Halfway through the third hearing of the morning, Rip had an epiphany. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing serious, anyway.

Everyone expressed their public displeasure at the audacity displayed by Darhaven, etc. etc. But in the end, he realized they would not really do much to retaliate.

It struck him as particularly egregious that no one seemed willing to hold Darhaven to account for attacking Doctors’ Commons, with the king there, no less. At least, Rip felt pretty sure the king was still in his office building when the airship attacked.

Now, after they tried to blow up Blair’s house (with him in it, but that was beside the point; he felt he could look at this objectively), still no one was going to do anything.

He brought down two airships. And while he was publicly lauded for acts of heroism, etc. etc. . . . there was no concerted effort to find out where they came from. Nor did anyone discuss ways to prevent black airships from dropping sewer troops down on the palace or people’s homes.

The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he grew, until his mood nearly matched that of Blair’s this morning on the way in.

As the clock approached 12:00, the last hearing ended and Bixby suggested everyone retire to Tomfoolery’s, the nearby pub catering to RVS people.

“Would your team like to go to Tomfoolery’s, too?” Rip asked Hilda and Liza. They all remained together through the hearings.

“Sure. We’d love some fish and chips,” Hilda said.

Both girls’ expressions indicated the exact opposite of this sentiment.

“And beer,” Liza added. “Yummy.”

She made a disgusted face while Hilda pretended to retch.

Several minutes later Bixby’s team, Sharp’s team and Lady Finley, who no longer had a team but remained with the group at large, all entered Tomfoolery’s and took over tables in the back.

A waitress ran out with a tray of pint glasses and packets of potato crisps, then jotted down orders with a pencil and paper pad.

“Try the meat pies, Sergeant! They’re good here,” Chance yelled as the barmaid moved his way.

“Okay, sure.”

Blair leaned over, sitting next to him and between the vampires, as usual, and took over ordering.

“No, he’ll have the fish and chips. I will, too.”

After she passed, Hilda, sitting next to Blair, gave her a little smile.

“You protect him, no? You think this big strong man can’t make his own decisions?”

Blair flushed, and Rip thought she might bite the vampire’s head off, figuratively speaking. The extraordinary display of profanity from this morning remained fresh in his mind.

But she calmed down, perhaps sensing that Hilda’s question was earnest, and not meant to belittle her.

“He’s still new to our world. There’s much he doesn’t know.”

“Like . . . what he wants to eat?”

Blair sniffed and rubbed her nose, thinking over her response before replying.

“The fish and chips are better here, than the meat pies,” she said with conviction.

Hilda looked at her for several long moments. Blair, for her part, studiously avoided the other woman’s gaze.

At last Hilda said, “Sometimes it’s good for a man to determine which dish he prefers on his own.”

Rip, still present and able to hear everything, scratched his head.

He said, “Was that a double entendre?”

Liza, sitting on the other side of Hilda, leaned over and winked at him.

“It was a double entrée.”

Three hours later everyone left the pub, their pockets lighter and their bellies full.

“Cheer up, Sergeant,” Twig said, slapping Rip on the back as they walked back to the Commons. “You haven’t said a word in at least an hour. We’ll have another shot at punching holes in sewer troopers sooner than you think, I wager.”

“Well, that’s part of the problem.”

Chatter died out as others listened in.

“You people are altogether too passive. You let these steam vault people run roughshod over everything. They kidnap a scientist? Yeah, you’ll send a team after him, if he’s down one of the rural vaults. But find a suspicious trail of items leading into the big one here in Ethinium? Oh, no! Hands off. You’ve had sewer troopers attacking your own king’s office, and now a lady of the realm. And what are you doing about it? Nothing.”

They seemed to digest his words while everyone kept walking.

Finally, Sharp said, “What do you propose we do, Sergeant? We’re bound by ancient agreements. We can’t send an army into the vaults and demand justice. Our civilization relies on them far too much.”

Rip stopped walking, and the others stopped with him.

He said, “Well, if you can’t send an army in . . . how about a small team?”

Bixby said, “No team has made it down very far into a major city vault. Or if they have, they’ve not returned to tell us about it.”

“But some have gone down there and come back, right? You’ve got records.”

“Indubitably. Some have been down into the vaults, even this one here in Ethinium, and returned to tell us about it. Not many, but we do have a little information. We have good knowledge going down at least to Level Five, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s . . . not very deep.”

“Indeed. You begin to see the scope of the problem. Not only would it be killing our city to lead an army against the vault, based on past experience, what hope of reciprocation would a smaller team have when so few have returned from similar forays in the past?”

“You’d at least have a chance,” Rip said.

He started walking again, and everyone joined him.

After several moments of silence, a voice said, “I’ll go with you, Sergeant.”

Everyone turned to look at Lady Finley, still dressed in her black leathers.

She glanced at Bixby and Sharp, who stared at her wide-eyed, and shrugged.

“They took out everyone on my team. I’m up for revenge. I’m getting too old to do this much longer, gents. I wouldn’t mind going out with a bang, bringing some dynamite down to at least Level Six. Even if I never saw the light of day again, it’d be worth it to take out some upper-tiered Darhaven scum.”