“Wait! Faith – !”

But it was too late. Upon that ringing declaration, Faith fastened a spirit bottle to her sash, shouldered her lightning hook, and skipped out of the railcar.

“Faith, come back! I can handle it myself!”

I skidded to the doorway just in time to see her hop lightly over a set of rotten railroad ties and disappear behind a line of old freight cars. Swinging jauntily at her waist, the spirit bottle caught a glimmer of light and winked an impish farewell.

Snatching up my cloak, I flung a hasty “I’m taking Sleipnir for a walk” in Ash’s direction and pelted outside. Before I could catch myself, I whistled the way I used to call my Saluki.

Not a sleek, golden Iruvian desert hound but a scruffy, brownish-greyish three-legged Akorosi mutt trotted up to me, cocking his head all the way to the side and inspecting me for signs of food. Well, much as I hated to admit it, Sleipnir was a great deal smarter than poor old Starlight. (Inbreeding did tend to have that effect.) Before I could stamp down the thought, I wondered what had happened to her after I fled. Did she miss me? Did she wait for me to return? Did she love him more now?

Raising one muddy forepaw, Sleipnir scratched my leg, his broken claws raising snags on the fabric. Good thing I never liked these trousers anyway. “Good boy. Heel,” I commanded absently in Hadrathi.

Together, we shadowed Faith all the way to Six Towers, huddling in a dark doorway when she stopped at the end of Rowan Bridge and propped her elbows on the balustrade.

“Sit,” I mouthed at Sleipnir, still speaking in Hadrathi, and pressed on his hindquarters until he obeyed. He grinned up at me, pink tongue lolling out like one of Faith’s sashes. “Good boy,” I murmured, my attention focused on my crewmate.

Although I saw nothing extraordinary about the swarm of ghosts infesting the bridge, Faith was gaping in open-mouthed wonderment as if she were back at Spiregarden Theater, marveling at the talents of a Carter Vale or a Sisi Bell. Following her gaze, I encountered a large, imperious ghost haunting the midpoint, right where I’d thrown Ronia Helker and myself into the black waters. Around Helker’s ghost darted a small, raggedy spirit that harassed and nipped, tearing off and devouring little pieces of her essence while she whirled and bared her teeth but always dodged a second too late. (Given my interactions with Faith, I felt some amount of camaraderie with the dead general.)

Beckoning with her lightning hook, Faith compelled the little ghost to approach her. When it finally held still, its flickering form resolved into a girl just on the cusp of womanhood. “Why, you’re a lovely little morsel,” Faith remarked, scanning the ghost’s frayed edges. “What is your name?”

In a reedy voice, the little ghost chirped, “Cricket.”

Faith smiled in a particularly un-reassuring way. “Well, Cricket, you see, Mrs. Helker over there is something of a problem for me. I’m intrigued by how you’re harrying her! You’re so quick and so lively, and you just steal little bits of her soul…. How would you like to help me take out larger chunks?”

Eagerly, the little ghost asked, “Would you let me eat them?”

Faith enunciated, “Every. Last. Bit.”

That was all Cricket needed. Like a flash of lightning, she zipped across the bridge and spun around Helker, nearly driving the larger ghost mad with fury. Meanwhile, Faith prowled up behind the general, raised her lightning hook, and nodded at Cricket. At the signal, the little ghost bit Helker’s leg as hard as she could, ripped off a hunk of electroplasm, and then dashed behind Faith with her prize.

Bellowing like a thunderclap, Helker whirled.

Faith grinned hugely. Lightning sparked from the silvery loop at the tip of her rod.

The general’s hollow eyes widened when she realized that here was her last stand.

(“Maybe you shouldn’t look,” I muttered to Sleipnir, who didn’t act particularly perturbed.)

General Helker put up a valiant struggle, one absolutely worthy of her name. She lunged and clawed, feinted and parried, and very nearly flanked Faith a couple times.

Skirts flying as if she stood in a gale, pale gold hair flapping around her face like a banner, Faith shrieked with glee and wielded her lightning hook like a spear. Every time the loop made contact, she gouged out one more piece of Helker’s soul and tossed it to Cricket. At long last, all that was left was a tattered blue mesh, glowing dimly between Faith’s hands.

With a contented sigh, she sealed the remnants of Ronia Helker into the spirit bottle and re-fastened it to her sash. On the ground, a more solid-looking Cricket twined around her ankles like an affectionate cat.

Faith petted her on the head. “Thank you for your help.”

“You know where to find me!” cried Cricket, her voice stronger now, and twirled around a corner.

Smiling to herself, Faith strolled into the network of alleys and vanished as well.

A weight in my lap made me look down. Somewhere in the middle of Faith’s epic Whisper battle, Sleipnir had wriggled into my lap, and now he was snoring away while infesting me with fleas. I commented, “Well, I guess you make a better pet than Faith’s ghost.”

He didn’t deign to open his eyes.

The next day, before I could escape to the Sword Academy, Faith stopped me in the hallway outside our compartments and sang out, “I took care of your problem, Isha!” Then, as if suddenly registering my attire: “Oh, is it time for another class? Please, do try to gain more heat for us! It’s always such a pleasure to clean up my crewmate’s messes!”

Luckily for her, Ash was around to witness any, shall we say, accidents that might have befallen her in that dark, narrow hallway.

I didn’t gain any more heat for us.

Like last time, I demonstrated moves that I claimed I’d used while cornered by a dozen Cutters in a dead end near the Crow’s Nest – but the thrusts were so exaggeratedly theatrical that even my dimmer students began to furrow their brows and look askance at one another.

