The Cunning Fool had avoided the worst of the fire, a vengeance nursed from an (expected) betrayal at the hands of the Pompous Coward. The Scarred Boy was as lucky, tangled in the plot line as a supporting character for her ongoing journey. Just how would the Cunning Fool pursue her vengeance, a looming list of victims to have the last laugh against?

Victoria drew breath from within the rubble, her curtains not called just yet, her performance still required in the oncoming narrative. Her body groaned with aches and pains but she was grateful enough to her muses that they’d give their strength to see her performance to the end. A successful finale to that arc of the narrative.

She looked around her surroundings and saw the blackened husk of the building they were once in.

They. Victoria slammed her fist to the ground.

That scoundrel! She had always expected they were mutually expendable to one another but she wanted to be on the winning end of that exchange. And where was the Scarred Boy?

The Cunning Fool cared for those downtrodden and the Scarred Boy was the most downtrodden of all. Filled with sorrow after discovering the loss of his father figure. Comforted in part by the Cunning Fool, laying the groundwork to use his talents to exact revenge on the Mastermind behind her precarious predicament.

Victoria shook her head, avoiding the overuse of the narrative thread that hung over her. She searched nearby and found the Scarred Boy resting uneasily in a pile of rubble. How best to wake him up?

She gingerly moved the surrounding rubble and sat down above him, lifting his head up to rest on her lap.

A feminine touch to soothe the troubled soul, a scene tailored for those lonesome and love-lost fans. Or a motherly role becoming manifest as she comforts the nightmares of her latest brotherly attachment.

Victoria ran her fingers across his buzz cut, hair prickling her palm in a satisfying fashion. The anguish on his face lessened somewhat, the restricted tussling morphing into minor fidgets and twitches.

It was a quiet moment for her to listen to the rhythmic movements of the Vessel, the labored grunts and calls from the nearby dock hands, and the gentle patter of children leaving the dock area to go towards school. Those who could afford to learn instead of work, anyway.

The song of the Bay was one of defiance and cheer, an undercurrent of sadness unable to break through the proud and persevering attitude of the denizens therein. She hummed as best she could along its morning call until the Scarred Boy began stirring in her lap.

His eyes squinted, “Hrrrrggh.”

“Good morning, little mister.” Victoria whispered in a bright sing-song.

The boy's eyes widened and he pulled away from her, breaking free from the loose rubble around his body. He checked his person and pulled out the carving knife he’d threatened her with the night before.

“Why,” He looked at the rubble and behind him in clear panic, “How? There was a fire and-”

“There was a fire.” Victoria repeated.

“And-and I remember that motherfucker jumping out of the building-”

“Gabriel, yes. He jumped through the window to avoid the fire.” She tried her best to maintain her chipper expression. He would get his just desserts once she was done setting the stage.

“But how did we make it out of it alive? I remember the fire raging and then I heard singing and now I’m here.” The boy struggled to remember the situation he’d experienced and the confusion remained on his face.

“It’d be better not to think about it. The more we dwell on the situation the more power I’ll lose.” Victoria answered vaguely.

“So it was you who saved us?” He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Sure, I think you can say that, yeah.” Sorry everyone but I’ll be taking credit for this one to keep up appearances.

The boy turned around to face the charred building and slammed his fist into the wall, soot covering his knuckles and sections of wood crumbling off the affected area.

“I’m so sorry, Santi…” The Scarred Boy was back to dwelling in his sorrows.

Would he be comforted with an elegy?

“Do you want me to sing for what you’ve lost?” Victoria offered to him. The boy turned around with tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No. No, he wasn’t the kind of person for that.” His face was forlorn but the once tearful eyes were replaced with those of a determined youth. Would his title change with the development? He grabbed a piece of charred wood and closed his eyes, reciting a prayer in a language she didn’t understand. She was certain it was a prayer though, his voice a tightrope stumble away from letting his emotions overwhelm him. Laying the piece of wood on the ground, he turned back to her and put his knife away.

“Have you done everything we need to do here?” Victoria asked the boy.

“Yeah. Not much else to do except move forward.” His confidence was replaced with embarrassment when the call for hunger struck his stomach, audibly gurgling for sustenance.

Victoria couldn’t help but giggle at the development, “I think we need to find a place to eat, young man.”

He turned away bashfully, leading her out of the alleyway they’d found themselves in, “My name's Marquis.”

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Victoria sat across from Marquis in the booth of a local eatery. She exchanged smiles and waves to the sailors that lingered on her for a little too long.

None of them had the courage to walk up to them, however. Her little knight would glare at them with an evil eye before turning back to look at Victoria with a wonder and curiosity.

“What’s your deal, lady? You come to… his place saying you can’t remember his name but you remembered where he lived?” Marquis asked, eyeing for the server to bring them a warm plate of the catch of the day.

