can’t leave out the part where they serve the Demon Princes! And the Conclave! But mostly the Demon Princes!” Tipping her head to a side, she widened her eyes as if she’d just had an earth-shattering revelation. “Why, Isha, you never told me you had a thing for demons!”

Our resident part-demon steered us back on track. “So if we trick any bystanders into reporting that the Gualim were involved, then the Bluecoats will certainly search all the trains running to Iruvia. We can plant a letter from Rahan on one of these.”

That was brilliant. Seconding my thought, Faith applauded rapturously.

“I can buy black cloth tomorrow and put together costumes – ” I started to offer.

“Oh, no! Isha, how could you?” cried Faith. “My seamstress would be mortally wounded if I ever wore something she didn’t sew with her own two hands! Let me talk to her! You wouldn’t be so cruel as to let her waste away from sorrow, would you?”

Open-mouthed, Ash and I stared at her very un-Gualim-like dress for a long moment. Then we just looked at each other and shrugged helplessly. “Sure. Why not?”

According to my archivist, Faith popped into the Sensorium the next morning to ask Madame Keitel for a memory featuring the Gualim. Unusually, she opted not to experience it on her couch but left with it instead.

A couple days later, she proudly displayed a set of robes made from cheap black fabric with segments of metal wire crudely attached here and there. Although the costumes wouldn’t fool a native U’Duashan for one instant, in the dark they should suffice for Doskvolians.

“Do you see him? Do you see him?”

“No.”

Half a second of peace in a shadowy alley near Gaddoc Rail.

“Do you see him now?”

“Not yet.”

“Mmmmm, how about…now!”

“No!”

While Ash mingled with the evening commuters outside the train station and kept a sharp eye on Dillingham’s window, Faith and I lurked nearby awaiting his signal. Or, to be more precise, Faith pestered me about when said signal would come and I struggled not to stab her.

Of course, this had to be the one evening that Dillingham worked extra late.

An infuriating hour later, Ash’s figure appeared very briefly at the mouth of our alley. Casually, he straightened his hat and flipped up his coat collar, a system we’d arranged to indicate which direction Dillingham had taken, then vanished again.

Utterly focused now, Faith and I flung on our costumes at breakneck speed, checked each other’s robes and hoods to make sure they hung straight and hid our faces, and stole out of the alley, keeping to the shadows. Half a block in front of us, Ash strolled openly after the target.

Dillingham wound through the district’s eponymous brightly lit, open-air night market, skirted around a park of petrified trees, and passed into a section of windowless private clubs. At last he stopped and cast a suspicious glance up and down the street – we pressed ourselves into doorways just in time – and veered into an unlit, narrow alley between a warehouse and a blank-faced, two-story building.

After a moment, Ash stepped unhurriedly out of his doorway and sauntered after him. Faith hitched up her robes and scampered around the warehouse to cut off the other end of the alley. As for me, I’d already scanned my surroundings and noted a ladder bolted to the warehouse wall. Launching myself at the rungs, I practically flew up to the flat rooftop, where I flattened myself and raised my head just enough to peek over the edge.

Far below me, an oblivious Dillingham was making his way towards a small, featureless door in the windowless building.

Springing to my feet, I sprinted silently along the rooftop until I was right above him. From under my robes, I pulled out a long silver sash, weighted at both tips. Half of it I wrapped loosely around my left hand; the other end I gripped with my right. Then I crouched on the ledge, balancing lightly on the balls of my feet, and scanned the alley one more time.

At the far end, the faintest gleam of metal hinted at Faith’s shadowy form creeping towards Dillingham.

From the closer end, Ash strolled on casually, hands tucked into his pockets and head tilted slightly upward as if lost in thought. (I caught his slight nod when he noted that I was in position.)

Dillingham rapped sharply on the door, which opened a crack and spilled out a bar of bright bluish-white light. In its harsh glare, he leaned forward to mouth a password, and the door opened all the way to reveal two burly bouncers. Coquettish laughter and hilarious song poured into the alley. With one last half-wary, half-guilty glance behind him, Dillingham prepared to enter the brothel – and caught sight of Ash.

Whom he’d interviewed for an accountant job at Gaddoc Rail.

“Hey! Aren’t you – ” he began.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Ash yanked his hands out of his pockets and waved them urgently. “Stationmaster!” he cried, sounding utterly shocked and flustered. “I had no idea I’d see you here! I didn’t know that – !” He babbled on incoherently, “Please forgive me, Stationmaster, I hope you don’t think that I make a habit of – I mean, I – ”

Convinced by the act, Dillingham growled a dismissal and took a step towards the doorway.

I made my move.

Leaping off the rooftop with black robes fluttering and metal wires glinting, I fell full upon Dillingham right in front of the bouncers. Just before we both tumbled to the ground, I unfurled my sash and looped it around his throat.

