To my relief, when I checked on him, Ash wasn’t doing anything out of the normal. No, he was just hard at work reinforcing our façade as civic-minded citizens while inflaming the civil war between Spirit Warden factions.

To achieve the former, he poured coin into gentrifying the neighborhood around Strathmill House. Like the rest of Crow’s Foot, it mostly consisted of rundown buildings with shops on the ground floor and what might charitably be described as “apartments” above them. Since local business had been stunted by gang warfare, he decided to pay nicer stores from other districts to move in. He took the orphans restaurant-hopping in Coalridge and let them pick their favorite, a surprisingly good hole-in-the-wall Skovlander place near the Old Rail Yard. Once Ash had dealt with all the financial issues, the owner was happy to leave her cramped, soot-choked nook. Meanwhile, the Crow’s Foot citizenry was equally happy and spread the word to friends and family, and soon our area was drawing foot traffic from Silkshore and even Charterhall.

At the same time that he was upgrading our neighborhood, Ash was also popping into taverns across Doskvol to spread rumors about Elder Rowan’s demonic connections. “Y’know,” he whispered to one group of drinkers in the Docks, “I saw her lift a box twenty times her weight. And I said to myself, ‘That’s unnat’ral.’ And I was right.” Dressed as a librarian, he asked the clerks in a Charterhall bar, “Don’t you think that Elder Rowan’s obsession with the arcane bordered on eerie? One time she came to the library and checked out an entire stack of books on demonology! Didn’t she research hulls? What do hulls have to do with demons?”

His listeners oohed and aahed and spread their own embellished versions of his tales, and soon even Brightstone was abuzz with speculation as to why the real Elder Rowan hadn’t reappeared yet to take back control of the Spirit Wardens.

Inspired by Ash’s efforts, I disguised myself as a visiting scholar and met with Charterhall University professors to discuss the theory of demon-human hybrids. Once I’d gotten them all excited about this new research direction, I proposed that they apply for funding to examine its potential applications. Naturally, the more we shone the spotlight on demons in Doskvol, the more the Spirit Wardens had to concede that it wasn’t impossible to interpret Rowan’s autopsy results as revealing a very well-concealed demonic nature. Heat from the authorities thus temporarily suppressed, Ash and I took a break from our busy lives to – traumatize some children.

“Isha,” Ash called one day as I walked into the orphanage, “there is an important conversation we need to have. I’ve already summoned the Insect Kids and Azael, if you’d care to join us?”

Intrigued, I followed him into the conference room to find Moth, Beetle, Mantis, and Locust peering around curiously, while Spider and Azael tried very hard to act as if they came in here all the time. (Faith was away, which explained why they were in here in the first place.)

Without preamble, Ash began, “So, children, there’s something very important that we need to tell you. I think you already know that something large is happening.”

Six pairs of frightened eyes stared at him. As their spokesman, Spider gave a wary nod.

“I would say that it’s a testament to our abilities that we have not needed to discuss this with you before,” Ash continued without bothering to tone down his vocabulary.

Locust, Mantis, and Beetle all blinked.

“But this time, it is entirely possible that we will not return.”

That part, even Locust understood. He flung his arms around Mantis and squeezed as hard as he could. Mouth slightly ajar, Beetle cast a pleading glance at me.

Before I could stop him, Ash declared, “Things can happen – well, let’s say that the forces we’re up against are more than capable, and – I won’t call it luck – but it is the blessing of the gods that we are still here. And if there were ever a time when we might not return, the next score is it.”

Perhaps it was hubris, but even with Sigmund’s hints, the thought had never occurred to me. All the soothing phrases I’d come up with flew clean out of my head, and I whirled to demand, “Are you really expecting us to die?”

Torn between fear and hope, Spider, Moth, and Azael looked from Ash to me and then back to Ash.

As matter-of-factly as if we were discussing which textbooks to order next, he replied, “Dunvil must have seen the pattern by now. It’s entirely reasonable that we won’t come back – and not because we chose to go our separate ways.”

I clenched my jaw. That was fair. By whittling away his allies first, we’d deprived Dunvil of crucial support – but also given him ample time to prepare. And who knew what defenses a part-demon Preceptor of the Church could devise?

At Moth’s whimper, Ash told the children, “Up until now, there’s always been a hope that one of us would return, but, whatever Miss Karstas might claim, none of us are immortal. Uh, and…we need you all to know….” Words of affection stuck in his throat, as they always did, so he gave up and switched back to a more practical vein. “We need to tell you about the assets that we control because, for me at least, there isn’t anyone else to leave them to.” Recalling his mother and sister, who’d be more than happy to inherit our crew’s assets, he corrected himself, “Of course there are, but there’s no one we trust more. We know that you’re not really – ”

Although his stuttered explanation only confused Beetle, Mantis, and Locust more and more, Moth broke down and started sobbing. Spider and Azael regarded us with mask-like faces.

“We’ll try our hardest to come back,” I promised, meeting each of their eyes in turn and trying to reassure them with a confident tone.

Perhaps regretting his bluntness, Ash added, “We’re very good at what we do. But if we don’t come back, here are the people you can trust: Nyryx at the Docks, my mom, of course – Azael knows where to find her – ”

“The Lampblacks and the Red Sashes,” I put in. They had, after all, offered to protect the children while we went after the Hive, and had even thwarted attempts to burn down the orphanage. “You can go to Bazso or Mylera.”

Since we were suggesting criminals as guardians, Ash reminded the children, “Don’t forget Ilacille, the priestess at the Temple to the Forgotten Gods.”

