“It's a difficult position we're in,” Sunala said.

She was taking a sip of wine as she and the Doge had a rare moment alone. Lord Rithmound was talking to a few other guests, though he was swaying a bit from sheer intoxication. Busciver himself was red-faced, though his exaggerated cheer deflated a bit as he went over the ramifications of Doria's betrayal.

“The loss of contract is a major blow to our finances,” the Doge said, “We won't be able to host the Golden Round this year. Not without help from the other Houses.”

“Perhaps we could use that help,” Sunala said, “It would make you look generous. Would strengthen our bonds with our allies.”

“No, Lily-Ann,” Busciver said, “We cannot do such a thing. House Busciver has single handedly hosted the Golden Round for seven years. We shall do so for seven more. We just need...”

He looked at his wine through bloodshot eyes. A servant had recently filled it to the brim, and he had only taken a few sips. He was nearing his limit, Sunala knew, and would soon pass out. She wondered if he would even remember the events of tonight.

“We need another deal,” Sunala said, “One outside the usual Houses.”

“Yes,” Busciver said.

And a thought formed in Sunala's mind. An opportunity.

“My contacts off-plane might be able to help,” she said.

Busciver looked at her. A glint of hope began shining in his drunken eyes.

“Your... contacts?”

“My friends, Busciver,” Sunala said, “My partners in the Verdant Reclamation would no doubt be happy to sign an exclusive contract with you.”

“An... exclusive contract,” Busciver said, “Yes, yes. That would do very well, actually. We've got that entire dead plane that you recently acquisitioned, yes?”

“Indeed,” Sunala said, “They're always looking for fresh water. Fresh water, and old ruins.”

“And the Shard!” Busciver chuckled, “Oh, that will make them giddy indeed. Yes, Lily-Ann. Contact these friends of yours. It's high time Scuttleway joined the greater multiverse. Let our deals offworld pave over the local, barbaric trade.”

“I'm glad you approve,” Sunala said, smiling.

There was a distant boom high above. Another thunderbolt. The gala, as one, looked up. Glasses shook, the wine rippling in their chutes. The music faltered for just a moment.

“The guild you hired?” Busciver asked.

“They're handling it,” Sunala said, “Trust me. All will be well by the morning.”

***

The shapeshifter had turned himself into a lightning rod just as the bolt soared through him. He pinned to the ground, a solid metal spike, the lightning crackling around him for just a moment before it thundered into the ground. A millisecond later, he transformed into a great, heaping mass of gray ooze, tentacles erupting out of his body and whipping out in all directions.

It was an impossibility. The shapeshifter did not care for the laws of physics, warping and reshaping without reason, taking on mass and shrinking down to avoid each attack that came to him. Rosemary, Joseph realized, had just been lucky before. She had gotten the jump on their assassin.

Now?

A whip sailed over Joseph's head, carving through the wall over him.

Now, they were fighting a cornered animal.

Moriguchi bobbed and weaved in time to the shapeshifter attacks, getting closer and closer with each pass of the assassin’s strikes – sometimes tentacles, sometimes blades, sometimes off-white maces that cracked through the ground. Rosemary was taking cover behind a couple of weapon racks near Joseph. Isaac and the Lady Busciver had wisely crawled into a corner, both of their eyes wide at the multifarious being, who was seizing inwards into a vaguely humanoid creature. His tentacles morphed into arms, which shot out at the various weapons racks, plucking off blades, axes, spears, even a beautiful, silver crossbow.

“This is ridiculous,” Joseph said.

“Ideas?” Rosemary asked.

“Shoot him. I'll go in.”

Rosemary nodded, standing up from her cover and aiming her mace. Joseph rushed, soul surging to life, eagle fully forming. The shapeshifter turned, dozens of weapons pointed at him.

God, why did he get the shit end of the stick?

The crossbow fired. Joseph ducked, the bolt just barely whizzing by the eagle's head. He needed to keep his distance, let the soul's reach do the work-

Blade clashed against claw. Joseph's soul was a whirlwind of motion, struggling to keep up with the shapeshifter's movements, the myriad strokes, stabs, and slashes of the weapons in his arms digging into the eagle's claws and arms. He was used to the cold pain, however, pushing through, the claws getting licks in occasionally, deep rents that cut through the assassin like clay, sloughing off hunks of goo and slime.

Rosemary fired off another beam, a yellow, glowing line of light that slammed into the shapeshifter, not so much burning him as it did push him back, the shapeshifter growing tough, shell-like armor that protected him from the harmful burst, though it did force him away, his feet scraping against the floor.

