Perhaps the adults-only common room was a good idea, because the conversation I walked in on later that morning was very much not rated suitable for all audiences (particularly not Moth, who seemed to be developing extreme spectro-phobia after her encounters with Cricket). The entire railcar was quiet except for murmurs drifting from the common room. When I silently placed my ear to the door, they resolved into Ash saying, “I read something about it in a book – ”

Faith’s high-pitched, drawn-out yawn pierced the door just fine. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in books, you know.”

Obviously filtering that out as part of the price of her mentorship, Ash persisted, “Where can I find a demon to practice talking to? Do you know any?”

“Why, yes!” I heard a little thump, as if Faith had been perched on the bar and now jumped off. “In fact, I know a couple demons you could practice on! Have you met this friend of mine, by name of Ash?”

That friend of hers, who might be re-considering the title, huffed, “Ideally it would be a grotesquely inhuman demon.”

Personally, I thought he was walking – no, diving headfirst – into a trap there, but Faith actually missed it and feigned sudden enlightenment. “Aaaah, you want actually demonic. Why didn’t you say so from the start? Is having demonic parts sufficient? Like a demonic kidney? I hear Isha has this friend, whom you might also know! His name is Bazso or something?”

Even though no one could see, I rolled my eyes.

Ash must have done something similar, because Faith chirped, “Well, if you’re looking for something truly horrific, there’s this old friend of mine who would love to chat with you. In fact, I think she’s one of Isha’s friends as well! She lives between Six Towers and Nightmarket.”

“Do you mean the tentacled canal demon, by any chance?” demanded Ash.

“The one with the giant, bladed suckers? Yes! She’s very friendly – very nice. Tell her I sent you.”

At that point, I decided to intervene before Faith got Ash eaten, drowned, or both. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, I re-approached the common room, treading heavily this time. Then I pushed open the door and said, “Good morning! Do we have any coffee?”

“Ah, Isha!” Ash greeted me with unsurprising relief. “Coffee is on the bar, if Faith hasn’t knocked it over.” Over the usual outcry (“I would never!” and “Coffee stains are even harder to get out of silk than blood, you know!”), he plotted out our day: “I suggest we start training the Insect Kids to be effective skulks, the sooner the better. A cohort of scouts would be most useful, especially after we teach them how to act like civilized human beings. Did you know that they’re all illiterate?” Tycheros must have had a higher literacy rate than Doskvol or U’Duasha, because he sounded personally affronted.

Sauntering over to our shiny new coffeemaker, I poured myself a mug. “They did grow up in a tenement in Six Towers,” I pointed out. “They’re smart. They’ll learn. It might be a little more frustrating for Spider and Moth, but Locust just hit reading age anyway.”

Ash gaped at me. “You mean that in Iruvia, you don’t start teaching children to read until they’re five?”

“Savages!” Faith murmured, ostensibly to herself but at a volume that carried around the common room.

“There are plenty of other things to learn before then!” I retorted. Etiquette, for one. You wouldn’t want your toddler to offend your third-cousin-twice-removed and trigger a blood feud that would end only with the extermination of one of your branches of the family, did you?

Ash just heaved a mournful sigh at Shattered Isles barbarism before he stalked past me into the hallway. Composing himself, he rapped loudly on the orphans’ door. “It’s food time!” he sang.

The door creaked sideways, and five human faces plus one furry snout peered out. Moth and Beetle, I noted, both had pink ribbons in their hair.

“‘Food time’?” repeated Spider warily, gesturing for the others to stay in the compartment while he ascertained their new masters’ intent.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Come on, we’re going out for breakfast.”

Five sets of eyes blinked in confusion, as if the “most important meal of the day,” or whatever the Ministry of Preservation was calling it these days, were a thing that happened to other people.

“Come along now!” Ash gestured for them to fall in behind him, which they did in order of decreasing age, and led them out of the railcar by the door closest to my compartment. “So where did you normally eat? Back when you lived in Six Towers?” he inquired conversationally.

Spider glanced at me for encouragement, then replied like a student who already knew his answer was wrong, “At…our aunt and uncle’s?”

“Ah, well, we don’t do much cooking in the railcar – ” more like we didn’t do any cooking in the railcar; as Faith would say, we were too busy killing people – “so let’s go to a restaurant. What do you like to eat?”

“A restaurant, sir?” breathed Beetle, her eyes lighting up. “A real restaurant?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Catching their starstruck expressions, Ash hand-signed at me, We’ll have to teach them how to order in restaurants too, won’t we?

Probably, I signed back.

Even though most of the pubs tacked up crudely illustrated menus (for the benefit of factory hands who didn’t think they should be punished with reading comprehension assessments on top of twelve-hour workdays), the children still had no idea what to do. We had to explain that they needed to attract the servers’ attention first (preferably politely, if you weren’t a burly tough), and then point at what they wanted. Once we’d sorted that out, the hardest part was keeping Spider from doing all the talking for the others. Mantis, in particular, required copious amounts of urging before he ventured an order.

