I slunk back to the railcar, fully intending to mope in my compartment for days. However, a new distraction soon popped up.

In addition to new furnishings and the unwelcome wildlife you’d expect in the Old Rail Yard, we’d slowly been accumulating an assortment of (more or less) wanted pets. Almost as soon as we moved in, my hideous, three-legged dog Sleipnir had showed up, and lately Faith’s loyal-to-the-hand-that-dismembers-juicy-ghosts-to-feed-it companion Cricket had also taken to loitering around her compartment. In fact, I held Cricket directly responsible for our next batch of pets.

Faith, who bore equal blame for the affair, triggered that fatal chain of events with an innocent-sounding request: “Isha, I’m going to be running errands for the next few hours. Would you do me a favor and tail me to make sure nothing untoward happens to me?”

Listlessly carving a slot into my armrest so I could hide a stiletto there, I asked without real interest, “What kind of errands are you running?”

She, naturally, talked right over me. “Also, please report on my behaviors when I get back!”

“What?” I nearly dropped the stiletto before I rammed it into the armrest and clicked shut the compartment. “What’s going on, Faith?”

“Thank you, Isha! You’re the best!”

She darted forward, pecked me on the cheek, and scampered back into her compartment before I could even finish protesting, “Faith, wait, explain!”

About fifteen minutes later, she re-emerged, still wearing the same fluffy, lavender dress, but moving in a distinctly un-Faith-like manner. Purposefully, she clattered down the railcar steps, marched straight through Nightmarket without even glancing at the ribbons on display, and made a beeline for Six Towers. Stalking right up to the Arms of the Weeping Lady, an opera-house-turned-soup-kitchen near Rowan Bridge, she plowed through the line of raggedy men and women waiting for their daily allotment of canal weed soup, and vanished into the unlit alley behind the building. By the time I’d skirted the irate heap of beggars she’d bowled over, she was crouched over a hole in the ground, retrieving a pistol hidden under a cobblestone. Holding it expertly (something I’d never seen Faith do before), she rose, walked in a businesslike way into a tenement, and matter-of-factly picked the lock on one of the flimsy doors (I was pretty sure Faith didn’t know how to do that either – both the matter-of-fact part and the lock-picking part). Straightening, she drew back one high-button-kid-leather-booted foot, kicked open the door with a dramatic crash, and strode into the room.

My own gun at the ready, I sprinted forward and reached the doorway just in time to glimpse an elderly couple seated at a broken table, forks frozen over the remnants of a worm-‘n-rat pie (another Doskvolian specialty). A rusty oil lantern cast flickering shadows over their shocked faces.

Almost without bothering to aim, “Faith” coolly raised the pistol and fired two shots in quick succession.

The elderly couple crumpled in their chairs, blood streaming from holes in their foreheads, and “Faith” smiled – a grim, satisfied rictus of a smile.

Childish shrieks pierced the room.

Edging sideways, I peered around the doorjamb to see a small clump of ragged children in the far corner, clinging to each other and trying to press themselves into the wall. (Given the flimsiness of tenement construction, that wasn’t as ludicrous a proposition as it might have been in a Brightstone mansion or, say, on the Anixis estate.) Without sparing a glance for the children or me, “Faith” turned smartly on her heel, marched back out of the tenement, replaced the pistol under the cobblestone, and strode back towards Coalridge.

Stunned, I tailed her on autopilot. The only logical explanation I could beg, borrow, or scrape together was that Cricket had possessed Faith and used her body to murder an elderly couple in charge of a passel of children. Their grandchildren? No – too many ethnicities from all over the Shattered Isles, and nary a trace of family resemblance. An orphan gang, then, with the couple as their handlers. And given Cricket’s age just on the cusp of womanhood, she must have worked for them and blamed them for her death – if they hadn’t murdered her themselves.

Almost certainly had, if she were dead (haha) set on revenge. Honestly, she’d probably done those children a favor.

Except – what would happen to them now? The oldest child couldn’t have been more than twelve, and without an adult to hand over rent each month, their landlord would summarily evict them.

