They returned to Castle Belenus with the naught but the two words - Like Shadow - between them. Both of them were quiet as they went back to Londoa, skirting around the edges of D'Reindeir, answering the questions of the High Federation with muted nods and terse, short sentences. The soldiers at the military base glared at them as they walked through the Traveling Point, but let them be.

Two less to worry about, after all.

Krenstone was busy, but it didn't feel like any of the dark, mercantile atmosphere really got through to them as they mindlessly pushed back merchants, tourists, and street urchins. G-Wiz didn't even notice when one of them snatched her coin purse.

But she didn't care, not when she reached down after they had arrived back on Londoa and found it missing.

Mantis Shrimp loomed in the distance upon their arrival back to their home plane. Their ride had left them on the mountaintop, having made his way back to the city long ago. G-Wiz and Ichabod looked at one another. Both of them sighed.

Both of them walked.

And through it all, the words Like Shadow permeated in their heads. For G-Wiz, they were words of guilt. The last message of a dying being. She had always disliked death. It followed her wherever she went. First with her old man. Then with Drenia, her first love. Nole. No matter where she went, death seemed to wind up a few steps behind her.

To Ichabod, however, the words were a hint. The next step.

A clue.

***

“So that's that, really,” Ichabod said.

He was in Wakeling's office, which was uncharacteristically bright this afternoon. She even had the windows open, sunlight and the sound of the city wafting in from on high. She had muted the enchantments on the ceiling, the stars disappearing and replaced with mundane stone. The guildmaster herself was at her desk, lying on a pillow, absently reading through a couple of reports while Ichabod spoke. G-Wiz was sitting next to her, looking over the old witch's shoulder. In the corner of the room, his arms crossed, was Captain Ramsey.

“Huh,” G-Wiz said, “I do misspell 'immediately' a lot, don't I?”

“We all have those words, Ms. Wiz,” Wakeling said.

“Ahem,” Ichabod said.

Wakeling looked up at him, eyes peering over the report.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?” Ichabod said, “I might ask what you're reading.”

“You might,” Wakeling said, “Will you?”

The cybernetic man rolled his eyes. Captain Ramsey took out a cigarette and began to light it.

“Ah ah!” Wakeling said, “No smoking in here, Captain. Guildmaster's house, guildmaster's rules.”

Ramsey froze mid-light, then nodded and put the cigarette back into its carton.

“And there's not more to the story then, Ichabod?” he asked.

“That's it,” Ichabod said, “A man in combat armor sniped our lead from a distance, grew giant wings, and flew away. It's like a goddamn fairy tale.”

“Pretty fuckin' metal one, too,” G-Wiz commented.

“And you didn't get any distinguishing features off of him,” Ramsey said.

“Not a one,” Ichabod said, “His armor was pretty standard, nothing too distinct about it. His entire head was covered by his helmet.”

“Couldn't even see his face,” G-Wiz said, “Whoever he was, he had only one job to do.”

“...And he did it well,” Ramsey finished.

The four of them went silent. Outside, there was a loud bang as the engine that Mallory had miraculously managed to bring back to life after being drenched in the rain exploded. Only Ramsey jumped at that.

“Like Shadow...” Ichabod said.

“It's a saying, maybe,” Ramsey supposed, “Certain goblin tribes have last words that they say on their deathbeds, in hopes that they will act as keys to certain parts of the afterlife.”

“Weird shit,” G-Wiz said, “Maybe.”

“He was part of a guild,” Ichabod said, “Wakeling, have you ever heard of a guild known as Like Shadow?”

Wakeling considered, chewing the inside of her mouth in thought.

“Once or twice, maybe,” she said, “Ohh... Give me a moment, dearies.”

With a soft scent of magic, she alighted, levitating into the air like a body-less marionette, floating over to one of the many shelves that lined the room. Her eyes flashing silver, she began removing books and scrolls, opening them and closing them in her search.

“Usually this would be easy to find,” she said, “I've got most of our reports memorized, after all. Pretty simple, when half your mind's elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere...?” Ramsey said.

“But this one's proving elusive,” Wakeling muttered, “Ah, here we are. Ichabod, be a dear and help an old lady take this one down.”

Ichabod complied, walking over and grabbing the book. It was an ancient thing, an old tome that was easily the size of his chest. Wincing, the cybernetic man teetered with it over to the desk, slamming it down a grunt.

“You need to exercise more,” G-Wiz said.

“You need to fuck off,” Ichabod growled.

“Enough, you two,” Wakeling said, “We've a client.”

Ramsey approached the desk, narrowing his eyes as the tome opened on its own. Inside were writings written in a feverish script, words scrabbled on page to page. He looked down at them.

“This is all gibberish,” he said.

“It's the Big Book of Nonsense,” Wakeling said, “Technically a spellbook, more of a curiosity. What matters is I've seen Like Shadow in here before.”