And then we had to explain forks.

At the end of Coalridge Dining 101, which was probably a great deal more entertaining for the clientele than the wait staff, we allowed the children to flee back to the railcar. Before they could dive into their compartment, Ash quickly laid out the ground rules. “Hang on a second, here’s how this will work. You’ll get all your food for free.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked as if he had second thoughts. “Three meals, per person, per day,” he specified, just in case they tried to exploit the arrangement and gorge themselves into butterballs. “One bath, also per person, per day.”

They were too awed (or maybe too full) to object to preventative de-lousing.

“In fact – ” Ash theatrically fished in his pockets for his coin purse – “let me give you your allowance for the rest of the day now, so you can start getting used to handling money. This should cover lunch and dinner plus baths for all five of you.” He counted out an appropriate number of slugs (reasonable, but not extravagant) and dropped them into Spider’s trembling hands. Eyes huge, the other children pressed up against him, goggling at the fortune. “For now, I’ll give you one day’s worth of funds at a time. Once you’ve demonstrated your ability to budget money appropriately, then I’ll increase it to two days’ worth, then three, and so forth.”

Dazed, Spider nodded as if he’d forgotten all his Akorosian.

“Oh, that reminds me of something else. Have you ever seen a play?”

“A ‘play’?” asked Beetle, dragging her gaze away from the slugs at last.

“What! Do you not know what a play is?”

They all stared blankly, as if he’d started spouting Tycherosian. A frown creased Moth’s brow as she mouthed “play” to herself. Tentatively, Spider explained, “We’ve never been outside Six Towers….”

“That was unacceptable parenting on the part of your `aunt and uncle’ then!” Ash snapped. “We’ll do much better. Isha, can you arrange to take them to the theater?”

“Sure.”

Mentally, I cycled through the categories of entertainment in Doskvol, starting at the top with Spiregarden Theater, working down through the Silkshore burlesques, and finally hitting rock bottom with the jugglers and fire-eaters in the Docks. In fact, street performers were probably the best place to start. Once we taught the Insect Kids to impersonate middle-class children (and assigned them fake real names), I’d organize a field trip to the Charterhall Playhouse.

Charterhall and its proximity to Crow’s Foot reminded me of something even more important than the cultural arts: “Before I forget, let me tell you where not to go in Coalridge.” At that, they stopped sidling away and came to rapt attention as I provided a quick rundown on the district. I also gave them pointers on where to find the bathhouse and the best food stalls, finishing with, “For now, avoid Crow’s Foot and Charhallow unless one of us takes you there. Uh, one of the two of us,” I clarified, waving my hand between me and Ash. I didn’t trust Faith not to relieve her ennui by thrusting them into danger just so she could observe their reactions.

All the children bobbed their heads solemnly. Beetle and Mantis exchanged wary glances before Spider herded everyone into their compartment and shut the door firmly behind them.

Which was just as well, because the next adults-only-common-room conference between Ash and Faith went something like this:

“Nyryx recommended some places to search for fragments of the Gates of Death. Will you help me?”

“Mmmmmm, maaaaaybe. Why are you asking me? Is it because I’m a beautiful and amazing and clever Whisper?”

“It’s because you’re a powerful Whisper.”

“So you don’t think I’m beautiful and amazing and clever, then.”

“You’re intelligent and powerful,” Ash conceded.

“That’s one out of three.” She pushed out her lower lip at him.

“You have a beautiful pout.”

“That’s one-and-a-half out of three.”

“Ugh!” Ash surrendered unconditionally at last. “Fine! I would like your help because you’re clever, amazing, and beautiful.”

“There you go!” Faith beamed, as smug as if she’d personally coached a developmentally challenged student step by step through a simple math problem. “Let’s go!”

And they vanished for parts unknown, leaving me to tail the orphans when they crept out to Coalridge’s shopping district on their very first solo expedition for baths and food. Personally, I thought they acquitted themselves very well.

When we returned from dinner, there was still no word from Bazso.

That night, I dreamed that he and Mylera sent assassins after each other over a silly misunderstanding while I screamed and screamed.

In the morning, I was listlessly buttoning up my shirt when Ash called from the common room, “Isha, there’s a bug here for you!”

Which could mean any of the following: an Insect Kid seeking parental comfort; the Lampblack runner, come to summon us to Tangletown; or a particularly large specimen of the wildlife that inhabited the Old Rail Yard, and that Ash didn’t want to deal with himself.

To my relief, it was Option Two, planted insolently in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, surveying the place as if he’d just bought it and were trying to decide what to keep and what to throw out. His eyes lingered critically on the pink, rose-patterned rug and the matching gauzy curtains tied back with poufy pink bows. He didn’t bother to acknowledge my arrival, although his eyeballs did slowly swivel from the ribbons to my face and stay there accusingly, holding me personally responsible for the décor.