Not my problem, I reminded myself, dodging a bucket of dirty water that a woman dumped out a second-floor window. Doskvol was infested with almost as many street children as Sleipnir was with fleas, and they – the street children, but come to think of it, probably the fleas as well – tended to be a resourceful bunch. Just look at Bazso’s runner Bug, or those Strathmill House orphans we’d hired to distract Chime and the Bluecoats. These Six Towers children could fend for themselves.

But try as I might, I couldn’t forget the way they’d huddled together, so much like Sigmund and me as we cowered at the back of a closet, or under a bed, or inside a chest – wherever our parents had hidden us while they fought off the latest batch of assassins. What would have happened to us if…no, no, don’t even think it.

A length of steel underfoot jolted me out of my thoughts. Without realizing it, I’d arrived at the edge of the Old Rail Yard, and in the distance, the door of our railcar was slamming shut behind Faith’s figure. Whirling, I raced all the way back to Six Towers.

The children were exactly where Cricket had left them, still quivering in a pile on the floor. Terrified, tear-streaked faces tipped up to greet me when I crossed the room, placed my hands on my hips, and stared down at them. What in the world was I going to do with four – no, five – small children?

The oldest of the bunch, a brown-haired, grey-eyed Akorosian boy, cautiously disentangled himself from clutching hands and stood. Shakily, he positioned himself between me and the others. “Yes, miss?” he inquired politely. “How can I help you?”

Although his bravado touched me, I kept my voice matter-of-fact. “Who were they?” I asked, tilting my head towards the two corpses.

“They were our bosses?” he quavered. One of the other children, a ten-year-old Akorosian girl with brown eyes and hair that might have been dirty blonde if you scrubbed it with copious amounts of soap and (clean) water, made a little noise of warning. The boy hastily corrected himself. “I mean, they were our aunt and uncle. Yeah, yeah. Definitely our aunt and uncle.”

I just raised an eyebrow. If they were all one big family, then Sleipnir and Starlight were first cousins. “All right, then – what did your aunt and uncle have you doing for them?”

His eyes went wide, and he darted a glance behind him at the others, who were slowly untangling themselves and straggling to their feet. In addition to the Akorosian girl, there were also a Skovlander girl with red hair and green eyes; a black-haired, brown-eyed Severosi boy; and a tiny, malnourished blond and brown-eyed Skovlander boy.

Making sure to stay between me and the others, their spokesman answered evasively, “Oh, you know. Odd jobs.”

“Such as?” I prompted.

“Who are you, miss?”

“Someone trying to help.” They all looked incredibly wary, as if that might be synonymous with someone-whose-loved-one-desperately-needs-an-organ-transplant. “What will you do now?”

“Dunno.” This time, it was the Akorosian girl who answered, scuffing a bare toe on the filthy floorboards.

“Strathmill House in Crow’s Foot would take you in,” I suggested in my most soothing tone. In fact, the orphanage wouldn’t be a bad place to deposit them – the matron, while overworked and underfunded, did her best to keep her charges fed, clothed, sheltered, and alive.

At the mention of Crow’s Foot, the tiny Skovlander boy squeaked and ducked behind the Severosi boy.

“Yeah, maybe,” agreed the oldest boy, sounding as if he’d promise anything to get me out of the tenement and away from his brother- and sister-orphans. “We could stay there for a bit.”

Scanning the children, I could tell that none of them had any intention of seeking asylum in Crow’s Foot. I sighed. It had been worth a try. “Alternatively, you could come home with me and work for my crew.”

“Uhhhh,” said the spokesman, very carefully not looking in the direction of the table, “would we have to kill people?”

“No no no,” I reassured him. “It would be more like – ” Like what? What did one do with miniature humans? Growing up, Sigmund and I had never interacted much with our cousins. “Like scouting. Keeping an eye out for things. Delivering messages.” Maybe we could finally stop borrowing other gangs’ runners. Ash would appreciate that.

The spokesman looked around at the other children, meeting their eyes one by one. Each nodded, apart from the youngest, who was too busy playing with broken cup. “Yeah, we can do that,” the spokesman promised. “We’re good at that.”