Moriguchi rushed forward, ducking under any last weapons, his arms wrapping against the shapeshifter's torso. With an immense strength Joseph did not think possible in his thin, lean frame, Moriguchi lifted the shapeshifter up, before falling backwards in a suplex, the marble floor of the weapons gallery cracking like ice under the sheer weight of the shapeshifter.

The shapeshifter melted back into a goo again. Moriguchi stepped back, making sure to dance out of the way of any of the off-white gray as Joseph took point. His soul receded back into his stomach, a grim expression on his face as lightning leaped through his body. The air smelled of plastic and ozone as he took aim.

“Cover your ears, folks,” he said, “This is gonna be a big one.”

A bolt of pure plasma erupted from his extended arm, causing his hairs to stand up on end, finding no place to go but forward, it wracked through the shapeshifter, who seized up at the sudden influx of energy, sparks flying around his form. A great bang followed a microsecond later, so loud that it shook the walls and caused the light to flicker from pure force. Rosemary and Moriguchi gritted their teeth, clutching the sides of their heads. Isaac held Busciver close, his own ears ringing.

And the shapeshifter went inert.

There was silence. The three of them stood, breathing heavily, catching their breaths from the spat. Joseph dropped his outstretched arm, wincing as he felt it ache in a heavy, leaden way. Moriguchi stretched his back, hearing it crack slightly. That wasn't good, he didn't like getting old. Rosemary looked at her sceptre. Almost out of light. She would need to keep it out in the sun for a good, long time after this.

“Well,” Moriguchi said, “That was... something.”

“You sure he's dead?” Joseph gasped.

“Perhaps,” Moriguchi said.

The three of them looked at one another. Joseph and Rosemary, as one, stared at the Exodus Walker. Moriguchi sighed.

“I wish Ket were here. He'd back me up, I'm sure of it.”

The roshador took a few steps forward.

“Be ready with that mace of yours, Rosemary,” Moriguchi said.

“It's a sceptre,” Rosemary replied.

“I'm sure it is,” Moriguchi knelt down, prodding the shapeshifter. The ooze felt non-Newtonian to his touch. If he jabbed at it, it was solid, a slight ripple pulsing up and down its form like jelly. If he went in slow, however, his finger sank into it as though it were a puddle.

“Odd,” he said, “Very odd. I believe I've heard of this type of shapeshifter before. Not too many left in the multiverse nowadays.”

“Not many left?” Joseph asked.

“Hunted by the Federation, if I recall,” Moriguchi said, “A sad fate-”

He was interrupted as the shapeshifter leaped forward, covering him like a wave, crashing down upon the roshador and covering him with his mass. Rosemary fired a beam of light, wincing as the shapeshifter rolled up and wheeled to the side, the beam going awry. Joseph's soul manifested once more, rising to his full height.

As he did so, the shapeshifter began to grow to match the eagle eye to eye, a mass of marble slime, shapeless and all-encompassing. Just at the assassin's base, Joseph could make out one of Moriguchi's hands, which was clenched and wriggling. The entire bottom of the shapeshifter writhed with the roshadore's movements like a mouse caught in a sticky trap. The thought made Joseph's stomach turn.

“Ideas?” Rosemary asked.

“Unsure,” Joseph said.

The shapeshifter began roiling, and Joseph saw other items start leaking out of his form. The weapons – the swords, the axes, the spears – began to jut out from the mass.

The shapeshifter contorted inwards.

“Joseph, duck!” Rosemary cried out.

The two hit the deck as the gallery pieces were expelled out, launching at high speeds, sailing just over their heads, a blade just barely nicking by Joseph's ear.

His soul was not so lucky as multiple blades pierced through its chest and stomach. With a cry, the eagle burst, the backlash causing Joseph to stay on the ground in a fetal position. A blizzard rushed through his bones.

Rosemary leaped forward, sceptre burning bright as she stabbed it forward into the shapeshifter's mass. There was a second as she concentrated as the shapeshifter twisted around her.

Then, the rose's head began to heat up and burn like the Inner Sun. For a moment, the fire and light grew within the shapeshifter, bubbling up and expanding, before it burst out in a miniature supernova, multiple arcs of light shooting out of the shapeshifter's back. Rosemary could see Moriguchi in the cavity left behind. The Exodus Walker, noticing he was no longer covered in sludge, leaped forward and out of the shapeshifter's mass. He crumpled to the ground immediately afterwards, coughing, as Rosemary placed herself between him and the shapeshifter.

***

There was silence as Rosemary and the shapeshifter stood off against one another. Both Joseph and Moriguchi were on the ground, though Joseph was beginning to stir, shaking the last vestiges of cold away from himself. The shapeshifter paused, perhaps fearful of Rosemary's sceptre, which glowed a warm, dangerous light. Yet she herself knew there wasn't much left in it. Another blast, perhaps.

