The room was, just as the cells where they found the counterfeit Vigil, built of shining steel. But time had painted it with rust, and glass tanks lined the walls instead of cells. In each floated a dormant body, some male, some female, some human and some something else. But all were dressed in the same rich brocade robes and wore a gold crown fixed to their damp, waterlogged-gray skin with struts driven into the skull. Their eyes were glassy and staring, their limbs slack. Some of the tanks hummed, lights along them bright and sharp in alternating reds and greens. In others the lights had gone out, and the bodies inside had faded. Their skin was sloughing loose, their royal robes turned funeral shroud. The Armory walked between them. At the far end of the hall, steel faded into stone and the hallway rocketed away above their heads into a vast hall. Most of the torches were dead and the Armory and the Vigil moved from bright pool to bright pool . At the far end, sitting between a pair of gilded pillars, was a slumped figure nearly swallowed by a vast throne.

It was like one of the figures in the tanks.

It wore robes. It wore a crown and blood trickled down its face where the crown had been driven into the bone. In his limp fingers was a chain that ran to the collar of a doglike horror the size of a horse that was slumped at the throne's side. It had too many legs and eyes, and looked as if it had been stiched together from lions and lizards. A clutch of tentacles fanned away from its backside in place of a tail.

It was also very clearly dead as stone.

The robed figure in the throne raised its head with a great effort as the Armory approached.

"Again?" It asked and shook the chain in its fist, but the dead beast did not twitch. He tugged again, halfheartedly and without looking, the way a drunk hopefully checks a bottle they know has been empty for hours. The robes it wore were still wet as if it had just crawled from a tank to take the throne.

"Again and again and again," the figure in the throne said.

He is the one, the Vigil said in the Armory's minds, End him and the Citadel falls.

"He doesn't look all that dangerous," Pitch said.

"That's never stopped us," Dagger said.

"I never suggested we stop, Dagger. Just wondering what the point is."

"Again, again, again," the figure in the throne muttered and pawed around its robes in slow motion, looking for something. "Ah," it said with satisfaction and lifted an antique pistol from somewhere in its voluminous robes and stared at the flashplan, trying to remember how it fired.

"Powder?" Dagger asked.

"Again? Well. Be about it. I will see you again," The little lost king asked as it lifted its water-logged eyes to Powder.

Powder raised her rifle, primed and set. The king sat back in his throne. Powder fired and the little vague king fell into his red robes and vanished among the damp velvet. The throne rocked once with the force, and settld. Dagger looked to her left and saw a tank lay empty. There were others in line behind it, but the next two had dead lights and the figures suspected within, similar to the dead lost king on the throne, were rotting in the wet without the power to sustain them.

Fine work, the Vigil said. It is ended.

"What did he mean, again?" Pitch asked.

Nobody had an answer. The Vigil was silent.

"And now what?" Dagger asked the god at their side.

Now I show you the way downstairs, to the beginning where it all began.

"Redundant," Saber noted.

Pitch was examining one of the tanks. "What happens when another of these things is decanted?"

For you? It matters not at all. Your job is done. Come.

Bemused they followed the Vigil to the wall behind the throne. The body of the lost king was already starting to rot. The corpse of the beast he was chained to didn't smell like anything at all, even though its decomposition was much further along. At the Vigil's gesture, a door opened in the stone wall.

The god led them down another endless, spiraling stairwell that descended for a generation into a dark and musty shaftway. When they reached the bottom they found a doorway that teased of a dim light beyond. Passing through it left them in the hall through which they'd entered, and the light of Temker's Clock waited for them down the stairs. At the bottom Pitch hurried to the clock and furiously poured over it's glyphs and sigils with busy fingers. He knelt near the base of the alter where the glyphs seemed to fuse alter stone to the floor

"Powder, do you have one of your bombs?" Pitch called. "Once we break this, the clock should fail. The Citadel will fall for good."

No.

They turned to the god.

"No?" Dagger asked. "This was the job. To break the Citadel and set this realm free. Don't you want to leave this place?"

No, I do not. And you will leave the Citadel in tact.

"We were paid to do a job. We always do what we're hired to," Dagger said.

Here.

The countefeit god extended its hand and its watchtower form extended a drawbridge. Balanced on the palm, or on the end of the bridge, was a leather bag the side of Dagger's head. Gingerly she took the bag and opened the top.

"This is twice what we were promised," Dagger said.

Yes. I cannot be sure I will survive if the Citadel falls. But here, here I am whole and I am myself. My powers are limitless within these stones. Here as time repeats, I remain what I am, but if I pass through those doors, nothing is certain. And your world would not abide my presence.

The Vigil pointed at Vice.

He is sure I am an abberration. An accident. Though he grieves. He hopes, despite himself. He longs for the moment that will restore a memory and his world to rights. For that I am sorry, my little watcher in the darkness. In truth I tell you a truth you need. In any case, my nature is irrelevant.

"Do not call me that," Vice said and turned away.

I grieve your loss. But you must go. Leave me here. You'll only lose more if you don't.