Sword in hand, I rounded on one of them. “Did you really believe that would work?” I snapped.

“Uh…yes, Miss Glass?” At my expression: “I mean, no! Definitely no!”

“Just how gullible are you?” I roared. “Catching your opponent’s hilt with your own to send their sword flying? How would that even work? Have you learned nothing?” I glowered at the class as a whole.

The students mumbled something indistinct and studied their shoes.

In a scathing tone, I informed them, “You are certainly welcome to try that maneuver, but in that case, don’t even dream of telling anyone that you learned it here. Oh wait, no – you won’t be able to tell anyone anything – because you’ll be dead!”

More muttering and shuffling of feet.

“So who believed the demon tale from last time?” I demanded, glaring around the room as if daring one student, any student, to look me in the eye and confess.

No one did.

Pretending to believe them, I sheathed my sword, brushed off my hands, and said briskly, “Good. Life lesson of the day: Never assume that those in positions of authority will tell you the truth. Class dismissed.”

After my students had scampered like mice into the changing rooms, I threw a servant’s coarse dress over my blouse and leggings and bustled off to Brightstone to check on the Iruvian Consulate. The cleaning crew hadn’t seen anyone resembling him – although that didn’t necessarily mean much – but I had better luck with the stable staff.

Elstera’s coachman reported, “Miss, there was a big to-do at the Bowmores’ a couple days back. In Whitecrown,” he specified, in case anyone in Doskvol didn’t know where the Bowmores lived. “One of the footmen was talking about a young Skovlander lord who’s very popular with the young ladies – and some of the gentlemen too. He came here maybe two months ago.”

That timing lined up with when he’d arrived, or at least when I thought he’d arrived, and I could certainly see him charming his way into all the right circles. I could just picture it: an elegant drawing room all done up in gold and crimson, and underneath the electroplasmic chandelier, a flock of lords in frock coats and top hats, and ladies in silks of all colors, all of them laughing at his jokes, vying to speak to him, revolving around him…. With that bright golden hair and those big blue eyes, that faintly roguish smile and that trick of looking at you as if you and you alone were special to him, who could resist? All those vapid, shallow, ditzes would be swooning at his feet in heaps of fabric, feathers, and fake flowers.

Recalling my own rough dress, the mud on my boots, and the stained shawl, I stamped down a surge of murderous jealousy. After all, maybe they were cooing over an entirely different young Skovlander lord. Maybe it wasn’t him.

The coachman was still speaking. “I beg your pardon,” I said with a forced smile. “Can you repeat that?”

He could. He already knew that I paid well. “The footman also said that he’d heard that the lord is looking for a stolen sword. An…Iruvian sword?” His brow furrowed, as if he didn’t quite credit a rumor that mixed isles like that. “He thinks it’s in Doskvol.”

And there it was.

I’d found him.

Well, almost.

Apparently, Ash had had an equally satisfactory day. As soon as I walked into the common area of our railcar, still in a bit of a daze, he launched into a detailed lecture on how one could, if one were so inclined, dismantle Doskvol’s economy.

“The leviathan blood industry is their greatest vulnerability,” he expounded. “Collapsing it would bring down the entire Imperium.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” I said absently, considering where I should search next. If he were playing visiting nobleman, it simply wouldn’t do to stay in any district besides Brightstone or maybe even Whitecrown. Could he afford Whitecrown? Would the House finance that?

“I’ve been buying up predatory lenders around here,” Ash continued blithely. “And bounty hunters. Basically, I’m getting a feed on the local economy.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” I agreed. No, I decided, the House would consider Whitecrown too flashy. Brightstone made more sense. I should focus my hunt there. Unfortunately, it was a very large district.

“I’m worried about Irimina’s finances,” Ash remarked, which finally jarred me to partial attention.

Drifting over to the frilly chair Faith had left by a window, I sank into it and propped my chin on the sill. “We’ve been worried for a while,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that why we set up the Hive thing?”

“Yes, but I just had an idea: Irimina can hire us to…replace some unsavory people.” When that prompted no reaction from me, he proclaimed as if he were addressing Parliament, “Helene’s time has come. Both Brannon and Irimina will gain from her replacement. It will be a win-win situation for everyone but Helene – who will be dead.”

Hmmm, who else could I recruit to search for him? I couldn’t hope to cover Brightstone all by myself. So whom did I trust?

At the same time, Ash was saying, “It will be an excellent way to restore our finances and ensure our cash flow.”

As far as I could tell, our finances were in no need of restoration and our cash flow was already ensured via his own sister. But I shrugged and traced little loops in the grime on the window. “I have no objections.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Faith entering silently and stopping short when she saw me in her chair. “Very well,” she said sweetly. She prowled a few more steps forward.

Ash finally gave up on extracting a productive consultation from me. “Good enough,” he decided. “I’ll check how things are going with Brannon. My plan is to convince him to have Irimina hire us to kill Helene. After all, I’ve reviewed the Stag’s and his finances, and his debt is accumulating at rates he can’t possibly handle. If we remove Helene, then he, Irimina, and we can split the profits from the casino. Isha, did you want to come with me?”

Not really. “Thanks, but I’ll pass – ”

My answer was choked off when a big, pink cloud of ruffles landed in my lap, squealing, “Isha! How nice of you to serve as my cushion!”

Half-suffocated by silk and gauze, I heard Ash’s muffled “I’ll just go see Brannon myself then,” and the sounds of his boots beating a hasty retreat.