Geun pleaded, “Can’t you just stop here?”

Lyubov planted her hand on his forehead again, and she wasn’t gentle as she forced her way back into his mind. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to weep, he wanted to throttle her, he wanted to flee; he had no choice.

She snapped at him, “Show me what I want and it stops. The interrogation is taking forever because you won’t cooperate. Stop fighting it!”

The blood pushed against his temples, warning that someone was forcing their way through behind him. Guen started turning but he knew it was too late. He hadn’t sensed the arrival until it was almost done. A sharp slash of pain overrode all of Geun’s concerns as a birch branch switched his back. It stung angrily and made his scars ache; his aunt had left another welt on him.

She said, “Stop fighting it! The integration is taking ages because you won’t cooperate. You should have been able to tell when I appeared behind you.”

Guen wheezed, “My blood’s not talking to me like it used to. Everything’s fuzzy.”

The switch cut through the air again and Geun took the welt on his arm as he flailed defensively.

When he opened his eyes, auntie had already teleported out of reach. She yelled at him, “Who told you to stop running? Keep moving!”

He gritted his teeth and started running again, trying to power through the exhaustion, the pain, and the paranoid uncertainty of worrying when the next switching would arrive. He felt dizzy; there was a constant pressure on his temples like a hand gripping him: the start of a serious headache.

Lyubov asked, “What are you here for?”

The memory was crisp, and tinged with a sense of irritation. Guen couldn’t stop thinking about how he had sidled up to the front desk for the Hidden Hotel.

The autumn goblin behind the desk stared at him with bulging gray eyes. He had skin the color of dying leaves and wore a handsome coat made of kidskin. He folded his hands together, swiveled around on his short stool, and asked in Japanese, “What are you here for?”

Geun opened his mouth, Korean words spilling out as he said, "That last job; not speaking English was a big disadvantage. Didn't know what the target’s helpers were saying; was more dangerous than it should have been, Boon-Broker. I want to get someone to put the language in my head. Twice now, I've dealt with English speakers for you."

Boon-Broker clicked his long fingernails against the countertop once in thought, and then declared, “For you, I offer: full command of the English language, including all modern colloquialisms. Additional value added service for you: technical vocabulary relevant to your profession, full seamless interface so that your chosen words match your desired intent, and a non-descript accent.”

"What’s the price?"

“As payment for service: a job as per your rental agreement.”

Guen’s memory briefly turned to his hand sweeping up a pile of spilled diamonds, spoils from a recent adventure, and he asked, "Seriously? You won’t take gems?"

“A job,” the stumpy goblin repeated.

Geun tried to not let his frustration show. He said in Japanese, “I’ll think about it,” his feelings mixed about probably commiting to commit murder, just to learn English quickly.

The memory faded from prominence as Lyubov let up her grip. She spoke aloud, “That’s the one who hired you for this job, isn’t it? Yes, you seem to be thinking along the correct lines now.”

Lyubov tweaked something in Geun’s heart; unbidden, a far more recent memory came to mind, and Geun found himself thinking of his experiences of his last few hours as a free man.

In his mind’s eye he was standing in the lobby of the Hidden Hotel, right in front of Boon-Broker. The stumpy autumn goblin folded his hands together, his stubby little claws tapping obnoxiously against the floor as he drummed his toes to mark time. His smile was like rows of obsidian arrowheads, all glinting in the twilight.

He made his pitch in one long, breathless, patter, “The job offered tonight: to steal information, or one personal item, or one kiss from the Yokai-Shugo. Equipment to be provided: an item for your teleportation bloodline to target, a charm for catching a kiss, a bag to hold things. Once inserted: avoid unnecessary conflicts. Unconditionally spare: domestic servants, innocents. Prioritize: information regarding Yokai-Sho organization structure, information regarding Yokai-Sho troop composition, hair or clothing of the Yokai-Shugo. Top priority: a kiss from her. Mission abort condition: encountering Kigen Hanmaki. Do you accept the job?”

Boon-Broker was acutely aware that he was the last game in town for Geun; it made Geun constantly on guard. The back of his brain tickled. The offer of a chance to refuse was a technicality to be adhered to; a courtesy. Both are important to the autumn goblins.