“Good!” I said, surveying their ill-fitting, dirty, crumpled attire. “Let’s get you some new clothing then.”

“Clothing, miss?” It was the Skovlander girl who whispered the question this time, awe and disbelief in her eyes.

“Yes,” I replied briskly. “We can keep this set for situations where you need to blend into certain environments, but you also need cleaner, better outfits to fit into other parts of Doskvol.”

The orphans goggled at me as if I’d sprouted tentacles and horns and started speaking Tycherosian. Oh. Maybe I needed to use smaller words.

“Are you going to buy us shoes?” asked the Severosi boy breathlessly, correctly interpreting the gist of my sentence.

“Yes,” I told him, and firmly herded them into Nightmarket, where I paid the public-bath attendants to scrub and de-louse them, and bought them each two sets of clothing (one for Coalridge and one for Nightmarket; we’d see about Charterhall after a few deportment lessons). Then I stuffed them with pastries and candied mushrooms from whatever street vendor caught their eye and generally reprised Kallysta’s last day – but hopefully with a happier ending this time.

“Iiiishaaaaa?” Shutting an account book, Ash surveyed us warily when we finally entered the railcar common room. “Why is there a herd of children behind you?”

Stepping aside, I gestured grandly at the orphans. “Ash, meet our new runners and spies!”

Our new runners and spies scuttled sideways and bunched up behind me again.

Leaning forward for a closer look, Ash asked patiently, “Why do we have new runners and spies?”

I smiled guilelessly. “I thought that a guild of our status should have its own runners, rather than to borrow them from other crews every time we need them.”

“That’s true, I suppose….”

While he pondered behavior becoming of our guild’s status, Faith strolled out of her compartment. She was still wearing that frothy lavender number, the front of which was spattered artistically with little red dots. Padding up to the children, she drawled, “Why, you look like a delicious little morsel.”

They just compressed, then cast terrified looks up at me. “Miss?”

Faith looked briefly puzzled before resuming her circling.

“You lived in Six Towers,” I pointed out. “You’ve seen people get possessed, right?”

“Yeeesss…?”

“She usually doesn’t go around shooting people. Let’s just put it that way.”

Increasingly perplexed, Ash demanded, “What just happened, Isha? Where did you find five random orphans?”

At the same time, Faith was explaining to the children, “She’s right. I’ll have you know that I normally electrocute people with my lightning hook. Shooting people just isn’t my usual modus operandi.”

I was pretty sure none of them knew what “modus operandi” meant, but they didn’t like it anyway. “As far as I can tell, Ash, our great, grand Whisper over there got herself possessed, and while she was possessed, she went to Six Towers, found a gun, walked into a tenement, picked a lock, opened a door, and shot these kids’ ‘aunt and uncle’.”

Although I’d hoped to irritate Faith with my summary, she merely preened.

“Faith!” Genuinely shocked, Ash spun towards her. “How did you get possessed? You’re, like, the goddess of magic!”

“Oh my goodness,” she remarked, fanning herself modestly. “I think I have a new favorite person!”

“You literally wave your lightning hook – ” Ash flapped his arm to demonstrate – “and the supernatural comes to worship you and do your bidding! I’ve witnessed this on multiple occasions,” he told the children, who goggled at his pitch-black right hand.

With fake somberness, Faith confessed, “And yet, sometimes a larger bribe is required.”

Ash just sighed before he turned back to me. “In any case,” he admitted, “we have enjoyed some successful interactions with orphans in the past…. What are your names?”

The oldest boy twitched forward bravely, ready to act as spokesman, but I spared him. “That’s Spider,” I said, tipping my head towards him. Pointing at the Akorosian girl, I introduced her: “That’s Moth.” The red-headed Skovlander girl was Beetle, probably aged nine, and the possibly-seven-year-old Severosi boy called himself Mantis. Finally, the scrawny, underdeveloped Skovlander boy of whom all the others were so protective was named Locust. He was five if you rounded up. Generously.

