Disguised as Charhallow residents and armed with Faith’s pointers on how to act like Churchgoers, Ash and I approached Kallysta in the alley she called home. While she waited for the sacrament of Hollowing to end all her fleshly woes, she huddled in rags beside a large barrel that semi-functioned as a windbreak. At the sound of boots on cobblestone, she glanced up, confused.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely – and a trifle nervously, as if she feared that we planned to shoo her away.

Ash held out a hand and explained, “I saw you at Church the other day. I’m Rolan.”

“Kallysta.” With his aid, she rose and shook out her coarse, torn skirt as best she could. Although I scanned her quickly, I couldn’t identify her demon tell.

As if we’d run into her in a church vestibule after a sermon, Ash went on, “We understand that partaking in the Church’s ideals can be expensive and is also best shared with others, so we were hoping that you’d join us.”

Glancing between the two of us, Kallysta registered our casual stance and the total ease we displayed in a dark alley in a poverty-stricken neighborhood with a complete stranger who might or might not stab us for our purses. With that attitude, we couldn’t be anything but madmen or blades. Drawing the appropriate conclusion (maybe), she gaped in awe.

Ash pretended not to notice any of that. “Since we’re new to the area, we were hoping that you knew where to – ”

“The pub’s closed,” she blurted out, then blushed at the interruption. She swallowed, dropped her gaze, and added softly, “There was an incident.”

That was certainly one way of putting it.

Ash played along smoothly. “That’s a shame. Perhaps we could head to a nicer part of town then.”

The poor girl’s eyes opened wide. “I – I can’t afford….”

“Don’t worry, it’s on us,” he assured her, and her eyes practically dropped out of their sockets. “You’re Tycherosi, I’m Tycherosi,” he said, as if being a fellow countryman from a land full of avaricious part-demon merchants explained the sudden largess. “Lately, I’ve been studying the writings of the Immortal Emperor, and there were some parts I wasn’t sure how to interpret.”

“Yeah, I can tell you about Church teachings….”

“That would be most helpful! This is my friend Tick Tock, by the way.” He jerked his head at me, and I smiled at Kallysta in my friendliest manner.

“Pleased to meet’cha,” she responded automatically.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied with a good deal less sincerity.

Holding out an arm like the perfect gentleman, Ash waited until she tentatively rested her dirty fingertips on it and then escorted her out of the alley. I fell in on his other side (to avoid crowding her, of course), and asked, “Kallysta, can you tell us more about the Second Epistle to Akorosians?”

Faith had assured us in her own inimitable way that this Epistle was one of the foundational texts of the Church and that any devotee deserving of the title would have pored over every last character and punctuation mark, extracting strata after strata of meaning that the Immortal Emperor might or might not have intended. “Why, what do you mean you two haven’t read it? It’s required reading for educated and civilized citizens of the Imperium!” she’d cried. “Even Isha keeps a copy in her room! Oh, wait, no, she doesn’t. She’s Iruvian.” After that, Ash and I had spent a tedious afternoon at the bookseller’s in Charterhall, skimming religious texts and cramming as much basic theology as we could.

Now Ash flattered Kallysta with perfect honesty, “You’re the expert on Church teachings here.”

“Well,” she replied modestly, “I’m just a parishioner, really, but it really has been a great comfort in my life….” Obligingly, she launched into a lecture on the doctrines of the ecstasy of the flesh and the abomination of the soul.

“Oh, that’s fascinating! Can you tell me more about…?” He gently led her to prattle on about whatever topic caught her fancy.

Beforehand, Ash and I had already debated where to take Kallysta to give her the best day of her nasty, brutish, and soon-to-be-short life. We had to strike the perfect balance between fulfilling her fantasies and not overwhelming her with luxury. I’d suggested Silkshore, with its distinctive lantern-decked streets and artwork on every surface that stood (or lay) still long enough to be painted. Ash, however, had held out for Coalridge.

“Coalridge?” I’d asked incredulously. “You think Coalridge is nice?”