“Hey!” he yelled, flailing wildly and trying to buck me off. “Help!” His shouts turned into strangled gurgles as I twisted the sash and jerked it tight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement, which gave me barely enough warning to twist out of the way. A huge fist just missed my face. Dropping the sash, I hurled myself to a side and surged to my feet as one of the bouncers lunged for me.

On the cobblestones, Dillingham writhed, choking and clawing futilely at the sash.

At that moment, into the doorway stepped a wealthy-looking, middle-aged woman with her arms wrapped around two handsome young men. Their eyes and mouths opened wide in shock when they saw what was happening in the alley. Any second now, they’d start screaming.

In a swoosh of black robes, Faith erupted from the darkness and dropped onto Dillingham like a specter. Through the eye holes of the Gualim hood, her eyes glittered with ecstasy, and she picked up the ends of the sash almost tenderly.

Dillingham gurgled even more desperately and scrabbled madly at her arms – then convulsed violently and went still.

Faith set down the sash ends on his chest, petted them gently, and made to rise.

The second bouncer roared. Before she could duck, he tackled her bodily to the ground with a sickening crunch.

“Help! Help! Please! It’s the Gualim!” shrieked Ash, wringing his hands and running up to the woman and her prostitutes. He grabbed at their arms and shook them for emphasis. “The Gualim are murdering my boss! Get a doctor! Get the Bluecoats! Help!”

His words had the desired effect. The trio snapped out of their shock and started screeching mindlessly, tripping over one another in their mad retreat. Inside the brothel, screams began to multiply: “It’s the Gualim!” “The Gualim are here!” “They’ve come to kill us all!”

Their panic spread even into the alley, where my bouncer hesitated with his fist cocked. Taking advantage of his distraction, I backed away cautiously and slid Grandfather out, keeping it concealed beneath my robes.

Ash threw himself to his knees beside Dillingham and felt for a pulse while howling indignantly, “Incompetent mongrels! Bring a doctor here yesterday!”

“Hey! What are you doing to him?” called my bouncer suspiciously. His bulk moved away from me.

Still pinned under her bouncer, Faith smiled slightly, as cool as if she were having tea at the Kinclaith mansion. All around us rose a dense, icy, blue-tinged fog that materialized straight out of the ghost field. Realizing too late what she had done, the second bouncer swung blindly at her, but she contorted her shoulders sideways and his fist struck the cobblestones by her head.

His roar of pain was eerily muted by the fog.

My bouncer spun around. “Gunner!” he called urgently. “You okay?”

“Aaaaargh!” came Gunner’s response.

While he clutched his hand and moaned, Faith wriggled free with a rip of fabric and dashed towards me, holding her shoulder at an odd angle.

Crouched over Dillingham’s body, Ash was still shouting about imbeciles who couldn’t see that a man needed medical treatment right away. “Do I need to do everything myself?” he demanded. “Stay with him! I’ll go fetch a doctor!”

It sounded like he had everything under control.

I rammed Grandfather back into its sheath, whirled, and pelted for our meeting spot.

By the time Ash arrived at the bridge to Coalridge, I’d already torn off my Gualim costume and was helping Faith ease hers over a dislocated shoulder.

At my inquiring glance, he merely nodded once. “Yes.”

Stepping up on Faith’s other side, he helped pull the robes over her head and pack them into her satchel.

“What charming roommates I have! You really mustn’t spoil me like this,” she dimpled, but the frivolity sounded slightly forced.

As our adrenaline ebbed away, we walked home slowly side by side. Ash mused, “It’s odd that we didn’t hear a bell.” Within Doskvol, every death was marked by the peal of a bell at Bellweather Crematorium. Simultaneously, a deathseeker crow would launch from the belfry and lead the Spirit Wardens to the corpse so they could destroy its spirit before it rose as a ghost. “I don’t think it rang for Kamilin either, did it?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think so. But I assumed that I just missed it in all the chaos.”

“Oh, the delightful chorus of death bells! When shall I hear you again!”

“And we didn’t hear it tonight either,” Ash persisted. “That can’t be coincidence.”

I reached out with my mind to the sword by my side. Grandfather? Is this your doing?

Something within the metal stirred. Family honor must be upheld.

I took that to mean that Grandfather deemed it too humiliating to the family name if I should be arrested for murder.

To Ash, who always saw through lies, I replied very carefully, “I’m not positive what’s going on, but I don’t think the bells will be an issue for us.”

He gave me a sharp look but seemed to decide to trust me for now. “Well, tomorrow we can pay a visit to Lady Irimina and collect our fee.”

True, we’d fulfilled all of her requirements for the score: The impediment to her “business dealings” had been removed, her name kept out of the matter, and her rival implicated in the murder.

Even now, a letter on the train to Iruvia awaited Bluecoat attention:

My noble Liege and Lady,

The deed is done as you ask. In time I will rise in rank to execute the next stage.

Your loyal servant,

R.A.

It was done, indeed.