Victoria nodded, “Yeah. Gabriel wrote down the name of his building but we couldn’t recall the name of the person. We remembered going into a maintenance tunnel with him but nothing of him once he left.” A mystery for her to solve, an answer apparent in the narrative she was unable to see.

“That sounds like hag magic.” Marquis answered, his young face overcast and tortured.

“It hurts to recall. Maybe? But I don’t know what she did specifically.” Just brushing upon the memory sent a splitting headache through Victoria’s skull. She grimaced and saw the boy momentarily reach out with his hand before pulling it away.

“Don’t try to remember. The hag magic’s a geas. It’s like… a rule telling you that you can’t do something and if you try, it starts hurting your soul.” Marquis informed her. She smiled at him and again he turned his face away from her, suddenly interested in the grooves of the table.

Victoria took a deep breath, “I guess you’ll have to help me figure out the next step.” She did her best to be nonchalant, taking side glances at the boy to see if he’d follow up.

“Next step? I mean, what were you planning to do before?” Marquis asked.

“Well, Gabriel and I were interested in removing this geas off of ourselves and thought we’d get answers from the fisherman's place since he was the only one not to return.” Victoria omitted her primary objective from him but even he should be able to read between the lines.

She had confidence her audience would.

“You’re not going to get that geas removed without cutting off the head of the hag that laid it on.” A sharpness to his eyes and words told her how willing he was to participate in that plan of hers.

“Then our interests align.” Victoria replied, letting the statement hang for him to pull at.

“I guess so.” Marquis finally responded. He looked at her and shot out his hand. She stared at it curiously. “We have to shake on it. Sa-He always said that when making an agreement with someone else that you had to look them in the eye and shake on it.”

Victoria giggled and played along, gently wrapping her fingers to his calloused hand and shook once. They retreated their arms after and pondered a moment over what to say next.

She took this as good a moment as any to tug at the thread overhead.

The Cunning Fool successfully broke bread with the christened Forlorn Knight, their kinship born on a mutual want of righteous vengeance. The two were prepared to wait at the Turfside Tumble until their food arrived to start discussing their next course of actions. The threads of mystery told our Cunning Fool that the next thread to watch for would be found in the ruins of the building they’d escaped certain death from. Many plans were in motion and she was determined to play a pivotal role on her stage.

She opened her eyes and saw the Knight look at her with worry. Feeling with her fingers, she felt the stream of warm crimson fall down the tips and down her face. Victoria grabbed at the nearest rag to wipe off the blood.

“I’m so sorry I’ve concerned you. I get these nosebleeds from time to time.” Another half-truth.

“It’s your power, right?” Marquis puzzled out. How much did she want to embroil the boy?

“I was looking at a lead we should follow.” Victoria carefully answered. He was better off in the background if she could help it. She would not be the one to unveil the boy to the Stage. He looked dissatisfied with the answer but respectfully dropped the subject.

They ate their food in peace and uneasy silence. Marquis would steal glances of her when she’d turn her head down to cut into the grilled catfish at her plate, its earthy flavor subtle, overshadowed by the amount of garlic and butter used for the cooking process.

“Is there an inn we can find on the dock?” Victoria asked Marquis.

“Mhm.” Marquis replied, nodding his head with a mouthful of food stealing his tongue.

The plan was settled then; acquire a room at an inn near the charred remains of the apartment building and monitor its corpse for any curious onlookers.

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Victoria felt a tug from the thread that hung over her. It was only a day since she’d woken up from the rubble and already she was being pulled towards her next performance.

“It’s time to get ready.” Victoria turned to Marquis who was washing out the stains off his dock working shirt of char and dirt.

“O-okay.” Marquis waved his shirt around to dry off the spots he’d touched with water and soap and put his shirt back on. She would request her own dress change once she properly tied herself to the next thread in Ileah’s narrative. She grabbed her instrument box and walked out of the inn with her Forlorn Knight by her side.

Again, the song of the Bay welcomed her as she took measured steps back to the charred building, a momentous crescendo building up in her mind as the thread practically yanked and dragged her towards the location. She refused to move at its pace, however. No she would indulge just a bit in humming the tune of the town as she walked.

From a distance she could see the shape of a woman looking curiously at the rubble, a ball of threads hanging over her head.

“Wait, what’s she doing?” Marquis ran ahead of Victoria towards the woman inspecting the rubble when the mysterious character entered its threshold to inspect whatever contents could be found on the mound of burnt wood and stone and scrap metal.

Victoria increased her pace and caught up with Marquis, the two standing outside of the door frame to look at the woman inspecting its burnt guts.

“Excuse me, ma’am but what are you doing?” Victoria asked the woman who stared at her with thin spectacles, a beige and green outfit reminiscent of adventuring attire complete with pouches and zippers to carry odds and ends. The woman turned around, flashing the both of them with the piercing light of a torch pipe before muttering something Victoria couldn’t hear.