After that, though?

“Get up, Joe,” Rosemary said.

“W-working on it,” Joseph said. He pushed himself to his feet, though he was unsteady as his soul began to jut out of his back. There was no eagle yet. Just a bulbous lump of plasma.

Behind them, she could hear the barest hints of a sob escaping from the Lady Busciver. Lord Isaac Rithmound was hovering over her, a blade in his hands, scavenged from the shapeshifter's expulsion of the weapons in the gallery. The entire room was wrecked. Rosemary hoped they wouldn't need to pay for repairs. They were saving the Doge's life, after all.

Joseph began circling the shapeshifter, putting himself between him and the door. Good ol' Joe, no matter how bad he looked, wasn't going to let the shapeshifter out. Rosemary wondered how the shapeshifter was faring – it must have taken a lot of energy to keep morphing like he had been throughout their little fight. He should have punched through for the door immediately, turned on Joseph as soon as he got up, done anything at all. But he hadn't. He was being careful, when the situation called for speed.

And thus, Rosemary concluded he was exhausted.

“Right,” Joseph said. No doubt he had drawn the same conclusion. The eagle sharpened, taking on a more substantial form, feathers and claws and all. It mirrored his boxer’s stance, arms held up in front of its face. The smile on Joseph’s face was exhausted, but filled with the realization that he could win this.

For a moment, the shapeshifter considered him.

Then, he rushed forward once more, form rippling like a waterfall. Rosemary leaped back out of any potential danger, pointing her sceptre.

One last shot.

She had to make it count, as the soul's fist collided with the shapeshifter.

A last beam of light erupted from the rose, which went dark as the last vestiges of the sun left it completely. It bored a hole through the shapeshifter, a full half of the being contorting around the wound as Joseph slammed him into the ground. The shapeshifter writhed for a moment like a caught octopus, before it inked around the soul's fist.

Then something silvery appeared from the shapeshifter's mass.

The crossbow.

“Joseph!” Rosemary shouted, “Watch-”

He had noticed it. Too late, of course, as the crossbow fired. Joseph twisted to the side, the bolt grazing him, tearing across his chest, ripping cloth and skin free. Distracted, Joseph winced as the shapeshifter morphed into a humanoid form, pushing the metahuman to the side and making for the door.

The soul turned, making one last errant swipe at the shapeshifter. But its owner was already falling to the ground, clutching his chest. Rosemary rushed over to catch him, easing him to the ground. The shapeshifter opened the door and ran out, leaving the three bodyguards behind.

***

The shapeshifter ran down one hallway, then another, his mind racing as he morphed into a new form. That fight had taken up too much of his time and energy. It had been a very long time since he had been in direct confrontation like that, and he had been messy. Rusty. He passed by one of the maids, who gave a scream as he snarled past.

He hadn't had time to take something proper on! Thinking quickly, he melded into Moriguchi, too exhausted to think clearly or to put effort into creating an entirely new persona.

He made his way downstairs, entering back into the gala proper. He dragged the silver crossbow with him, a trophy from his time in the weapons gallery. It was a good one, too, just enough heft to do some real damage, just light enough for jobs like these. He was on the second floor, overlooking the entire gala. His target was on the first floor, punch-drunk and talking to his client. The music was slow and romantic, though the conductor looked wiped from being on the stand for so long.

The perfect theme for what was to be done.

After so long, he was ready. Multiple attempts throughout the night, and it finally boiled down to a final moment. The shapeshifter glanced to his left. There was a window he'd be able to break through. He could envision it now – fire off the shot, make the kill, break through the glass as a living anvil, then transform into a bird for the getaway.

The plan in his head, he took aim, using the balcony's guardrail to position the crossbow just right, peeling a piece of himself off and morphing it into a bolt-

And he felt a hand rest on his right shoulder.

“Moriguchi,” the rabbit said.

“...Hola,” the shapeshifter said.

“What are you doing?”

“Picked this up here,” Moriguchi said, “It's a nice crossbow, isn't it? I think the assassin is getting close, so I'm keeping an eye out.”

“You presume much,” the rabbit said, “And it puts you in a compromised position.”

The shapeshifter knew that this Moriguchi was an idiot (who else wore a mask like that to a party?) and so decided to play dumb.

“Oh!” he said, “I didn't realize that. Thank you.”

The rabbit narrowed his eyes.

“Moriguchi,” he said, “I do not believe you are who you say you are.”

“Oh?”

Panic set into the shapeshifter. No, he had to keep cool.

“Alonso, tell me something about myself that I would know.”

No, he didn't have anything for that. He did not know anything about this rabbit. It was time to be emotional. His voice caught as he said:

“You are my friend.”