“In... the Big Book of Nonsense,” Ramsey said.

“Precisely, Captain,” Wakeling said, “We're getting a bit into the weeds on this, but words have power. They carry weight. But what you might not know is that words can be given power, too. And Like Shadow has an interesting enchantment on it, if I recall right...”

She stared at the book for a moment, eyes glowing.

“Ah, there we go. Ichabod, turn to page five hundred and three.”

Ichabod turned the pages, one after the other. Ramsey grimaced at the sight of so many words, so many his head was starting to spin...

“And people wonder why I prefer comic books,” G-Wiz said.

Ichabod stabbed a finger at the page.

“There it is,” he said, “It's... squiggly. Odd.”

“It's been given a powerful enchantment,” Wakeling said, “One moment, please, I'm weaving some spells together...”

A report appeared out of thin air beside her. Wakeling chuckled as the words Like Shadow began to peel off of the Big Book of Nonsense, floating in the air for a moment, before traveling and inking themselves onto the report. Wakeling presented it to Ramsey. The Captain of the Guard took it.

“'Report by Tychius Brandicus,'” he read, “'Of the Amber Foundation.'”

“Bless his soul,” Wakeling said, “This was written about forty-five years ago.”

“'Concerning the event that took place on Elyandrica, the World of Feathers, wherein I faced a member of guild Like Shadow in combat defending King Vergnar's daughter...'”

“Odd,” Ichabod said, drawing close and reading over the Captain's shoulder, “Like Shadow slipped off of the report, didn't it?”

“That's the spell,” Wakeling said, “It's designed to hide, and doesn’t like being found. I've seen it a couple of times, when I've read the Big Book of Nonsense.”

“Why'd you want to read that?” G-Wiz asked.

“Why do you read comic books?” Wakeling replied.

“...Fair.”

“So Like Shadow's a guild,” Ramsey said, “Which means this isn't over.”

“Well, you can assure the Doge, his assassin's dead,” Ichabod said, “Saw it ourselves.”

“But if he was from a guild, then he was just a tool,” Ramsey said, “Ah, no offense.”

“Fully taken, but ignored,” Wakeling chuckled, “But yes, that's correct. They were hired, which means your would-be murderer was no true revolutionary. Whoever ordered the hit is still out there.”

“Which means we're still nowhere near the end of this,” Ramsey said.

“You're not seriously expecting us-” Ichabod said.

“I want to know who ordered the hit,” Ramsey said, “The House who made contact with the multiverse. The very member, if possible.”

“That's...” Ichabod sighed, sitting down and rubbing his temples, “That's going to be quite a journey.”

“I know,” Ramsey said, “I'm asking a lot-”

“You are,” G-Wiz said.

“But not...” Ichabod started. He grimaced, then finished, “Not impossible.”

The group looked at him. Wakeling had a proud smirk on her face.

“If Like Shadow is a guild,” he said, “Then they have reports that they submit to the High Federation. They have a guildhall. They're a business, much like we are.”

“Only... they kill people,” Ramsey said.

“They're assassins,” Ichabod said, “Something that people will always be in need of. You want to control illegal activity? Regulate it. Make it official. Introduce rules that people follow. Permit its existence. It's simple, really.”

“And since they're a guild...”

“Then they have guild records,” Ichabod said, “Technically open to the public, if you know the Library Worlds they're stored on.”

With that, he gave a knowing look to Wakeling. The guildmaster nodded.

“Aye,” she said, “I'll call in a few favors. Get the location. Give me a couple of days, and we'll get the Library World.”

Ichabod nodded, glancing over to Ramsey.

“You'll be alright with that?”

“No choice,” Ramsey said, “I'll leave you to your work.”

***

Ichabod and G-Wiz didn't see each other very much in the following days. Ichabod retreated to his quarters, working on his own projects and stewing as he always did. G-Wiz herself was considered 'on a job,' and therefore exempt from the regular duties of looking after the guildhall like everyone else, and thus found she had very little to do. As such, she tailed after Heyma, the Dullahan carrying out her usual work of feeding Becenti's goats and tending to the gardens out back. Heyma's job here was the near-daily upkeep on the great hedge bushes that formed the maze behind Castle Belenus, taking a pair of shears and dutifully working on pruning them and making them as perfect as could be.

“I don't get why you do this one all the time,” G-Wiz said one day.

“I dunno,” Heyma said, “It's relaxing. It reminds me of helping my mom back home with her chiseling.”

She snapped at an errant branch, which tumbled to the ground. G-Wiz walked over and put it into a bag.

“Still, this is shit,” the Electron said, “I mean, you do this every day.”

“True, I do,” Heyma said, “But no one else likes doing it, right? I mean, before I realized I liked this chore more than any of the others, apparently Becenti made everyone draw straws.”