The job was tempting fate but with a bounty on his head, a debt marker against his soul, and a young cousin to support, what choice did Geun have? Boon-Broker didn’t take charity cases for his hidden hotel, and the only work Geun could do that paid enough for the assistance were high-risk high-return jobs. Like breaking into the so-called Ministry of Monsters to rob the “Governor of Monsters” herself.

Geun dithered and asked, “What’s the Yokai-Shugo look like? How wary is she likely to be? And, how likely is it that I could even escape if the Kigen figured out what I was there for?”

Boon-Broker let his lips curl into a little sneer and explained, “Appearance: Like the girls you rent and bring here. Brown hair, blue eyes. Wariness: Unknown, new gyobukami vary greatly in ability. Survival if discovered: only if the Kigen willfully shows mercy.”

Geun asked, “I don’t know the term gyobukami. I know it literally means ‘god punisher’ but what’s the connotation?”

Boon-Broker solemnly answered, “A living weapon made with rituals now forbidden. Reputation: powerful, and usually quite insane. Suggestion: approach as a greater dragon. Surprise and stealth are your allies.”

“Great. And I only need one of the three objectives before I can return?”

“Yes. Bonuses for objectives beyond the first.”

Geun let a little frustration show. “This is more dangerous than the usual. If I’m unable to return you’ll pay the insurance to Yeon without delay, agreed?”

“Benefit: Paid per prior agreement. Death or dismemberment only.”

Geun schooled his features to be grave as he said, “Without delay, you hear me?”

“Agreed.”

Geun held out his hand, and Boon-Broker clasped it, his clammy little fingers wrapping around as they shook.

“A done deal,” Boon-Broker crooned, his grin returning to full size.

“A done deal,” Geun agreed, confirming his assent to the contract.

Boon-Broker reached under the counter that served as the hotel’s front desk and procured a plain looking messenger’s satchel made of supple brown leather with a bronze clasp and fittings. It would be at home nearly anywhere. He handed it over to Geun.

The inside of the messenger’s satchel was an irregular space. Instead of a single compartment, Geun saw a confusing mess of ideas. The concept of nothing was the most obvious item, followed in a distant second by a little amulet of polished milky stone etched with a network of runes culminating in a chiasmus. The last idea held in the bag was a piece of flagstone. Unassuming, normal, and unremarkable.

Geun thought of the amulet and stuffed his hand inside. The cool stone and the metal chain it was attached to fell into his open palm, and he removed it from the bag.

He hefted it. “Is this marble?”

The goblin rasped, “Galatea’s flesh: carved as bone, washed in Pygmalion’s tears.”

Geun mumbled, “I hope that’s metaphorical.”

Boon-Broker grinned nastily.

Geun looped the necklace over his head and stuffed the amulet itself down his shirt, letting it dangle alongside his personal charm amulets. Next he thought of the flagstone, and again reached inside the messenger’s bag. It fell into his hand.

“Sincere wish: good luck to you.”

Geun hooked the messenger bag over his shoulder and shut his eyes. As soon as he centered his mind’s eye on the flagstone and set his heart on finding where the rock belonged, his blood began to whisper. It spoke of a world built from the stuff of dreams, a land twisted on itself at the whim of one who shaped the infinite into the impossible; an origin point for magic itself seated in the living soul of a little girl: the Mahou no Kigen Hyougo Hanmaki. She was one of the living moods of magic, a ley-line with a human heart, a source of power and, in the sense Pratchett wrote about in his fiction, a true “sourcerer”; a magic user for whom limits were suggestions.

The flagstone’s twin was so tightly tied to Kigen Hanmaki herself that Geun worried he would make a mistake and land at her feet. Still, he had committed to the job, and if he did err he could try to run right away. Maybe she’d laugh instead of destroy him.

He opened his eyes and found himself standing in a garden on an island floating amid a network of paths looping every which way and connecting to other floating islands, each equally verdant. Some hung upside-down, treetops reaching toward the island Geun was standing on. There was no horizon; nothing pressed against the bright blue mockery of a sky, no sun nor moon to provide a reference point. The light was perfect and totally uniform. There were no shadows anywhere. Not a one.