The rabbit's eyes narrowed.

“Wrong answer. Alonso and I are not friends.”

The rabbit's claw shot out quickly, stabbing deep into the shapeshifter's back, lifting him into the air. For a moment, the gala froze, a few noblemen and women screaming at the sight, before the rabbit threw the shapeshifter into the chandelier.

The music stopped as the assassin slammed into the glass, the entire chandelier swaying dangerously for a moment. Ket glared at the line suspending it from the ceiling, letting out a sigh as a shadow played into his hand. He tossed it like a boomerang, cutting the rope, sending the chandelier careening to the floor. Nobles and servants shrieked as they ran out of the way, but Ket did not care.

Better to make a scene and get the fools out of the way. Also ensure that Lord Rithmound knew there was danger. Already he could see his client running away, his guards surrounding him and escorting him out of the gala.

It was time to finish this, as the shapeshifter extricated himself out of the chandelier, his form smearing into an off-white humanoid. Ket rolled his eyes. This one had no imagination. He had seen better shapeshifters do better things.

No matter. He pulled the shadows in the room towards himself, forming a staircase that he began to step down on, his footsteps oddly loud against the black. The music had stopped, leaving only the screams of the gala as a chorus.

Fitting, Ket realized, for what was about to be done.

The shadow-born staircase folded in behind Ket as he stepped down, balling up in an orb of pure shadow, a black hole that hung over the Inléan's head. The shapeshifter, to his credit, stood tall. Perhaps he knew that the game was up. Perhaps he still had a plan.

It did not matter to Ket.

This assassin was not leaving this place alive.

Ket struck first, the shadow seething over his hand as he punched forward, the dark spearing off into an arrow. The shapeshifter molded to the side, becoming rubber-like as he snapped around the shot. He was still holding the crossbow, a piece of off-white slime forming into a bolt and loading itself in.

A useless play.

The bolt fired. Ket merely turned to the side, letting it fly past him as he strode forward. The dark orb spilled to the floor, flooding the entire ballroom in darkness. The shapeshifter, realizing what this sea of shadow represented, climbed atop the remains of the chandelier and leaped upwards, his form folding inwards until he was sailing through the air as a seagull. The gull wheeled around the room, followed by Ket's gaze, the shadows now peeling up the walls and covering the ballroom completely. They were in a brick of darkness, now.

***

“Joseph,” Rosemary said, “Can you walk?”

Joseph nodded as he took an unsteady step forward. Blood poured down from the wicked gash that had etched itself on his chest. But there was pain, a stinging sort that made him think that maybe it just looked bad. Rosemary already was tearing off parts of her dress and wrapping it around his body, gauzing the wound shut.

“Y-you sure Sunala would like that?” Joseph asked, “It’s her dress.”

His guildmate gritted her teeth, a guilty look painting itself on her face.

“I don't know,” she said, “She'd better, it's making sure you don't bleed out.”

A weak groan came from behind them. Moriguchi still lay crumpled on the ground, curled into a ball, and his mask failed to hide the anguish contorting his face. The suit that Ket had formed out of shadow for him was gone, leaving him shirtless, the white binding keeping his own injuries shut having snapped during the fight. He was starting to bleed out again.

“I'll take a look at him,” Rosemary said, “You go after the shapeshifter. I'm useless anyways.”

She gestured to her mace.

“Out of light,” Joseph said.

“Yep. And what am I without that?” Rosemary chuckled, though there was an edge to her voice as she said that.

“You...” Joseph said, a bit stupidly, “You did great out there.”

“'Thanks, champ,'” Rosemary mimed, “'Good job out there, sport. You'll get 'em next time.’ Just shut up and go save the client.”

“Right, s-sorry,” Joseph said. But Rosemary was already walking over to Moriguchi, picking up the red-scarred wrappings and getting to work re-tying them to the Exodus Walker.

“You'll be alright?” she asked, dropping the sarcasm.

Joseph nodded.

“I should be,” he said, “Ket's probably dealing with him now. He took Moriguchi's nice shirt, which tells me he's using everything but the kitchen sink.”

“Kitchen... sink?” Rosemary asked, then she shook her head, “Never mind. Dumb expression.”

Joseph turned, taking an aching step forward.

“Joe.”

Rosemary stared at him.

“Be careful, okay?”

“...I will,” Joseph said.

And he turned, wincing, and walked through the door.

***

And from the walls now came hands. Grasping, seething, twisting from boneless arms like whips, reaching out towards the shapeshifter as one being. The shapeshifter spun through them, avoiding the jungle of limbs, careening and navigating, always with Ket's gaze still firmly planted on him.