After that, I introduced my crewmates to the children, finishing with, “And that’s Sleipnir.” The mutt had hopped up to the youngest children and was licking pastry crumbs off their fingers. Now Mantis tentatively stretched one hand towards Sleipnir’s head. “Do not torment him,” I warned, “or I will know why.”

Mantis snatched his hand back. “Sorry!” he cried. “Sorry sorry sorry!”

“Petting is fine.”

Bored again, Faith cast an arch glance in my direction. “You wouldn’t notice if one of them went missing, right?”

Mantis squeaked and wrapped his arms around Sleipnir’s neck.

Before I could respond, Ash leaped in. “Yes,” he informed Faith in a quelling tone. “Yes, we would notice.”

“But there are a lot of them!” she protested, with a pretty pout that turned incredibly disturbing when paired with the blood splatters on her dress.

“No, there are five of them,” Ash snapped back, “and their names are Spider, Beetle, Moth, Mantis, and Locust.” He pointed at each one (with his normal left hand) as he spoke their names.

With a final pout, Faith flopped into her chair and pointedly turned her back on all of us.

Ash shook his head slightly. Frowning at no one in particular, he asked, “Now, where should we put them?”

I’d had plenty of time to consider the issue while the bath attendants were scrubbing and de-lousing the children. “We do have a number of empty compartments,” I reminded him, waving my hand in the direction of the hallway. “The limiting factor is mattresses – maybe we can put them all in one compartment for now, and once we get enough bedding – ”

A small hand tugged at my trousers, and I looked down into Beetle’s green eyes. “Please, miss, we can all stay together,” she pleaded.

I blinked a couple times. “Uh, sure, if that’s what you want.”

Ash and I wound up assigning them the compartment furthest away from both Faith and our vault. (“Never go in there,” he warned, pointing at the vault and scowling until they each cringed and nodded solemnly, even little Locust.) Once we’d gotten them settled in, Ash, being his mother’s son, recommended medical exams to ensure none of them harbored any untreated diseases. Although he knew a mediocre doctor in Coalridge itself, I insisted on dragging the children to the Leaky Bucket, ostensibly to familiarize them with Crow’s Foot. Delighted by the prospect of a new experience, Faith “woke” from a nap in time to join our little expedition.

If I’d hoped to see Bazso again, I was sadly disappointed. His and Pickett’s booths were both empty and remained empty for the duration of our visit. Still, the rest of the Lampblacks treated our crew normally, that is to say, like the heroes who’d executed Ronia Helker the Butcher of Lockport. I took that to mean that Bazso still cared enough about me to keep my secret from his gang.

I hoped.

Naturally, Sawbones was bewildered – and the rest of the Lampblacks exceedingly entertained – by the sight of three hardened assassins playing mother duck to a motley assortment of street children plus one three-legged dog, but the doctor gamely inspected each orphan and pronounced them “fit for service. Er, I mean, they’re healthy enough.” While he was at it, he took a look at Ash and me too. Although Ash’s wounds would just have to heal on their own, he did saw off my cast at last.

“Outstanding!” Faith proclaimed at the end, lining up the children in front of Mardin’s counter so the former head of the Crows could hand each one a glass of sweet watermoss juice. “Now I dub thee, and thee, and thee, and thee, and thee as well – ” Locust giggled – “our Order of Ornery Orphans! Now I charge thee to go forth and – ”

When she struck a dramatic pose and took a deep breath, I inserted sarcastically, “Be ornery?”

Mardin and the nearest Lampblacks chuckled. Locust giggled again.

“No!” She swung her finger around and stabbed it at the children, who clutched their glasses and flattened themselves against the bar. “I charge thee to go forth and do whatever it is children don’t do in libraries of priceless texts, vaults of gold and silver and jewels, and workshops full of potentially lethal electroplasmic equipment!”

I’d have bet the contents of our vault that they didn’t understand a word of what she said, but they turned out to be brilliant at reading context. When we returned to the railcar, they coaxed Sleipnir into their compartment (not that he took much coaxing), shut the door tightly, and didn’t make another peep until we hauled them out for dinner.