I wanted to include Sigmund, but I knew that he’d hate getting saddled with a passel of children, so I ended the list with, “And Lady Irimina Kinclaith.” As an orphan herself, and for Faith’s sake, she’d make sure nothing happened to our little delinquents.

Ash then starting reciting all the bank accounts where they could find our stash.

Locust, Mantis, and Beetle still looked totally lost, but Moth, Spider, and Azael were frowning and concentrating as hard as they could. As I watched them drink down every last piece of information, I suddenly saw the scoundrels they would grow up to be: Spider and Azael were well on their way to Slide-hood, while Moth was becoming increasingly manipulative and Spider-like, even if she hadn’t conquered her softer side yet.

Feeling a surge of pride, I hand-signed at Ash, They’ll be okay.

He signed back, Well, one of them will probably die. This isn’t exactly a safe life.

It’s not like they’re going to become assassins!

At least, not if I had any say in the matter. Ash’s concerns notwithstanding, I had every intention of coming back and steering the orphans in a much safer direction.

After that conversation, we had to console the children somehow, so we took the whole orphanage to watch Ian Templeton’s play, A Rose Blooms in Betuat. Controlling them the entire time in front of the upper-class patrons of Spiregarden Theater was a challenge, to say the least. However, by the end of the evening, the children were all fascinated by Iruvia and Iruvians, and Ash, Faith, and I had burnished our image as the Saints of Strathmill House.

With the orphans comforted (or distracted, anyway), Ash went back to building his coalition of forgotten god cults. Complicating this task was his desire to pick the ones that were strong enough to challenge the Church without getting destroyed, that the children were interested in, and that were willing to work with us. The cults of the Unbroken Sun and the Golden Stag, for example, wanted absolutely nothing to do with us.

One orphan suggested The Dream Beyond Death, the god of the underworld that we could no longer reach. “Priestess Ilacille says that it’s about the promise that if we can fix the Gates of Death and allow souls to attain peace again, then this world can be redeemed,” the child parroted, her eyes bright.

“That’s…wholesome,” Ash remarked to Faith and me afterwards. “For a death cult.”

Upon further investigation, he discovered that it was indeed full of naïve idealists who were searching in a lowkey and haphazard way for fragments of the Gates of Death, in hopes of reconstructing them someday in the distant future. While he was relieved that they wouldn’t put our orphan in any kind of danger, their preference for dreaming about what could be rather than fixing what was annoyed him.

Eventually, after further consultation with the children, he selected a few cults whose hatred of the Church matched his own. In typical Ash style, he spied on them until he identified their most dicey activities, such as theft, and then hired thugs to perform those so the cultists wouldn’t have to risk themselves. Gradually, they stopped struggling with their own issues and grew secure enough to help him with his.

Unfortunately, the Spirit Wardens were still on high alert, and whatever their internal divisions, they all agreed that forgotten god worshippers had to be stamped out. Shortly after the cult of Our Blood Spilled in Glory started to flex its newfound strength, every one of its members was hauled off to Bellweather Crematorium.

They were never heard from again.

The next time Ash took his “Paths to Power” class to the Temple, Illacile didn’t scold him for impatience or overzealousness – but she didn’t address a word to him, either. All she did was guide the orphans to their favorite gods, return to the altar of Our Blood Spilled in Glory, and pray. The silent treatment hurt Ash, but as she hadn’t banned him from the Temple (yet), he went to report to That Which Hungers.

Since riling up aggressive cults had ended in miserable failure, Ash turned to subtler means. During his next “Paths to Power” class, he taught the orphans about the concept of endowments.

“If you just give an institution, say, five coin, it will probably spend it immediately and waste it,” he lectured. “Often, the best strategy is not to give them the five coin directly, but to give them an investment worth five coin that will provide them with regular income. Obviously, the stock market doesn’t exist in Doskvol the way it does in Tycheros, but you can still own companies and such.” He cited several case studies to illustrate this point, then announced: “Here is your practicum: Pretend that you each have two or three coin to spend on your favorite cult. How would you endow it?”

He got a lot of very blank stares.

After a few awkward minutes of silence, one child raised his hand and asked tentatively, “Uh, Mr. Slane, what’s an ‘endowment’ again?”

Ash sighed, crestfallen that one lecture wasn’t enough to transform them into financial analysts. He translated, “From what you know of the cults, what would help them most?”

That the children could actually answer, and while the students didn’t get much out of that lesson, the teacher gained a much better understanding of what resources would benefit the cults – which was most of what he’d wanted anyway.

Afterwards, Ash fretted to Faith and me, “I think the orphans are fragmenting too much. I’m going to steer them all towards The Dream Beyond Death. It’s acceptably safe. I won’t force them to join, of course. That would be wrong,” he hastened to add.

Undaunted by our bored expressions, he brought out his fragment of the Gates of Death and displayed it to the orphans. “This is one of the most sacred relics of the cult of The Dream Beyond Death,” he explained reverently. “It’s a piece of the portal to the underworld that was shattered during the Cataclysm. Let me show you where I keep it, in case I don’t come back from our next score. You should tell the adepts that you know where it is. ”

Unlike Faith and me, the cult’s leaders were very interested in this development, and the orphans shot up through their ranks.

Meanwhile, Ash appeased Ilacille via a large donation, and she reluctantly agreed to help him reach out to other cults again. At the end of all this maneuvering, he finally achieved his dream of forging a coalition of cults.