"Lose more? We did not lose," Dagger said.

You have been paid. Within these walls you cannot gauge my power, and neither can I. You cannot force me from the citadel. You cannot destroy it from within. You cannot destroy it from without. Leave. I have seen enough of your minds to understand the power you enjoy in the world outside these walls. Life everlasting, as long as you fight. But I promise you, here you are cut off from it. You will die here. Your loop will close.

"Our loop?" Pitch asked.

The Citadel is not the world. In here, you believe you are the only one, but that is a fault of perspective. Just as there are many towers, there are many versions of you within in each. In all you battle to the end. In all you free me. All those trapped versions of yourselves are forever in the citadel. But if you leave at least one of those versions, you, will go out into the world to march through time's tunnel as expected. To you there will be change. Your life will continue. Do not concern yourself with those others. You will march toward death as you expect to.

"We don't march toward death, we flaunt it," Dagger said, but she turned to the rest of the Armory, but she clenced the haft of her hammer. Nobody threatened the Armory, and nobody but she set their course.

"Boss," Pitch said, and touched her arm. "let's just go. We did the job they sent us here for, and then some."

"Giving up, Pitch?"

"It's practical. We've seen what this thing can do. If it's not a god, it's damn close. Think of it as a tactical retreat."

The heathen speaks true. Go. Leave me to my vertical kingdom of time. I will continue to provide for the island as always. Somewhere in some version of this place you will rescue me again and again. Somewhere in time you will win over and over and be presented with this same choice. I can you this for true: In each you make the same choice. You fight every time. You die. Your loop closes. Be different.

"To fight is the only choice," Dagger said.

And in each, you fail.

"That's not certain," Pitch said, "nothing is determined."

No? Will you test that? This version of you can live on, as can this version of me. You will never know the difference, never know if I speak the truth, but here and now, you will live. You will leave this place only minutes after you entered it, wealthy and free. Leave ad live or stay and die here, in this room, by my hand.

Dagger looked around at the rest of the Armory, and other than Vice whose face was averted in disgust, the rest nodded.

"Fine," Dagger said. "we'll leave you to this place."

That is wise.

The doors to the chamber swung open, and light flooded in like a fanfare.

They stepped out of the tower and the doors slammed behind them. The stairway path looked much as it had when they entered. The bodies of the guards they'd slain to climb the stairs lay where they'd fallen, the blood still fresh and bright. It was as if they'd been gone for only minutes and not the years, decades or centuries that it had seemed to take to climb the Citadel's altitudes.

"All of that and here we are," Dagger said, staring down the vast flight of marble stairs.

"We should get moving, captain," Powder said. "Don't think we want the queen to find us here with the job undone. We gotta get off this island."

"I don't think we have to worry about that," Pitch said.

"Why? The job's not done," Dagger said.

"What was it you said outside the mine while we were waiting for you bomb?"

"Give it a minute?" Powder asked.

"So give it a minute," Pitch said

The Citadel of Stairs lurched and buckled. The ground shook as a single brick broke loose from the barely visible battlements towering that seemed to puncture the very clouds. The brick hurtled toward the earth and shattered to dust by their feet.

More bricks fell, the tower sprouted cracks along its walls that spidered out with a ripping noise that tore their ears.

"Move your asses!" Dagger shouted.

The stairs at their feet aged and cracked and turned to dust as they stumbled and fled. New, time-aged holes in the ground threatening to catch and hold their feet, to bury them as the Citadel's hand around time's throat loosened. They sprinted and stumbled, falling and scraping themselves, bleeding from dozens of cuts and dents. They picked up more injuries in that mad sprint to safety than they'd had in any of the fights they'd just survived. They fetched down the final few shattering steps and rolled to a stop near the first buildings of the village. They turned to watch as the ground groaned and the tower fell sideways, crushing several buildings under its bulk. Dust blew through in a tempetuous exhale and filled their throats and blinded them, sticking to the blood and sweat on their faces. A collective wail went up from the town itself as some of the citizens turned out to watch the destruction, their screams wordless, dumb and awed as this perennial fixture of their lives fell.

"What the fuck just happened?" Dagger coughed and hacked, spitting blood and dust between her knees as she sat with her hammer by her side.

Pitch was on his hands and knees, wiping his eyes and vomiting. Saber sat, his eyes two colored pools in a face painted white as a clown. Vice was on his knees praying and defiantly watching the fallen tower with streaming eyes. Powder took out a gun and started cleaning it out of habit, but finally tossed the weapon aside in disgust. Pitch spat dust and puke.

Then the alchemist chuckled. It built into a back-wracking chuckle. He clutched his sides.

"Pitch?" Dagger said.

But the alchemist was laughing too hard to answer her.

"What in the fuck is so funny?"

Pitch collected himself with effort and wiped his face, dragging clean streaks through the dust. He took a deep breath. He looked extremely pleased with himself.

"I had one of the devices left over from the Daalsvhart job," Pitch said. "Just a little one. I hid it in the base of Temker's Clock."