The Inléan pounced, his suit dissipating and moving to his back, sprouting great wings of night as he flew to intercept the gull, claw striking out. It connected with the bird, splattering it away, the shapeshifter melting back into goo, pieces of him falling into the void sea below, the rest forming back into a dove, flapping desperately to keep himself aloft, much smaller now.

Much weaker.

Ket landed back to the ground, with graying slime in his hand that, now disconnected from its owner, was beginning to dissolve into ash. The shapeshifter stopped, landing on the last bit of the room that had not been devoured by Ket's magic, alighting onto the very tip of the crashed chandelier.

For a moment, the dove stared at the rabbit, the world around them seething. Ket narrowed his eyes. This was the moment that the shapeshifter would realize that he was well and truly trapped. The moment that he would realize he needed to use everything in his power to get free.

The Exodus Walker crouched, ready to pounce.

He would need to be ready for that moment.

And it came. A realization in the dove's eye. Eyes were always windows to the soul, Ket knew. Even shapeshifters who used them could not hide the spirit within the body, as the dove flew up into the air, into the center of the ballroom, his form burning with a mad, wild energy that burst outwards, the shapeshifter exploding out into a wave of being, of flesh, of metal, of wood, of everything in creation that could be seen. Ket leaped forward towards the surge of motion, the shadows of the room grasping at the being before him, his claw reaching out towards the shapeshifter's core.

Only for the shapeshifter to slam him into the ground with a pillar-sized tentacle, crushing him near flat.

Ket sank into the shadows, swimming into the world of darkness, watching the shapeshifter grow in size to take up even more of the room. The assassin had to be drawing out far more of his reserves than what was normal, Ket knew.

The shapeshifter had only one option now.

Escape.

Parts of the great orb of flesh bubbled and formed into a series of off-white drills. With a great, heaving rush the shapeshifter threw his immense bulk into the wall, drills spinning, churning away shadow as though it were mud, before hitting the marble build of Moonstone on the Len.

Ket struck, pouncing out of the shadows, darkness billowing around him like an arrow as he speared through the shapeshifter, who rippled and popped like a torn balloon. Ket pivoted, ready to make another pass. He leaped once more.

And through it, he saw something silver gleam in the shapeshifter's form.

The crossbow.

How?

The bolt fired. Ket was already in midair, grimacing as he attempted to twist himself to the side, pulling darkness to him like a shield as the bolt sailed towards him, burying deep into the Inléan's arm-

And then he felt another great whomp as the shapeshifter slammed him across the room with a newly-formed fist.

Through it all, he drilled. Drilled, until the wall caved in. The shapeshifter shrunk down into a human frame, though he could not hide the deep rings of exhaustion that formed unbidden beneath his eyes, nor of the awkward gait he carried himself with as he ran through the newly-formed hole in the wall.

Ket, body broken by the sudden strike, took a moment to let the shadows knit himself up. He rose, took a step, stumbled, then ran forward to continue the pursuit.

***

The ballroom floor had been obliterated by the battle between Ket and the shapeshifter. Joseph limped through the room, noting the destroyed instruments on the stage, the cut chandelier which now lay tilted on its side like a corpse. How no one had actually been hurt in all this was beyond him. He stumbled forward, soul slowly rising out of his back, eyes glaring this way and that. No one was in here now. The entire gala must have moved outside.

No use making any more of a scene already. Joseph collapsed his soul back within himself and walked out of the front door. Everyone had moved outside, whispering and talking to one another, crowded together in groups of fives and sixes, accompanied by the City Militia, who were walking through the mass and keeping watch. One of the noblemen was arguing with one of the soldiers.

“It was a terrorist attack, I tell you!” he was roaring, “An assassination attempt! I almost died in there!”

“I understand, sir,” the soldier said, “Now please, calm down-”

“Calm down!” the noble roared, “You're not letting me leave, when the killer is still out there!”

“We haven't seen any evidence that there's been any murder,” the guard said, “Not yet-”

“You will,” Joseph muttered. He turned away from the conversation and walked into the crowd. Ket must be around somewhere, right?

So where was he?

And he felt a cold hand close over his shoulder. Ket's voice was ragged and hollow.

“Tell me something that only we two would know.”

“...We went to the bathroom together,” Joseph said, “I didn't actually go.”

They paused.

“We don't actually know each other too well,” Joseph said, “Sorry.”

“True,” Ket growled, “But it is sufficient. For now.”

“You alright?” Joseph asked.

“I have used up much of my magic tonight,” Ket said, “How is Alonso?”

“Fine. Rosemary's looking after him,” Joseph looked through the crowd. A few of the Doge's magicians were pulling in the fireflies that had fluttered around the gala together, forming balls of light to illuminate the night.

