To the amusement of both gangs (and the utter horror of poor Danfield), Ash, Faith, and I soon made good on our threat to run an orphanage. Our first order of business, naturally, was to inspect Strathmill House, that fine establishment dedicated to the conversion of street urchins into honest, upstanding, and productive members of society. Shockingly for Crow’s Foot, the place hadn’t been a crime front – up until now.

When our crew showed up at the front door with the Insect Kids in tow, a harried Skovlander woman in her mid-forties greeted us, a rolling pin in one hand and flour all over her face. She kept darting nervous glances back down the hallway, as if expecting an explosion at any second. “May I help you?” she inquired politely.

“Good afternoon,” Ash said briskly. “You must be the matron, Mrs. Lomond. I’ve heard good things about you!” Before she could protest, he pumped her floury hand, then introduced us. “My name is Ash, and these are my colleagues, Faith and Glass. We are the new supervisors of Strathmill House.”

The matron blinked at him. “New…supervisors?” she asked blankly.

“Oh, has no one informed you of the change in management? What a lamentable oversight.”

“Sir…?”

When Faith opened her mouth, possibly to opine on the previous supervisor’s lamentable taste in interior decoration, which didn’t include anything pink or frilly, I cut in. “What my colleague means to say is: Due to a recent reorganization, we find ourselves tasked with the governance of Strathmill House,” I explained. “In order to carry out our duties more effectively, we would like a tour of the premises.”

“Oh…oh, of course.” Mrs. Lomond stared down at her rolling pin a little helplessly. “Um, if I can put this back in the kitchen first, miss?”

“Certainly. We can start the tour there.”

As Mrs. Lomond led us down an eerily deserted hallway, the Insect Kids fanned out and peeked curiously into empty classrooms. Although the miniature tables and chairs impressed them, Faith scowled at the graffiti’ed blackboards and muttered something about books. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof.

“These are our five orphans. They will live in Strathmill House but will be free to come and go,” Ash stipulated, eyeballing the matron as if he expected her to shrill something about protecting her charges from the hazards of the streets – so she could extort us for their free passage.

Instead, she ran a hand through her greying light brown hair, cringed at the sounds of a fight breaking out right overhead, and agreed absently, “Yes, of course.”

“Actually,” I interrupted, addressing the children directly, “you’re welcome to keep living in the railcar if you want.” Faith made a little noise, whether of surprise or annoyance I didn’t know (and didn’t care). “Or you can stay here with other kids your age. Or both. It’s your choice.”

The Insect Kids had been eyeing the ceiling nervously. Something thumped so loudly that the plaster cracked and rained down little whitish bits. “Yes, miss,” Spider replied for all of them.

“Now run along and make friends or get into fights or do whatever it is small children do,” Faith instructed, flapping her hands at them. “Shoo!”

Out of habit, they scrambled out of range and then cocked their heads at Ash and me.

“Yes, go find Azael,” Ash confirmed. “He’s Tycherosian, about your age,” he added, looking at Spider. “Tell him that you’re the cohort of the crew that hired him and his friend to provide a distraction for…well, he’ll remember.”

Although Mrs. Lomond summoned the energy to look faintly appalled, the Insect Kids scampered up the nearest set of stairs in search of the Crow’s Foot orphans.

“Good!” proclaimed Faith, twirling into a classroom and flopping into a miniature chair (which creaked alarmingly but, to my disappointment, held her weight). “Now that we are unhampered by the delicate sensitivities of undeveloped minds, let us speak freely.”

In an unexpected display of vigor, she proceeded to pepper Mrs. Lomond with questions about how Strathmill House functioned. Over the course of the next half hour (during which the scuffle overhead reached an apotheosis, then cut off abruptly with piercing scream), we learned that most of the orphanage’s operating budget came from donations from noble and merchant families. The Strathmills, in particular, valued the bragging rights they derived from sponsoring a charity and held annual fundraising tea parties to extract coin from the likes of Vhetin Kellis (whose attendance at such tea parties both Irimina and Ash had so disdained).

As for the orphans, the majority had been born in Crow’s Foot, with a smattering from the Docks and Charhallow. A handful were dropped off as squalling infants, and occasionally citizens would get tired of seeing precocious scoundrels loitering about and haul them off to Strathmill House. Most of the children were Akorosian, although as an indication of Doskvol’s equal (lack of) opportunity, all the isles were represented. On Mrs. Lomond’s limited budget, each child got two sets of worn clothing, three meager meals a day, and a bed that was reasonably warm and marginally softer than a front stoop. There was no school, as she lacked the time (and, most likely, the educational background) to teach them, so the orphans ran wild during the day and returned every night like a flock of pigeons. Nearly all of them were petty criminals who pickpocketed citizens for pocket money while the matron sighed, shook her head, and looked the other way.