Geun stuffed the flagstone back in his messenger bag. If he didn't bring it back Boon-Broker would charge him for it. He had no idea which path would lead to the Yokai-Shugo, so he resorted to strolling around like he was a guest instead of a thief. It would hopefully, at most, mean a servant telling him he had wandered into a restricted area and asking him to please go this way instead.

“Oldest trick in the book,” he mumbled to himself, as he walked along a ribbon of cobblestone path that corkscrewed around a pillar covered in beds of violets, five meters overhead.

“Which trick?” asked a man who had been sitting on the other side of the pillar, hidden from view until Geun rounded the curve.

Thinking on his feet, Geun deflected, “The left-hand rule when you’re in a maze. This is a garden maze right? This place is gorgeous. Are you the gardener?”

The other man looked up so that he could see Geun properly, since gravity was relative to the surfaces each man was upon. Geun took stock: the fellow was built like a mobile slab of beef. He had a shock of blonde hair and a bottle of something that smelled high proof, even with the physical distance between them.

Geun had a rough sense that the big man burned with vitality; that his magic power flowed skin deep. It reminded Geun of practitioners of the subtle body art, physically oriented magicians who built their power through hard work mastering their ki instead of inheritance by clan bloodlines. It is true, but if that’s all he could tell from Palkin then his aunt really fucked him up. He should be able to sense more than just that.

“Нет,” answered the big guy, in Russian before correcting himself and switching back to Japanese, with an accent that sounded right out of Osaka, like a fisherman or a gangster or one of the many comedians Geun had watched when he was learning Japanese, “No. Not at all. Kigen Hanmaki has gnomes and younger kitsune to tend the garden. It is not a maze. Just a place for relaxing with a drink.”

“Oh. How do I get to the Yokai-Shugo?” Geun decided to go for broke, since this man seemed to be a resident.

“You are lost,” he declared. He added, “She meets visitors in the main building. Go along this path, turn left at the fork, and then ask one of the attendants to show you to the audience chamber.”

“Thank you stranger. I appreciate it.”

The big man asked, “You are sure you know the way? You will not wander?”

“I should be fine thanks to your directions, good sir.”

“Palkin.”

“Sir Palkin?”

“Palkin.”

The big man seemed to judge him then, and stood. He plugged the end of his bottle with an overlarge thumb and squatted, his muscles uncoiling in one explosive bound as he made a leap from the pillar of flowers to the path, somersaulting once as he cleared the distance. He landed on his feet with a heavy thump that seemed to shake flagstones and bones alike, and extended his hand to Geun.

Geun allowed his hand to be enveloped by Palkin’s, and made the decision to play it straight. “I’m Geun.”

Lie detection was a common enough tool for magic users of all stripes, and the most common form it took required a physical connection with the liar: a handshake, a pat on the back, or something Owned by the liar. More expensive lie detecting spells could work at range, or even over a telephone, but if Palkin had one of those Geun was already in trouble.

Palkin clapped Geun on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over with his enthusiasm, and asked, “You are here for a job?”

Geun tamped down his shock. “Yes.”

Palkin finally gave Geun his hand back then, and started down the path toward the building.

“Good. She is looking for workers. We do not have enough yet to do all the jobs. It is a big problem if we lack inspectors to check compliance.”

Geun decided to take the opportunity to probe a bit. “I thought she wanted soldiers?”

“Those too. But we are,” and here Palkin switched to English, “inspectors and agents now.”

“Agents?” Geun repeated the unfamiliar word, testing the pronunciation as he knew little English. It had never been a priority for his family that he receive good training in it.

“That is the word she uses in English. But in Japanese, she says we are the Monster Lords,” and again he switched back rapidly, his words fluent and easy, “Yokai-kyo in service to the Yokai-Shugo.”

“What is it she has you doing?”

Palkin started counting off on his sausage-shaped fingers as he spoke. “Compliance with requirements for how the ‘farm raised’ yokai are treated, for how many are sold, and for how many may be hunted in the wilds. Catching smugglers and slavers. All the things she and Miss Hanmaki have come up with because Miss Hanmaki’s outright ban on yokai products was not tenable.” With the counting done he loosely closed his hand and abruptly asked,“You are freelance?”

It caught Geun off guard. “What? Oh, yes.”