To which he’d replied, “To her, yes.”

He’d won that fight.

As Ash, Kallysta, and I strolled through Charhallow on our way to Coalridge’s lone teahouse, I only half-listened to her fervent praise of the Church. Instead, I scanned our surroundings and noted that the neighborhood around The Old Rasp seemed a lot more subdued than it had been on the night of Kender Morland’s demise. As Kallysta had already warned us, the pub itself was dark and empty. A large, handwritten sign on the door blared “CRIME SCENE DO NOT ENTER” in misshapen letters. Passersby kept their heads down, carefully avoided looking at the pub or one another, and scuttled along as if they were terrified that a Bluecoat would haul them to the station for advanced interrogation.

I snapped back to attention when Kallysta shifted away from her ramblings about the weekly sermons that formed her main escape from relentless poverty. “The Church genuinely cares about all of its members, rich and poor alike,” she explained earnestly. “Just a day after our curate…died, they sent us a new curate to tend to our fleshly bodies. Eridan Mayvin. He’s passionate and charismatic and waaaaay too important to be down here, but that just shows how good-hearted he is, to take a post in Charhallow because we need him.”

Either that, or the Church was desperate to get its hands and lightning hooks on her.

“Is this Eridan Mayvin Tycherosi?” Ash asked, feigning idle curiosity.

“Oh, no, no, he’s Akorosi. Most of our curates are. None of us are important enough to be high up in the Church,” she said shyly.

“Give yourself time!” Ash exhorted her. “I’m sure the Church will recognize the great things you’ve done.”

His careful set-up worked. “Oh, well, they already have!” Kallysta declared, then glanced away as if she were too modest to brag.

“How exciting!” he encouraged. “How have they rewarded you?”

“I’m going to the Sanctorium,” she answered hesitantly, blinking as if she couldn’t quite believe the honor. “To give up my ghost.”

“Really? Then we’re privileged to be with you!”

“Oh, no no no,” she hastily demurred.

“No, no, this is a great day! We have to celebrate!”

At the dilapidated Hidden Treasures Teahouse (treasures hidden so well they might as well have been lost in the Cataclysm), we commandeered the nicest table (i.e., the one whose tablecloth possibly almost looked white) by a window with a semi-decent view of the canal. Since Kallysta was too overwhelmed by the décor and menu, we started off with a tea sampler, then ordered more of her favorite types. While the lights of Nightmarket glinted off the black water, she confided in us all her secret, girlish dreams of elegant ballgowns and glamorous dinner parties. (Recalling Sigmund’s frustration with vacuous dinner partners, I didn’t think she was missing much, but I also didn’t disabuse her of her fantasies.)

After our extremely fancy high tea, we took Kallysta to what passed for Coalridge’s shopping district, which was really a jumble of shops on the edge of the Old Rail Yard. Their proprietors had clung on stubbornly when Gaddoc Rail Station opened across the canal and vacuumed up their middle- and upper-class customers, and instead pivoted to cater to factory workers and their families. When Kallysta paused in front of Ye Olde General Store to admire a sturdy hat, Ash immediately tugged her inside to buy it for her. Mostly, however, she was excited about food – something I could empathize with – so we bought all sorts of pastries and meat skewers and candied mushrooms and ate our way from one street vendor to the next. The poor girl was going to have the worst stomachache of her life.

Finally, as dusk flickered on the horizon, Ash announced, “We need to celebrate properly! Let’s go get drunk!”

And so it was that we piled into The Moon Sisters and plied her with the best ale and wine and whiskey she’d ever seen. Perhaps as an indication of his mental state, Ash actually got drunk with her, but I only pretended to. As evening advanced into night and the moon trailed its pale sisters across the sky, Kallysta tipsily suggested venturing into the unimaginably swanky Docks. Leaning towards us and nearly knocking over her wineglass, she giggled, “I heard about a place called Catcrawl Alley. They say you can find en– ” she hiccupped – “en-ter-tain-ment there.”