At the end of this interrogation, Faith waved her arms about and declared, “What an exemplary educational establishment! I can see that you’ve left no possible improvements for me to institute!”

Then she winked at the matron, who stared back in complete confusion.

I groaned.

I already knew what was coming.

Over the next few days, Faith swept through the orphanage like a bright pink cyclone, alternately shooing children out of the way so she could measure the classrooms for bookshelves, or interviewing them to determine which textbooks and graded readers to buy. One morning, she staggered through the front door lugging a bag full of pink streamers and bunting, which she distributed to a roomful of bewildered orphans.

“Classes start tomorrow morning, right after breakfast!” She beamed around the dining hall at a sea of dirty faces. “You are going to learn the three R’s: reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic! But first, we have to decorate the schoolroom to create the appropriate ambience for learning. Extra credit to whomever ties the biggest bows!”

Even though it wasn’t clear that the children understood the purpose of “extra credit,” they erupted into a flurry of activity. Soon the schoolroom walls sagged under the weight of truly gigantic, shimmery, pink bows, at which sight Faith gave a truly gigantic and overly contented sigh.

“Mmmm, much better. We’ll hold a painting party at some point. What Crow’s Foot really needs is a bright pink orphanage, right, Isha?”

She nudged me with one pink-slippered foot, which I stomped on.

But even I had to admit that her decorating exercise had one useful side effect: Shared terror of and morbid fascination with Faith finally integrated the Insect Kids into the gang of local orphans. Locust began to play with other five-year-olds instead of clinging to Mantis all the time, freeing Mantis to tag along with a little clump of seven- and eight-year-olds. Once classes started, Beetle flourished in the schoolroom and was soon running private tutoring sessions (and charging for them, naturally), while Moth whispered and giggled with other ten-year-old girls about the boys they thought were cute. To Ash’s eternal gratification, Spider and Azael clicked immediately and grew as thick as thieves.

Once Faith had cobbled together an academic schedule of sorts, Ash launched a lecture series on “How to Be a Slide.” Topics ranged from proper etiquette for different levels of society, to legal practices for cheating merchants, to the most effective ways to lie. Since he had that aspect of their education covered, I didn’t really know how to interact with the orphans beyond offering to help with homework. The Insect Kids gleefully accepted, but the others were much more standoffish – although I did notice them putting their new Slide skills to use, observing me covertly while I drilled Beetle in her multiplication tables or read the Akorosian Primer to Mantis. Mrs. Lomond, as was her habit, turned a blind eye to all these new shady activities going on under her roof, but Faith grew concerned enough to issue an official decree at supper (before food was served, to ensure she had everyone’s full attention).

“Kids, while petty theft is permissible, any higher-tier crime requires prior approval from one of the three of us. And neglect of schoolwork is completely unacceptable. Do you understand?”

The chorus of “Yes, Miss Karstas!” convinced her, although I personally suspected that the children would have promised anything if it would speed up their meal.

Honestly, the entire project seemed a little too benevolent for Faith, and indeed, my suspicions were soon borne out. “She’s most impressive at indoctrinating them to be loyal to us, isn’t she?” Ash remarked the next morning while we observed a history lesson on the founding of the Imperium.

If what I remembered from my own history lessons were any indication, Faith’s interpretation carried a decidedly anti-Church bent. There was no point in telling Ash that, though, not unless I wanted to hear his own, even more anti-Church, anti-Imperium version. “She’s spending too much time on the top students,” I criticized instead. “The slowest ones are getting left behind. Look, she’s called on that kid – ” I tipped my head at an Akorosian girl who sat in the front – “twice in a row now. Those two – ” I glared at pair of Dagger Islander boys who were whispering in a back corner – “aren’t even paying attention!”

“Well,” shrugged Ash, “that just means more business for Beetle.”

Perhaps, but I doubted Faith’s purpose here was to generate clients for our little Skovlander entrepreneur. And anyway, if she were trying to nurture the brightest children, then why was she ignoring Beetle’s waving hand in favor of calling on an Akorosian boy – oh. Oh.

I knew exactly what she was doing here.

After class, I cornered her and demanded, “You’re looking for someone you can train to infiltrate the Church, aren’t you?”

Opening her eyes wide, she feigned hurt. “Well, I never! Here I am, working my fingers to the bone – ” she shoved her chalky fingers under my nose – “so I can prepare these poor children to attend college so they’ll have a brighter future, and here you are, accusing me of a hidden agenda!”

Her impassioned defense failed to move me. “Then why have you been neglecting Beetle? She’s your best student.”

“Neglecting Beetle?” Before I could object, she called the girl over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Beetle, dear, Isha here thinks I’ve been neglecting you. Tell me honestly, do you feel neglected?”