“Why aren't they looking for the shapeshifter?” Joseph asked.

“Unsure,” Ket said, “Perhaps they are incompetent.”

“Or they just don't know,” Joseph glanced over, spotting Sunala. The noblewoman was with the Doge and his retinue, his own personal guard surrounding him and keeping him separate from the rest of the crowd. She nodded as she saw him limp over.

“Everything is alright, I take it?” Sunala asked.

“Well, we all nearly died,” Joseph said, “Moriguchi's wiped.”

“Did you find the shapeshifter?” Sunala asked.

“...No,” Joseph said, “We lost him in the crowd.”

Sunala's eyes slid from him to the crowd, watching it ripple with nervous tension. The shapeshifter could be anywhere. Could be anyone. Joseph's stomach turned.

“I did quite a bit of damage,” Ket said, “That shapeshifter used up much of his own power to escape. And escape was all he was thinking of, in the end.”

“We'll need tighter security,” Sunala said, “Have guards we can trust.”

She glanced at Joseph.

“Perhaps hire your guild to look after Moonstone on the Len.”

“Lily-Ann,” Doge Busciver's voice was small, almost child-like as he said, “I'm scared.”

Sunala turned to him, her face inscrutable. Already a few of the nobility were dispersing away, ignoring the shouts and warnings of the Militia. The perfect time for the shapeshifter to get away.

“It's over, Busciver,” she said, “He's gone.”

More of the gala was peeling away, emboldened by their peers' leavings. No doubt to return to their own homes, to go over the events of the night, the results of the dark deals in Moonstone on the Len. The Militia's shouting became near desperate as their authority on the situation eroded, and they stood awkwardly as they let the nobles leave.

Sunala sighed.

“That's that, then.”

***

Most of the Doge's guests had cleared just as the clock hit two in the morning. Already drunk and upset by the events of the night, they reacted with an indignant sort of annoyance at the efforts of the City Militia to keep them for questioning. Eventually, the Captain of the Guard himself showed up, a thin, dour pencil of a man in a trenchcoat, a cigarette clenched in his teeth that he almost began chewing on as he dismissed more and more of the nobility.

“Never mind them,” he said, “Just get to the people involved, alright? We'll follow up with them later.”

He turned his attention to those who were remaining. He was taking out another cigarette out of a crummy old pack as he approached Lady Sunala and her retinue.

“Captain Ramsey,” Sunala said.

“Lady Sunala,” Ramsey said, “Hell of a night, eh?”

“Indeed,” Sunala said.

“Hmm,” Ramsey took a lighter out of his coat pocket, taking a drag from his smoke and blowing it out before continuing, “Going to be honest, Milady, I've made fifty-three arrests tonight involving drunken revelers in the streets because of your man the Doge's wild little shindig. I expected to be called out in the markets and slums.”

He glanced up at Moonstone on the Len.

“Not here.”

“I assure you, Captain,” Sunala said, “We have everything under control, here.”

“I'm sure you do, this being the Doge and all,” Ramsey said, “But as Captain of the Guard, it's my responsibility to investigate this matter on behalf of the city.”

“Of course,” Sunala said.

“I'll be taking statements, doing a bit of work inside the manor-”

“Going inside will not be necessary, Captain,” Sunala said, “We can take our statements out here.”

Ramsey raised an eyebrow.

“Judging by the looks of some of the people who got out, it doesn't look like this was just a fun little party, Milady,” Ramsey said.

“It was not,” Sunala said.

“And you won't let me in,” the Captain said.

“No.”

“Despite the fact that the Doge's life is in danger-”

“The Doge's life is always in danger,” Sunala said, “He's the Doge. Any investigation into those matters are in the capable hands of the Doge's Master of Arms and House Busciver. Not to some outlander playing at sheriff.”

Ramsey took a breath, then let it out.

“Right, then,” he said, “Let me make my statements.”

“As is your right,” Sunala said, “But statements. Records. Nothing more.”

Ramsey nodded.

“Not how I wanted to spend my night, Milady,” he said, “But alright, let's get to it.”

***

The Captain of the Guard began pulling aside those left and taking their statements. Joseph was left by himself as the man – a gumshoe out of some sort of detective novel – took Rosemary over to a truthmage and began taking her side of the story. With nothing better to do, he sat down by the stairs leading to the manor's entrance watching as Isaac Rithmound and Lady Busciver stepped outside and into the waiting arms of Busciver's guards. The Master of Arms strode forward, a look of fury painted on her face as she began roaring at Isaac.

“Nonora, it's okay!” Lady Busciver said, “It's fine! He was looking after me, he's not involved in- in any of this!”