“An eg-shellent idea!” cheered Ash, raising his ale mug in a sloppy toast. “To the Docks!”

Somehow, I managed to steer both of them across all of Coalridge, Charhallow, and Crow’s Foot without getting mugged. (Bazso was going raise his eyebrows when his runners reported what I was up to.) We got stalled by Captain Rye’s Menagerie, where Kallysta and Ash goggled, pointed, and laughed uproariously at the crazy, crazy critters while I cast “help me!” looks in the direction of Catcrawl Alley. At last, a rather amused Nyryx took matters into her own hands and “solicited” us. She took charge of a willing and excited Kallysta and directed Ash and me further down the alley to her “colleague,” who turned out to be an even more amused-looking Faith. (Playing prostitute must have been a new experience for her.) The three of us lounged about the alley until Nyryx cracked her door open and waved us over.

“She’s very, very asleep,” she told Faith in a low voice.

“Thank you, dear!”

Followed closely by Ash and me, Faith barged into Nyryx’s workplace. Scraps of red gauze hung dispiritedly from rusty nails driven into cracked once-white paint, and a rickety metal bed practically filled the room, leaving barely enough floorspace for the four of us. A naked Kallysta was slumbering soundly on her front. For a moment, pity softened Faith’s features, but then she plastered a grin across her face and reached for her lightning hook. With a steady hand, she sketched runes across Kallysta’s back that glowed with a soft blue light, reminiscent of Ash’s life-essence-extraction ritual. Ash handed her the bottle of golden motes, and she unscrewed the lid and tipped it over the runes.

The motes bunched up at the far end of the bottle and buzzed angrily. The Unbroken Sun did not want to enter a part-demon soul.

“Should I help?” Ash offered, quietly to avoid waking Kallysta.

Faith’s voice was flippant but just as soft. “If you wish.”

With his assistance, she finally managed to shake the motes out of the bottle. Winking in and out of existence, the little sparkles drifted downward, landed gently on the runes, and melted into them. All of the light, blue and gold alike, sank into Kallysta’s back, leaving no traces on her skin. The girl stirred and mumbled sleepily but didn’t wake.

Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, Nyryx viewed the entire process with dead-eyed, dispassionate pity.

“Is it done?” I whispered.

“Not quite.” Opening her satchel, Faith removed a handful of pink silk ribbons, which she proceeded to tie in Kallysta’s hair. “There,” she proclaimed. “Now it’s done. I’ll see you at home.” With a quick kiss on Nyryx’s cheek, she skipped out of the room.

After that, neither Ash nor I felt like talking. In silence, we disarranged our clothing and hair until Nyryx nodded her approval, and went back into the alley to wait. At last, Kallysta woke on her own and stumbled out, bleary but content. The three of us caught a cab back to Charhollow – another new and exciting experience for her – where Ash and I booked a private room in a boardinghouse for her – even more exciting! – then accepted her slurred but sincere thanks and tiptoed back onto the street.

“She’s a nice girl,” Ash mumbled at last. “It’s a shame that she wanted to give up her soul this way.”

“It’s a waste, is what it is,” I said emphatically.

“It was going to be wasted anyways,” he snapped, “until the Church is stopped.” He cast about for a sufficiently strong expression of disgust, but in his anger, all he could come up with was: “I hate them. I can’t believe they don’t do this for Hollowees already.”

To be fair to the Church, one final, wild, pre-Hollowing party seemed right up its alley, so to speak. We might very well have whisked Kallysta out from under their alcohol- and drug-addled noses. “How do you know they don’t?”

“Then where are they?” he demanded. “We were the ones treating her on her last day.”

He made a fair point.

The next afternoon, Charhallow’s passionate, charismatic, and way-too-important curate, Eridan Mayvin, escorted Kallysta to the Sanctorium.

The morning after that, Faith rose early, donned her sixth-day best, and left the railcar without a word to anyone.

