No matter how much I hated what we’d done to Candra Sarnai, I had to admit that it worked. Our crew had so much heat that the city would have fallen upon us and hauled us off to Ironhook Prison for summary execution – if not for our Inspector ally. Salia indicated that she was willing to collaborate on the contents of “Sarnai’s” report, which meant that we just had to supply a scapegoat. After a bit of discussion, during which Ash pointed out that we shouldn’t target the Penderyns because Lord Penderyn was one of the Reconciled’s “fancy recruits,” and Faith observed that the Billhooks had already turned themselves in for our crimes, I suggested Djera Maha’s nephews.

“The Hive is certainly powerful enough to have sent assassins against Strangford,” Ash thought aloud, “and they are weak at the moment….”

That they were. We’d decimated their leadership and now the Hive factions were busy purging one another. All the infighting gave me an idea. “Two of the Ascendent could have had a power struggle.” I couldn’t imagine that relations among ruthless, megalomaniac demon-human hybrids tended towards peaceable. “Strangford could have corrupted Marne Booker and sent her to murder Djera Maha, so her nephews killed him in turn.”

“I could see the Hive being motivated by revenge,” agreed Ash (unnecessarily, given what they’d done to Pickett and Xayah on the mere suspicion that the Lampblacks and Red Sashes had killed Karth Orris). “Do you have a preference as to which nephew we blame?”

Why choose? “I want to take out both. We can get rid of one first and deal with the other later – but I want both dead.”

When we raised the idea with Salia, she backed me up. “Wayan and Kuwat Maha do tend to travel as a unit,” the information broker told Ash, “so it’s plausible that they assassinated Lord Strangford together.” She wrote up these “findings,” sent them via express diplomatic courier to Imperial City, and prepared to follow herself.

A few days later, the newspapers were all screaming that Imperial Inspector Candra Sarnai had been ambushed on the train by Hive assassins and tragically died of her wounds. The next time we saw Nyryx, she reported that Salia had returned to Doskvol safely and was back at the helm of the Reconciled.

The “Inspector’s” death must have lent extra credence to her report, because a few weeks later, the Lord Governor sent the Imperial Marines to storm the Hive’s island fortress and arrest Wayan and Kuwat Maha. Within a week, the two hitmen been tried, sentenced to death, and executed – at which point, all the gangs of Doskvol decided that a celebration was in order and threw a massive party at Tangletown.

I approved.

The crew soon had much more to celebrate. Delighted that their son had gotten away with his heinous crime (of being a rich, entitled jerk), the Bowmores happily paid us our eight coin. The infusion of cash enabled us to solidify our hold over Strathmill House, the orphan gang, and assets such as the Orchid Salon – plus hire an expert tinkerer at last.

“I like the idea of dragging in some poor grad student who wants to make a little money on the side teaching orphans!” Faith chirped. “We can post an ad on a corkboard at Charterhall University!”

For once, it was a sensible suggestion. We duly put up flyers and reeled in one Edwina Sevoy, a master’s student with the Sparkwrights who needed a lot of outside funding for both her personal spark-craft projects and her massive drug addiction. As part of her salary – with the clear understanding that she would restrict drug abuse to her own time – I negotiated a lower rate on Black Lotus from the Red Sashes.

However, meeting with Mylera turned out to be more awkward than expected, because the Spirit Wardens had taken an interest in the gang after the events on the canal. As a result, Red Sashes kept interrupting us with reports that they’d hidden away this stash of contraband, or cleared out that drug den, or finished taking down all the statues of She Who Slays in Darkness.

“What’s going on?” I finally asked, worried that Mylera blamed me for her woes. “The Spirit Wardens haven’t arrested anyone, have they?”

“No, thanks to your actions on the boat.” But her tone was more curt than the words justified. She muttered something about how it wasn’t anything I could have foreseen, how it was something her own people had done, then told me, “I’m afraid we won’t be much help in your endeavors for a while, but we will clean up our own mess.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” I pressed.

“Not unless you can travel back in time,” she said shortly. “It’s all right. It’s going to be fine.” She sighed, belying her words. “It’s just…something that needs to be dealt with. Besides – shouldn’t you be saving Iruvia?”

Et tu, Mylera? “I think I’m getting there,” I replied, a bit too defensively. Injecting more confidence into my voice, I asserted, “I’m getting there.”

She nodded, not really listening.

Ash was the one who provided a clue as to the nature of the Spirit Wardens’ interest in the Red Sashes. Since he was still recovering from the massive ritual he’d performed, he was spending a lot of time at the Temple to the Forgotten Gods, praying to That Which Hungers.

One evening, he returned to the railcar and commented, “Well, Ilacille was certainly annoyed. It seems like whatever the Spirit Wardens are investigating the Red Sashes for was something they’d done to try to help us.”

My ears pricked up. “Really?”

“Yes. The altar of She Who Slays in Darkness had a new dark stain. When I asked about it, Ilacille said that we appear to entering another period of proactivity.” Ash sounded approving, but turned disgruntled as he continued, “She lectured me on how she understands that I am young and passionate and zealous about proving my devotion, but she is none of those things and prefers a more measured approach. According to her, the gods operate on such a long timescale that the Cataclysm feels like a day or two ago to them, and it is the cults that get impatient and threaten the delicate balance we have to maintain. I asked if the stain had anything to do with us, and her answer was that if she said yes, it would only encourage me.” (She had almost certainly gauged Ash correctly.) “Then she said, ‘This only happened because they were trying to help you, but they didn’t end up helping anybody’.” Ash and I exchanged a confused glance. “You’re kind of the best person to find out more here. Have you learned anything else?”