“Best you let him go, Nonora,” the Doge said, “He's Rithmound. He wouldn't be so crass as to try anything with my niece.”

He gave a pointed look to the young noble.

“Right?”

“Of course not,” Isaac said, “We got caught up in this whole mess, it would be uncivilized to let any harm come to her.”

He gave a sincere smile. The Doge deflated at that.

“Come along, Busciver,” he said, “We'll be staying with Lady Sunala tonight. Dear Lily-Ann, yes?”

“You won't separate us?” Lady Busciver asked, “Like last year, after the assassin at the Golden Round?”

“I want you by my side, Busciver,” the Doge said, “Buscivers are strong together! United by blood, and by name.”

He gave a false laugh as he took the Lady Busciver with him. They got into a carriage, which the Militia let pass without a word. House Busciver's guards accompanied them, two soldiers flanking each side of the carriage aboard armored krem, the Master of Arms straight up sitting on the roof with her arms crossed. Joseph watched them go, becoming smaller and smaller as they went down the streets and into the darkness of the morning. Medical mages had already attended to him, patched up enough that he could get home without opening up like a crabshell and spilling out, so all he did was stare out towards the city.

“Not bad, eh, amigo?”

Joseph glanced over his shoulder. Alonso Moriguchi was stumbling out, supported by Ket, the two awkwardly shuffling outside.

“Hell of a party,” Joseph said, “The last one I went too, all I did was get drunk and depressed.”

“And you aren't now?” Moriguchi chuckled.

“Drunk? Hell yeah,” Joseph said, “Depressed?”

He shrugged.

“Not really. We got the job done, I guess. I'm just glad it's over.”

“Indeed,” Ket said.

“You handle yourself well, chamaco,” Moriguchi said, “Before, you were nervous and ready to spring like a rabbit-”

Ket glared at his guildmate.

“But now, that raw potential's pushing through.”

“Thanks,” Joseph said, “You... you were alright, too.”

“Ha! I did nothing,” Moriguchi said, “Just got stabbed and thrown around. I thought I left that all behind in the ring.”

The three of them watched as Lord Rithmound approached his son.

“Having a bit of fun with the Lady Busciver, I see,” Lord Rithmound said.

“It's nothing, father,” Isaac said, “Just a tryst, nothing more.”

“I would hope so,” Lord Rithmound said, “You have that lunch with the Lady Andira Suella tomorrow.”

“Of course, father.”

“I hope you do get along swimmingly with her,” Lord Rithmound said, “The Suellas only make permanent deals with family. Do you understand?”

Joseph saw Isaac's fist clench.

“I do, father.”

“Good,” Lord Rithmound cast a dark glare at Moonstone on the Len, “We came very close to achieving our goals tonight, Isaac. This isn't a time to let up. I want you to be your best tomorrow. Come, let us go home.”

He gave a nod to the Exodus Walkers.

“Well, that's us, then,” Moriguchi said.

“Guildmaster Ultan will probably ask for additional pay,” Ket said.

“Ultan always asks for additional pay,” Moriguchi chuckled, “I tell you, Joseph, you wouldn't think that a skeleton would be greedy, but-”

“Moriguchi,” Ket said, “They are leaving.”

“Right. Goodbye for now, Joseph. Keep being you, and all that.”

Joseph let out a weak wave as Moriguchi was all but dragged towards the Rithmounds' carriage. That last statement was odd, but there was a sincerity to it that made him feel good. So he accepted it.

Just this once, of course.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Captain of the Guard approach him.

“Mr... Zang, right?”

“It's pronounced 'Chuhng,” Joseph said.

“Zheng, right,” the Captain produced a cigarette, “You smoke?”

“No,” Joseph said, “You here for my statement?”

“Correct,” the Captain took a drag of his smoke, “Damn nobles, always with their secrets. You're with the guild, right?”

“Amber Foundation, yeah.”

“Good,” the Captain gave Joseph a pointed look, “What the hell happened in there?”

***

Captain Ramsey had kept Joseph for half an hour, as Joseph relayed his tale. He nodded grimly when Joseph explained the two dead servants in the mansion, as well as the shapeshifter's goals, and the battle the Exodus Walkers and Amber Foundation had with the assassin.

Killer, now.

Murderer.

But there was neither hide nor hair of him. The shapeshifter had disappeared into the ether.

“Of course he did,” Ramsey said, “He failed his little task, so he'll have slunk away. It takes a lot of energy to shapeshift, from what I hear. Dealt with one or two back home.”

“Back home...?” Joseph asked.

But the Captain shook his head.

“We'll be following up with your guild later,” he said, “Get some rest tonight, Mr. Zheng. Good job, keeping the Doge alive.”

“Will do,” Joseph said. He looked around. The Captain followed his gaze.