I tailed her to Unity Park in Brightstone, where she sat down demurely on the edge of the fountain. Across the street rose the curves and spirals of the Sanctorium, half-hidden behind breathtakingly beautiful – and also breathtakingly toxic – radiant energy trees. I guessed that she’d positioned herself directly above the catacombs where the demonic ritual would occur, and that she was attuning to the ghost field to monitor it, but I also knew that asking her would produce no useful information plus a great deal of annoyance.

For about an hour, she gazed serenely at the giant statue that commemorated Unity War heroes (who, pointedly, didn’t include Ronia Helker). Then she rose unhurriedly and strolled out of the park.

Hoping for clues about what had happened in the catacombs, I followed.

Faith went first to the Sensorium, where she stayed for a few hours while I waited patiently in Jayan Park. My archivist was practically hyperventilating when he reported on that visit later.

“She’s messing with the Church!” he hissed. “She – she’s messing with the Church! And Madame Keitel is in on it!”

“Why do you say that?” I inquired neutrally.

“Because she skipped into the Sensorium, and she pulled Madame Keitel into a back room, and she told her – told Madame Keitel, I mean – that the Church is increasing the rate of Ascensions! And Madame Keitel said that can’t be good and asked by how much. And Mistress Karstas said that there are at least three now within the Church itself – whatever that means – but that they tried and failed this morning.”

So our plan did work. But remembering Kallysta’s pathetic joy at shopping in Coalridge and riding in a cab, I felt no triumph.

“Madame Keitel was very surprised, and – and Mistress Karstas just gave her the most smug and satisfied smirk. Madame Keitel said that’s probably for the best and asked if they caught her. She said no. Then Madame Keitel said that she’s starting to worry about Mistress Karstas’ ‘cohesion’.”

That puzzled me. “Cohesion? What does cohesion mean in this context?”

The archivist cringed like a guilty schoolboy and fidgeted with his bowler hat. “I’m not sure, miss,” he muttered without meeting my eyes. “I’m not involved in the memory extraction process. But I think it somehow damages the soul if it’s performed too often….”

“Go on.”

“Madame Keitel said, ‘If it gets worse, we’ll need to do something.’ And then Mistress Karstas ran away.”

“She ran away?” That sounded extremely unlike Faith.

“Weeeell, she nodded and smiled and sidled out the door as if she wanted to run away…?”

Good enough. Faith didn’t do very well with personal conversations. “So what memory did she experience this time? Did she experience a memory this time?”

The archivist gulped. “She asked for memories from people who were later Hollowed! She was curious about the hopelessness and despair that would lead to such a decision! And Madame Keitel raised an eyebrow and said in this dry voice, ‘You know, I got some just for you’.”

That did sound like Madame Keitel.

Having sampled of the city’s despair and hopelessness, Faith next proceeded to Catcrawl Alley, where she picked up our eight coin from Nyryx and inquired if she knew someone called Salia. (Crouched behind a water tank, I scowled. I knew I’d heard that name before – but where?)

“Of course I know Salia,” replied Nyryx in her blunt way. “Why? Do you need to talk to her?”

“She’s selling something to a friend of mine,” Faith explained with surprising directness. “I want to audit the veracity.”

(Aha. The Kinclaith maid had overheard Irimina confessing to Faith that a certain Salia would need to be repaid for helping her achieve immortality.)

“Any information Salia sells is very reliable,” Nyryx replied immediately.

Still with that unnerving lack of alliteration, Faith asked, “Does she just broker information deals? Or does she specialize in something?”

“She is an information broker,” pointed out Nyryx as if that should be common knowledge. “That is her job. Is your friend in trouble?”

I could hear the thoughtfulness in Faith’s voice. “No more so than usual….” Then, as if she’d just fit the last pieces together, she asked abruptly, “Is Salia one of the Reconciled?”

Nyryx said only, “Yes.”

“Well, that answers all my questions! Thank you, dear!”

I peeked out just in time to watch Faith stand on tiptoe, peck Nyryx on the cheek, and traipse out the other end of the alley. I might have followed, but I had a class to teach.

Provided Mylera let me back into the sword academy, that was.