The woman approached the both of them pointing the light on the floor. Her eyes inspected Victoria as if assessing a target, her approach suddenly tense and wary.

Did she recognize her?

“Hey, lady, why are you here?” Marquis repeated Victoria’s statement in his own way, hand pressed at the pocket where he kept his weapon. The woman turned her attention to him and the distrust softened somewhat.

“Are you a local here?” The woman asked with a gentle authority.

“Are you looking for something?” Victoria asked. The woman shined the light in Victoria’s face causing her to recoil.

“I’m asking him the questions. Just keep your mouth shut until I’m done.”

Victoria raised her hand to her face and squinted at the woman’s silhouette through the gaps in her fingers.

“Hey! She hasn’t done anything wrong!” Marquis yelled. She turned and saw the gleam of his knife pointed at the woman.

“To me? No. But I’ve seen her work her magic and I apologize but I’d rather not deal with it.” The woman turned her attention back to Marquis, “No please answer the question. It’s important.”

Marquis looked to Victoria for some sort of confirmation before settling on a decision. “Yeah. I’m a local here.”

The woman softened her guard. “Did you live here?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know anyone that lived here that volunteered for the expedition?”

“Y-yeah. Why? Who are you asking for?”

The woman sighed with relief, “Okay, good. Can you confirm what their first name is?” The woman pulled out her journal and a pen and waited for Marquis to reveal the name.

“Not until you tell me why you’re asking and who you’re working for.” He replied, gritting his teeth. The woman looked up from her journal and nodded.

“And you promise to give me the name if I tell you why I’m doing this?” She asked.

“And who you’re working for.” Marquis pressed on the point.

“I’m following a lead for someone close to me and it involves the volunteers. I was planning to ask him a couple of questions.” The woman looked at Victoria, “And it looks like I’ll be able to ask you a couple of questions too.”

Marquis struggled to keep his emotions contained, “The man you’re looking for is gone.” Tears streamed down his face.

“It’s okay, Marquis.” Victoria leaned in to comfort him. The woman didn’t stop her from talking that time. Nor did she move to stop her from consoling him. She turned to the woman and raised her hand as she used to do when she was in school.

The woman relented with an exasperated face, “If anything strange happens to me or that boy, I’ll fucking gut you.” She walked towards them and into the light coming through the Vessel.

“It's difficult for him to deal with the loss of San- of his father figure.” Victoria winced as a white hot burn ran through her body the moment she tried to give out his name.

“Oh,” the woman replied, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The two waited for the boy to compose himself enough to speak again, his arms wiping away the snot and tears she was certain was still pent up within him.

“Santiago. She was trying to say Santiago.” Marquis revealed to the woman. Her eyes lit up with recognition.

“He was the fisherman.” She muttered under her breath.

“What did you want with him?” Marquis asked with a voice pleading for resolution. The woman took a deep breath and leaned close.

“I honestly wanted to ask him questions about secondary employment. Secondary employment I’m sure the woman you’re with is familiar with.”

“She can’t answer your questions.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. Her and some other guy are under a geas by that bruja. Trying to talk about it will kill her.” Was Marquis telling the truth? Victoria wasn’t sure but she played along with the severity, looking as afraid and forlorn as he was.

The woman rubbed the bridge of her nose and turned to Victoria, “And why are you here now? Hiding from your former employer? Looking for new work as a dock hand?” Her words were laced in sarcasm and incredulity.

“I don’t think it’s safe for me to go home without protection. On account of all of this.” Victoria waved at the rubble. This was her moment. “I was here on the night of the fire and saw the silhouette of our assailants.”

“Wait,” the woman leaned in, “Santiago didn’t die in the fire?”

“No. Victoria and that guy said he didn’t come with them after a meeting in the tunnels.” Marquis was doing his best not to shut down at the situation. So much for a young boy to deal with.

The woman looked at Victoria, “So You’re under a geas and can’t talk about it but Santiago has outright disappeared.” She turned away from the both of them and started muttering under her breath. “I have my own guesses but do either of you-”

“My former partner thought the fisherman would have info about our former employer and that night we found out he did. Marquis informed us what a hag was in a room full of knives and then the explosion happened.” The woman hung on Victoria’s every word, jotting down bits of information into her journal.

“Fuck,” the woman muttered, “Where are you staying then?”

“We’re at an inn nearby. I think whoever came to the Crows Nest that night thinks that everything is settled after burning things down.” Marquis answered.

The woman took a deep breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this but I need you two to lead the way to your room. I’d rather talk about the length of this issue in private.”

And there was her thread, the loop of red string over her head stretching out to tie itself into the ball of threads over the woman.

“Of course. And who do we owe the pleasure of speaking to?” Victoria asked.

“My name’s Ylva.” She replied, voice smooth as silk.

Liar. Victoria smiled