“I guess,” G-Wiz said.

“Can you take a look at the flower patch over this next bend?” Heyma asked, “Rosemary usually does it, but she's been spending more and more time with the Lady Sunala, she hasn't had time to really tend to them.”

“Yeah, for sure,” G-Wiz said. She approached the small square of flowers, kneeling down to take a look at each one, “What am I looking for, now?”

“Just gotta make sure they're not wilting, or anything,” Heyma said as she tended to the hedge walls around them, “Rosemary would go into more detail, of course, but she becomes a motormouth when she starts talking about them.”

“Right,” G-Wiz said, “Well, most of 'em look alright. Don't see any of them wilting except for that blue one-”

“Oh!” Heyma said, “That's a Weeping Luna. It's supposed to be wilting like that, means it's healthy.”

“What about this one?” G-Wiz said, pointing at another blue flower, “That's a Weeping Luna, right?”

“No, that's a Sober Moon,” Heyma said, “Rosemary told me about them. It's supposed to be flowering like that.”

“...Heyma,” G-Wiz said, “They look the fucking same.”

“I said that, too!” Heyma said. She walked over, kneeling down beside G-Wiz. G-Wiz felt a warm, tingly chill run up her spine as the Dullahan rested a hand on her shoulder, “It's the leaves. This one is shovel-shaped, this one is shaped like a boat.”

“...They're the same shape.”

“All the same, Rosemary laughed at me when I questioned her,” Heyma said.

“Heyma?” G-Wiz said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck Rosemary.”

***

Ichabod emerged from the room that was his lair only upon receiving from the location of the Library World from Wakeling. She had given it to him mentally, a message projected into his mind in the early hours of the morning. It was both a blessing and a curse -a blessing, because it meant he didn't need to walk all the way up to her office. A curse, because she intentionally did it when he was only half-awake and groggy, her voice practically a scream in her head.

The guildmaster truly had a way with getting under his skin, that was for sure.

He showered, a dry grimace painted on his face as he walked out and down to the Great Hall. G-Wiz was already packed, bag and Zumbelaphone strung over her shoulder, her hair done up in neon green spikes, a brown jacket over her Jem and the Holograms t-shirt.

“Jem?” Ichabod said, “Oh god, please don't tell me...”

“Nole showed it to me a while back,” G-Wiz said, “Changed my life, man.”

“It's awful, maaan,” Ichabod drawled, “But whatever. Let's go.”

“Right on,” G-Wiz said. The two of them started to walk to the back, “So, we taking the Titania Amber?”

“No,” Ichabod said, “Becenti took it for a job with Joseph out to Prime a few days ago.”

G-Wiz blinked.

“Then... how are we getting off of Everlasting Truth, then?” she asked.

Ichabod sneered.

“We're taking a taxi,” he said.

***

It wasn't exactly a taxi, per say. More of a bus, or one of the Tempolines back home on Doremi. No, what Ichabod ordered was basically public transport between worlds. It made sense, G-Wiz realized, that they would have something like this. But the public transport shipyard was tucked away on some Muse-forsaken part of the planet. They spent the first few hours on Everlasting Truth taking a shuttle from city to city, contending with the internal infrastructure of the High Federation's capital. Shoulder-to-shoulder with aliens and androids from run-down gas-guzzler to run-down gas-guzzler.

And they literally ran on gas, Ichabod said, pulling energy directly from Everlasting Truth's atmosphere as a fuel source. They were so old, he said, that you literally had to apply a sparker to the engine to power it on.

G-Wiz pretended to know what a sparker was, reacting appropriately as she said, “No way, that's crazy.”

Finally, they came to their destination. It was a mere outcropping of metal, a junkpile strapped to a thruster and engines to keep it aloft in the planet’s endless sky. A few other people were already waiting, tickets in hand. A small bench was situated in the island's middle, though that was taken up by a family of squabbling Direllians. So Ichabod and G-Wiz stood.

Waiting.

For another hour.

“It's late,” G-Wiz said.

“It's public transit,” Ichabod said, “Of course it's late.”

Then, finally, their ride came. A dark blot on the orange sky, it drew closer and closer, revealing itself to be a bulbous mass of dark steel, neon gas billowing out of random points on its hull, its thrusters burning an unhealthy blood red that made G-Wiz's eyes burn just by looking at it. The paint on its side had eroded long ago, instead framing its title of 'FEDERATION TRANSPORT 42060' in lines of white. Someone had sprayed graffiti on it, adding a tail to that last zero and making it a nine. Others had painted crude stick figures and curse words in a hundred languages on its hull. The entire thing lurched as its ramp magnetized to the island.

“Brand spankin' new, isn't it,” G-Wiz said.

“Quite,” Ichabod said, “Well, let's go.”