Which seemed utterly unfair, given that the culprit was sitting right there in a pink chair on the pink carpet in front of the pink curtains, wearing a pink dress.

Also, none of the runners ever treated Bazso that way.

“Bug,” I snapped, grouchy and in no mood to indulge him, “if you’re here, I presume it’s because you have a letter for me. Kindly produce it.” I held out an imperious hand.

With a disdainful sniff, he produced a crumpled wad of paper and shoved it at me. “Here.” Then he stared impudently, waiting for me to pay him to go away.

While I normally would do just that, today His Highness would have to endure my company a little longer. “Spider!” I called, pitching my voice to carry into the hallway. “Moth, Beetle, Mantis, Locust, there’s someone I would like you to meet!”

The Insect Kids obediently tumbled out of their compartment, scrambled into the doorway – and then froze, as if held back by a forcefield (or sheer terror of Faith). Recognizing his privileged status, Bug sneered.

“It’s all right,” I assured our runners-to-be. “You can come in here.”

“This time,” Faith promptly specified, rather undermining my efforts to introduce the children to one another on equal footing.

Hesitantly, the orphans crept into the common room and arrayed themselves slightly behind me, on the other side from Faith.

“This is Bug,” I told them, stepping aside. “He’s a runner from the Lampblacks.”

Awed by his membership in one of the famous Crow’s Foot gangs, the Insect Kids gaped at him. Bug, naturally, puffed up, raked each one with a contemptuous stare, and then glanced away. Beetle bristled. Spider and Moth very deliberately did not react. Mantis and Locust just looked confused.

I hid a sigh. “You’ll be seeing a lot of him,” I instructed our orphans, “especially after you start delivering messages for us. Bug, these are our new runners.” I named each one in turn.

He condescended to favor them with a regal nod before demanding, “So are you going to pay me, or what?”

It was my turn not to react as I counted out enough coppers to dispatch him. Once I’d dismissed Insect Kids too, I finally uncrumpled the letter and flattened it on the table. I recognized Mylera’s elegant handwriting immediately, although the message was couched in Bazso’s blunt words: “We have a job for you. We’ll be waiting at Tangletown.” I could just picture the two of them hunched over the mess hall table, Mylera with her pen poised over a sheet of paper and frowning ever so slightly as Bazso dictated.

Looking up at Faith and Ash, I announced, “The Lampblacks and Red Sashes want to hire us. Shall we head over to Tangletown?”

“I suppose, if we must…,” sighed Faith, allowing one arm to slip off her armrest and dangle listlessly.

“Wait, how do you know this isn’t a trap?” Ash objected. “I mean, you did betray both gangs. You don’t think they’re just the slightest bit upset with you at the moment?”

Faith’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she bounded out of her chair.

“No, no, it’s fine,” I dismissed his worries. “I was expecting this. Bazso told me this was coming.”

“And after years of gang warfare, they just came to the conclusion overnight that the Hive is a bigger threat so it’s time to bury ye old battleax?” Ash inquired sarcastically.

“Either that,” Faith cried, opening the door and energetically shooing me through it, “or after careful consideration and discussion, they came to the agreement that the hideous and horrendous betrayal by an agent of both was sufficient cause for them to come together to rid the world of that agent once and for all!” As always, her lack of need for oxygen was a marvel to behold. “And thus, they have decided to lure her in with a letter and a trap!”

“Yeeees.” Ash stretched out the syllable even more sarcastically. “So you’re saying that we should go and fall into this trap?”

“I want to fall into this trap! If I don’t fall into this trap, how will I see what happens to Isha?” Diving back across the room, Faith latched onto his arm and tugged hard.

Ash rolled his eyes heavenward. “Given that you used to work for the Church, haven’t you already seen plenty of horrible things?”

“Oh no, the things they do to Isha will be far, far worse. Or at least different. I’ll settle for different.” Faith obviously relished the prospect of watching two gang leaders brutally murder and dismember her crewmate – possibly not in that order – for the sheer novelty of it all.

Sticking my head back through the doorway, I snapped, “Nothing’s going to happen at this meeting, except that they’re going to offer us a job!” Presumably to take out Djera Maha or another high-ranking member of the Hive.

Bracing against Faith’s tugging, Ash registered his official protest: “I still think this is a terrible idea. Maybe we should take Cricket along for backup.”

“You’re welcome to call for her,” Faith shrugged, dropping his arm. “Isha and I will meet you on the boat.”

“We’re not going to need any backup!” I exclaimed, fed up with both of them. “There will be no trap!”

Ash looked highly dubious. Faith looked utterly crestfallen. But both of them followed me out of the Old Rail Yard and across the city to Tangletown.