“Good. It is less complicated than getting permission from your family.”

Geun decided to try changing the subject. “I heard she’s a gyobukami, but I don’t really know what that means.”

“Who knows? It’s beyond me. I just do soldiering, inspecting, and training. Lyuba is still the Lyuba I knew. But now I work for her, and for her boss Miss Hanmaki. Have you worked for a woman before?”

“Yes. My aunt, for a time.”

Palkin casually asked, “And then what?”

“Are you interviewing me?”

“Maybe I’ll talk to Lyuba? I could ask that you be assigned to my squad.”

Geun took a moment to enjoy the view as he thought about what to say. Down the path a short ways, past a waterfall built to loop-de-loop around the pathway entirely and wet it lightly with mist, the main building was visible. Even from a distance it seemed downright ordinary; a nice home of modern construction, with a lot of green lawn between the end of the garden and the back door. A pair of tiny wizened gnomes in plain brown coveralls were playing with a hose while they watered the grass.

Palkin pressed, “So, then what? Why aren’t you working for your family now?”

This was getting uncomfortable. Geun flatly said, “They're not in my life now. I’m freelancing right now because of it. Can we move on here?”

Palkin nodded solemnly and offered his bottle to Geun. “To moving beyond the past. And maybe to future work together. too.”

Geun took the bottle and took a pull. The liquor burned, biting well beyond its 120 proof. A little puff of blue flame erupted from his lips as he coughed in pain and alarm. Palkin clapped him on the back again and said, “Good stuff, huh?”

“What-”

Palkin laughed and interrupted, “If you are hired I will introduce you to the one that makes it. He made a still that uses a phoenix’s heart.”

Was this a hazing? Palkin seemed genuine in his attempt to bond.

Geun probed his burnt mouth carefully, unsure if he was really hurt, and asked, “How does he keep it from recovering and burning anew?”

“I don’t know. Lyuba gave him some help when she saw what he’d built already, in exchange for a promise of some bottles.”

Geun eyed the bottle suspiciously. “She drinks this stuff?”

“She drinks less than she did before we moved here, but she still likes to drink.”

Geun handed the bottle back. “You keep saying ‘Lyuba,’ and you talk like you’ve known her a long time.” Years.

“Maybe I should try to be more professional? She worked alongside several of us before she became the Yokai-Shugo, so the diminutive is something she permits. Not in the field of course, but when we are at home, it is fine.”

“What’s it a diminutive of?”

“Lyubov. Her name."

Geun chewed on that for a minute. She was supposed to be a new divine being, according to Boon-Broker. Palkin’s gossiping suggested that she had been a person before, and that he still considered her one. In fact, it suggested that many people held the same opinion. A divine that was acting so human might not be particularly adept at using her expanded senses. Or so he hoped.

They arrived at the door to the house. The gnomes shut off their hose long enough to respectfully bow at Palkin and Geun both. Palkin waved them off and told them, “As you were.”

He then turned to Geun and said, “I don’t know what you do, but she wants bloodline mages very badly, and you know how hard they are to tempt away from kin and clan.”

Geun noncommittally said, “I have an idea, yeah.”

Palkin shrugged and then said, “I think you are one. Or a very powerful ki fighter, but you do not seem nearly old enough for what I can feel from you. I expect you have some good tricks.”

Geun said, “I’m not here to waste her time.”

“Good. Have you ever led men in fights? Ever commanded?”

“No, my specialty isn’t really oriented for that,” Geun admitted.

Palkin radiated confidence as he declared, “Tell her you want to be part of my squad then. Learn how, then you build your own.”

Guen weakly protested, “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Palkin clapped a hand on Geun’s shoulder again. “I know you’ll listen and learn. With your other gifts, you’ll be able to lead.”

The idea appealed more than Geun wanted to admit. “I don’t speak Russian, my English is poor, and I have not been part of a unit before. Is that a problem?”

“No, you can learn. Education, or enchantment-aided learning. Languages, she can just place in your head; if you want.”

Magic could do that, easily. Doing it well, doing it in a way that didn’t leave people confused about what language they were actually using, took some skill and, as Geun had learned from Boon-Broker, generally was quite an expensive service to purchase.