“Faith,” I snapped.

Darting nervous glances between the two of us, Beetle quickly shook her head and skittered out from under Faith’s hand.

“There!” Faith beamed. “You see, Isha? Nothing to worry about.”

And she flounced down the hall, leaving me to dismiss the confused child.

But I kept an eye on her classes, and when her attention started to devolve on Spider, who as an Akorosi could potentially rise in the Church hierarchy, I squashed the notion.

“No,” I told her flatly. “None of the Insect Kids. Pick someone else for your vendetta.”

Faith pouted and complained most pitifully, but did remove him from her shortlist.

As morale improved, the children began to suggest uses for the leftover art supplies, and they soon festooned the rest of Strathmill House in pink ribbon too. Faith even made good on her threat to paint the orphanage pink, although given the ages of the painters, the walls had more of an ombre effect, with avant-garde splatters on the floorboards.

Meanwhile, our neighbor across the park, Mylera, was following these developments with increasing dismay. The next time I dropped by her office after my beginner lesson, she began, “Look, Signy – ” the name she insisted on using in private, probably because I didn’t know her real name – “I know there’s only so much you can do, but this is really going too far.”

The words were stern enough, but she was lounging back in her chair with a cup of coffee, and a semi-amused smile played over her lips.

Relaxing against my own chair back, I shrugged and protested comically, “What do you expect me to do about it?”

The joke, unfortunately, had broader implications than intended. Sitting up straight, Mylera demanded, “Can you do anything about it? Because that would be wonderful.”

Staying in a slouched position, I raised my eyebrows. “I really don’t think so. You have not seen our railcar. And I don’t think you want to.”

“No,” she agreed flatly. “I’m just saying that Crow’s Foot has a reputation to maintain.” (Faith burst into shrill giggles when I later recounted the conversation to her and Ash.)

“Well,” I pointed out, mostly facetiously, “you could look at it this way: Given Crow’s Foot’s reputation, it’s even creepier to have a pink orphanage decked with pink ribbons.”

“No,” Mylera repeated firmly. “We already have the Dimmer Sisters and their lace curtains. They have that aspect of Crow’s Foot covered.”

The Dimmer Sisters were a famously reclusive group of Whispers (or ghosts, or maybe even vampires, depending on the tale) who lived in a fine old manor house that somehow never, ever got vandalized. Plus everyone knew that people who went into their house never, ever came out again. Even after her stunt with the pile of bodies at the foot of the Crow’s Nest, Faith didn’t have quite that much clout in the district yet.

“Mylera,” I exclaimed, waving my empty coffee cup, “just be glad she hasn’t painted the entire outside of the orphanage pink yet!”

“Oh, gods.” The head of the Red Sashes and ward boss of the Docks dropped her head into her hands. “You’re going to keep her from doing that, right?” When (recalling the ladders I’d seen propped up around the front door this morning) I didn’t answer immediately, Mylera lifted her head in one swift motion and gave me a hard stare. “Right?”

“I’ll try,” I promised, not really meaning it.

“Good. Because we do have a reputation to maintain.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I assured her with more confidence than I felt.

Luckily for me, Faith’s and Mylera’s interests coincided on this point. After the obligatory whining about how much the children loved the color pink and how important teambuilding exercises such as painting parties were to forging bonds and fostering esprit de corps, Faith pouted out her conclusion: “I suppose we can refrain from painting the entire outside of Strathmill House pink. But we must compensate the crestfallen children somehow for their crushed hopes….” Twisting a lock of hair, she pretended to think hard. “Maaaaaaybe we can pick one of them – as a representative of the children! – and offer them complimentary fencing lessons at the prestigious Red Sash Sword Academy as a consolation prize!”

And I was sure that the fact that all nobles knew how to fence, and all higher-ups in the Church of Ecstasy came from the nobility, played no role whatsoever in her calculation.

“Just one?” I tested. “How about all the twelve-year-olds?”

She returned a saccharine smile. “That seems overambitious, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t want to tax the patience of a ruthless gang leader with hordes of small children, would you?”

When I went back across the park to relay this offer, Mylera agreed without hesitation. “You’re not going to paint the orphanage pink, and you’re going to take down the bows canal-side, and then I’ll let one of the kids into my school.”

“Done,” I replied promptly.

Ash would probably have bargained out of sheer force of habit to keep some of the bows up, but I wasn’t Ash, and if Faith had really cared about what Charterhall saw from across the canal, then she would have sent him.

That, of course, didn’t stop her from whimpering pathetically at me anyway.

“But you have to understand how much the kids love the pink ribbons! You don’t want to make the orphans sad, do you, Isha? Tell Mylera she’s going to make the orphans sad!”

I did not convey that to the head of the Red Sashes.