"One of the bombs?" Powder asked.

"A miniature one I'd made as a test. Just enough to erase two of the key glyphs. I wasn't sure that would be enough but..." he gestured at the crumbled tower.

"How'd you hide that from the god?" Powder asked.

"That was not a god," Vice protested.

"Whatever that thing was," Pitch said with a respectful nod to Vice, "it was blinded by it's own power. It understood a lot, but not the nature of my field. We were lucky. It knew the nature of the tower, but that was old magic. What I do is relatively new."

"Just a little one..." Saber said and started to chuckle weakly.

"Why is that funny?" Vice asked.

"It reminds me to that time we were in that little town with the vineyard and..."

"I do not want to know, Saber," Vice said.

"Vice, you're allergic to fun."

When the Queen and her soldiers showed up, the Armory still sat in the dust and the rubble watching as the procession marched toward them. One of the people who lived nearby had been kind enough to bring them some water and beer. It was up for debate which had the stronger flavor. The guards stopped a few feet from the Armory. The carriage door banged open and the queen emerged.

"I..." the queen started and then stopped to gather herself and take a deep breath. "This was not what I wanted."

"You said you wanted the tower gone. It's gone," Dagger said and after a pause added "your majesty."

"I didn't want it fallen across half my town and crushing the seawall! You flooded half the fucking town!"

"Trust me," Saber said, "there was no cleansing the shit in there. Not if the whole world was made of soap."

"That was very poetic," Powder said.

"Powder... Was that a compliment?"

"Don't get excited."

Dagger glared at them both to shut up.

"Arrest them," the queen said to her guards.

The guards started forward and the Armory surged to their feet, weapons ready. One man grabbed Vice, perhaps assuming he was unarmed one and therefor the easy. Vice snapped out a fist and the soldier fell wheezing for air, his chestplate sporting a brand new dent.

"No, your majesty," Dagger said, "I don't think so. I think you're going to pay us. And then we're going to leave."

"Somebody has to answer for this. It won't be me."

"Ah," Dagger said, "I finally see the queen in you, your majesty."

"If you think I'm paying for wanton destruction like this," the queen said, "much less allowing you to leave... well, I'll let my minister of pain explain it to you."

"What the hell is a minister of pain?" Saber asked.

"Really all in the name isn't it?" Powder said.

"It's just a bit dramatic. It's just some bent fuck in a hood. It's always some bent fuck in a hood."

Dagger looked at each of the queen's guards. "Your majesty, what else do you want to lose today?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll kill at least a dozen of your guards, maybe all of them, before you can bring us to heel. One of us will probably get to you. Powder can kill you from the other side of town."

The queen looked at Powder, and the sharpshooter winked.

"Just pay us," Dagger said. "We'll leave, never to return. What else are you willing to lose? Your lands are free, as you wanted."

"Somebody has to answer for this," the queen said.

"Put us on a ship, your majesty or in carriage," Dagger said. "You don't want us around. Believe me. Pitch here did this with a little box he made with the contents of his pockets. Imagine what havoc we'd wreak if you kept us here? I once saw him make a bomb out of dust and rat shit."

The queen stared hard at the rubble.

"Captain," she finally grated between her teeth. "take them to the harbor and put them on a ship."

"Our gold?" Dagger asked.

"Consider it a donation," the queen said, "disaster relief. Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

A contingent of guards formed up around the Armory and escorted them through the rubble choked town. Dozens of homes had been crushed beneath the hurricane of stones. People searched the rubble, wailing and calling for their loved ones as the Armory passed. None of the townsfolk even turned to watch them. At the harbor the captain of the guard had a brief word with a merchant vessel's captain and the Armory was put aboard. They gathered at the aft deck wordlessly and looked out over the destruction they'd caused. The sailors bustled around them, their bare feet slapping on the deck, and glanced at the new passengers' weapons and expressions nervously. After a few hours the ship set sail, and the Armory stayed on the deck to watch the town fall away behind them until that jutting bit of coast was just a single point in their backtrail. Pitch opened the bag of gold that the counterfeit Vigil had given them.

"Uh, Dagger," Pitch said, "you'd better look at this."

"What now?"

Pitch handed her the heavy bag. She jerked open the strings already half knowing what she'd find. The gold they'd seen was now just a collection of brass countersweights a merchant might use to measure grain. Dagger groaned in disgust and heaved the bag over the side of the ship for the ocean to swallow.

Saber chuckled. "A fake god would pay in fake gold. All that and we're still broke."

Dagger looked around the ship. Then she leaned over the side. The ship's hull had been scraped of barnacles while in port, and her name had been freshly painted along her side.

The Malevolent Scamp

"It's not a bad ship," Dagger mused to the rest of the Armory.

Dagger looked around at the bustling sailors. The captain was standing by the wheel, deep in conversation with the first mate who was taking a turn at steering. They both looked back at Dagger, and the captain nodded at her hestitantly.

"So," Dagger said to the Armory in a low voice, "any of you ever considered piracy?"

THE END