“Not since the last time I talked to Mylera.” Ardashir had also proven vague and unhelpful, although that might have been because he was busy making sure that the boat’s ownership papers were all in order. “But I’m going to teach tomorrow, so I can ask her again.”

“It’s probably worth trying, because we’re at least sort of responsible.” Ash dragged out the sentence, reluctant to accept blame for our actions. “Originally, I thought that they’d just done, I don’t know, the normal kinds of things people do to anger the Spirit Wardens. This whole guilt feeling is quite annoying, to be honest.” He scowled. “It’s probably the orphans causing it.”

Appalled by the children’s petty crimes, Edwina had begun campaigning to rehabilitate them into legitimate members of society. She couldn’t understand our lack of enthusiasm – and kept trying to stoke it.

Ash dismissed the pricking of his conscience with a wave of his hand. “I assume it’s seasonal, though. It’ll go away.”

Not so long as we kept Edwina around – but I let him have his pipe dream.

While her poor crewmate struggled with unaccustomed feelings of moral culpability, Faith enjoyed a session with her own, non-judgmental vice purveyor (as reported to me later by said vice purveyor’s definitely horrified-and-censorious employee, my mousy archivist).

Floating into the Sensorium, Faith greeted Madame Keitel with a playful, “It’s been so long, beautiful.”

“It has,” one of Faith’s two true friends agreed. “Have you been taking care of yourself? Everything good?”

Faith shook her head sorrowfully. “Well, it’s just – this new work, I thought it would be exciting, but everything has been so booooring recently. There haven’t been any challenges.”

Madame Keitel patted her hand consolingly.

“And, for some reason, all of my allies want to stand between me and my enemies. It’s adorably protective of them, but yet, it just doesn’t go well with my style. So I thought I’d come here and make up for it. Get a little excitement.”

“Well, darling, what’s your pleasure?” Pulling out a rack of glowing blue bottles, Madame Keitel thumbed through them.

Faith just heaved a deep sigh.

“Something happy?” Madame Keitel suggested. “Something sad? Something painful?”

After a long hesitation, Faith said, “I think…what I want…are some of my old memories. Secrets of the Church.”

Madame Keitel (and the archivist, who was a dutiful weekly Churchgoer) froze. Forcing herself to relax again, she affected a casual tone. “Oh. Well, I can certainly give you some of those.”

“I would appreciate that….” Then, realizing that she was breaking character the way Ash had during the Sarnai score, Faith snapped back into her usual persona and dimpled. “I have an adorable pet I need to raise, and I prefer not to put them in too much danger. Might be good to know what they’re getting into.”

Madame Keitel just nodded mutely.

“And probably something relevant too….” Faith tipped her head to a side, feigning serious thought. “Oh! Romance!” she exclaimed. “I want to feel like the protagonist in a romance novel.”

Very, very drily, Madame Keitel remarked, “I certainly have a popular selection along those lines.”

“I don’t know why some people rely on books!” Faith pouted. “Some things are so much better when they’re more visceral.”

As the two moved towards the back of the building, the proprietress of the Sensorium half-joked, “There are some people – unenlightened people – who think this is unnatural. Not what nature intended. Madness inducing.”

(By this point, the archivist was firmly in that camp, but he scooped up an armful of empty bottles and followed them anyway.)

Faith’s sweet, girlish voice echoed around the hallway. “Why, yes, of course. Isn’t that the point?”

The two entered a room that only Madame Keitel was allowed to access, but the archivist lingered in the hall and peeped through a crack in the door as she opened a hidden drawer. Inside it glinted rows and rows of bottles with outdated shapes and yellowing labels. Madame Keitel selected a handful, carefully re-locked the drawer and the room, and then led Faith back to the main archive. There, she went straight to the romance section, where she grabbed a much newer bottle without even having to think about it.

Faith spent the next few hours in the pink salon, presumably relearning how she had risen in the Church and getting simultaneously perplexed and bored to death by the romance. Afterwards, as she returned the bottles, she told Madame Keitel, “So I recently came across a new toy, and I don’t really know what to do with it. We could dismantle it – but maybe there’s a better use? It’s an Inspector.”

For the second time that day, Madame Keitel (and the archivist) froze. “Like – an Imperial Inspector?” she almost squeaked.

Faith smiled, showing her even, white teeth.

Madame Keitel exhaled. “I just don’t want to know, do I?”

“You really, really don’t,” Faith assured her.

“I kind of do….”

“It has to do with the romance novels.”

Madame Keitel nodded grimly. “You seduced an Inspector.” Her tone wavered between a statement and a question.

“I wish it had been I!” Faith cried. She pressed the romance bottle into Madame Keitel’s limp hand and dimpled again, maliciously this time. “But I must admit, it was amusing to force Ash to do it.”

“Well.” Madame Keitel considered, fiddling with the bottle and perhaps trying to picture Ash seducing anyone who was not an accountant or financier. “I could certainly take it off your hands. On the other hand, I suppose it could be useful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Faith promised. Leaning forward, she pecked Madame Keitel on the cheek. “Well, dear, I’d best get back to my children. Who knows what schemes they might have come up with in my absence? Until next time!”

“Until next time,” replied Madame Keitel, still looking dazed. “It’s good to see you, Faith.”

The archivist very much did not agree with that sentiment.