“Looks like your client took off,” Ramsey said, “She was escorting the Doge to her place, I think. Sorry that she left you out to dry like that.”

“It's fine,” Joseph said, “I've walked through worse neighborhoods before to get home.”

“I'll arrange for one of my boys to take you home,” Ramsey said, “That carriage, over there. Just say the word, he'll take you to your guildhall. Have a good night, Mr. Zheng.”

“Same with you, Captain,” Joseph said.

Ramsey tipped his hat, and walked away. Evidently Joseph was the last interview of the night. That, or it was getting late enough that Ramsey wanted to turn in, witnesses be damned. Not that he could blame him, as Joseph stifled a yawn and rubbed his temple. He got up, turning around to view Moonstone on the Len. A couple of guards were posted at the entrance, but they paid him no mind as he walked inside to get one last look at the place.

The ballroom was trashed. The chandelier had splintered into the floor, and servants were already working at sweeping up pieces of glass and candle wax as he walked in. Like the fencing room, Ket's shadow magic had warped the walls, twisting them into great swirls like thousands of thumbprints melded together. The magical orbs of light had begun to dim ever so slightly, whatever power they held slowly extinguishing.

Rosemary was sitting at the small staircase that led up to the stage. Instruments had been abandoned as the orchestra had run out with the rest of the party, pieces of broken cello, violins, even a horribly warped trombone littering the stage.

“Hey,” Joseph said.

She looked up, deep rings underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

“...Mind if I sit with you?” Joseph asked.

“Sure, why not.”

He walked over and sat down next to her, elbows on his knees, hands cupping his head. They sat there for a few minutes, watching the servants tiredly work to sweep away all evidence of the night's festivities.

“God, I'm going to have a headache tomorrow,” Joseph said.

“Don't drink too much, next time,” Rosemary said.

“I won't. I also won't pick a fight with a rabbit, either,” Joseph said.

Rosemary smirked at that.

“Joseph Zheng picks a fight with a bunny, and loses.”

“Don't you dare frame it like that to everyone,” Joseph said, “I have a reputation to keep.”

“Damn bun broke his nose,” Rosemary said, “Ruined his nice suit, all that good stuff.”

The two of them laughed at that, an exhausted, hoarse chuckle that died out almost as soon as it started. Rosemary went back to staring mutely at the chandelier. A magician was called in, a spell of air beginning to lift the glass corpse into the air. Joseph gave her a sympathetic look.

“Look,” he said, “I'm... I'm sorry it wasn't what you were expecting.”

“I know,” Rosemary said, “This is the Amber Foundation. Things... they aren't easy.”

“Still,” Joseph said, “I know you wanted to really have a good time, and instead we get this.”

He gestured to the ballroom.

“It was really funny watching you dance, at least,” Rosemary said.

“I guess,” Joseph said, “The next time Becenti tells me to do something like this, I'm going to hide in my room.”

Rosemary snorted.

“I'm glad it was you who went with me, though,” Rosemary said, “If it had been someone like Ichabod, I would've just about died.”

“Too stuffy?”

“God, if you think he's snide sober, imagine him drunk. You, at least, just get depressed.”

“Ha, true,” Joseph said, “And get beat up by rabbits.”

That got another laugh out of her. But that one, too, died out after a few moments. Joseph sighed. They stared out for another few minutes as the chandelier was maneuvered out the front door. A few of the servants began picking up the instruments, holding them gingerly like children as they started bringing them upstairs. No more music, save for that of footsteps and tired whisperings.

A thought came to Joseph. He turned to Rosemary.

“You wanna dance?” he asked.

Rosemary blinked.

“Well, you said I was funny doing it,” Joseph said, “And we are at a ballroom.”

“There's no music.”

“True,” Joseph said, “And my nose is broken, and there's glass everywhere. Your dress is torn up, and I don't know what Becenti's going to say about my suit.”

“Nothing good,” Rosemary said.

“So I suppose, why not?” Joseph said, “It's been a bad night, might as well try to make a good last impression of it.”

Rosemary smiled at that. Recognized what Joseph was trying to do. She got up, and extended a hand.

“Alright, Joe. A waltz, none of that flopping around like in that video of you Becenti showed me.”

“God,” Joseph said, “I'm going to get back at that old man somehow.”

He took her hand, and she guided him to the center of the ballroom, putting her other hand on his shoulder. It was a waltz, slow and awkward at first, though they soon picked up some semblance of a rhythm. Joseph occasionally missed a step, Rosemary sometimes tripped on the edges of her torn dress. There was little grace to the dance, no orchestra to accompany them, no audience save for the few servants who looked up from their work to watch them.

But it was enough.