There was no one to take Ichabod's tickets, only an automated machine that scanned and accepted anything. The two of them watched as the father of the Direllian family pulled out a blank slate out of his pouch, presenting it to the scanner, which blipped a cheery green with no complaint and let them in.

“Damn,” Ichabod said, “Wish I'd have done that.”

They sat down in their cramped seats, squinting in the dim half-light of the ship's interiors. There weren't even windows as the ship lurched and took off, only gunmetal walls mossed over with grime.

The entire ship shuddered for a moment, threatening to practically break apart as it began the arduous process of lumbering out of Everlasting Truth's atmosphere. Ichabod took out a small book. G-Wiz pulled out a magazine.

It was going to be a long journey.

***

They arrived on their first layover on Cadmium Primus. Then took another ship to Zalatan. Then another to Quentius. Getting closer and closer to their destination, towards the Iris of the Silver Eye, a region with thousands of Administrative Worlds dotted throughout. This included Library Worlds, entire planets hollowed out for the sole purpose of storing information. Entire cultures, chronicled on a single planet.

And with millions of cultures across the galaxy and beyond...

“Like finding a single snowflake in a blizzard,” Ichabod muttered. He was surprised that Wakeling's favor was so accurate.

But they were here, now, having gone from various giant transports to a sleek, three-person skimmer that only had enough fuel in its warp engines for one jump. Gilded Cage appeared on the ship's sensors.

Once upon a time, it had been a mining world, cracked open and dissected like an oyster's shell. What resources had been pulled from within had been exported long ago to other parts of the galaxy, leaving it a barren shell.

That is, until it was selected to be a Library World. Even from orbit, one could see the azure blue auras of millions upon millions of data centers festooning the surface. Ancient ships plied the skies overhead. Not ancient like the transit system, but ancient in a timeless way, like the cascading of a waterfall, or the waves on the shore. They were orbular, floating sentinels that their taxi affixed itself to for refueling, with the barest hint of thrusters for movement.

A lost technology, from the Second Age of Introspection. The knowledge of how to make these beings move had been lost to time and war. Only these ships, now. Automated by AI, ruins that sang through the sky.

The ship descended down into one of the deeper ravines. Guildfolk walked on bridges and walkways cut along the ravine's sides, talking with High Federation attendants and librarians, and while the guildfolk were the usual lot – scrappy, with pieces of scrabbled-together technologies and histories – the Federation officials here were wearing all white. Many of them had never left Gilded Cage. Entire families, raised for the sole purpose of sorting books.

G-Wiz found that disheartening.

The ship magnetized halfway down. G-Wiz and Ichabod stepped out, the latter sniffing the air and pulling a face. It was dusty, here. Far too dusty for his liking.

One of the librarians made his way over. He was a Gul, long-faced with a beak, one three-fingered hand waving them down.

“Greetings, sir and ma'am,” he said, “What guild?”

“Amber Foundation,” Ichabod said.

The librarian nodded, “I see, I see. No Amber Foundation records, here.”

“Because we aren't looking for that,” Ichabod said, “We're here to look at the official records for a guild known as Like Shadow.”

The Gul nodded. G-Wiz watched as his third eye slid upwards, milking it blue, “Ah, yes. Like Shadow. Guild of assassins. Guildmaster is Orem Nom. This way, please.”

He began guiding G-Wiz and Ichabod, walking briskly past the rows upon rows of shelves, each one glowing azure from the hundreds of datarods within.

“That easy, huh?” G-Wiz said.

“The difficulty is navigating the system,” Ichabod said, “That's why it took us a few days. No doubt Wakeling called in a few favors to get everything together.”

“Right,” G-Wiz said, “And... Gilded Cage?”

“Is a Library World for guilds,” Ichabod said. Almost as if on cue, they passed by an outlander, a cyclops with four arms, the insignia of the guild Ariadne's on his starplate armor.

“How many of those do you reckon there are?” G-Wiz asked.

“Oh, hundreds,” Ichabod said, “Thousands, maybe. But Like Shadow's records are here. We'll find our shapeshifter yet.”

At that, G-Wiz went quiet. The librarian took them a few ramps to the lower floors. The light of the sun above dimmed a bit here, and most of the place was lit by the datarods like bioluminescent moss.

“Had a name,” G-Wiz muttered.

“Sorry?” Ichabod said.

“I said the shapeshifter had a name,” G-Wiz said.

“So do I. So do you. You have two, actually,” Ichabod said.

“That doesn't-” G-Wiz sighed, “I just... it sucks, is all. That he was done in like that.”

“True,” Ichabod said.

“He said he was...” G-Wiz looked at the librarian's back. He was humming to himself quietly, apparently ignoring their conversation.

But how much of that was a ruse?

“He was unique,” Ichabod said, giving a nod, “Like us. Guildfolk.”

“Yeah,” G-Wiz said.

More silence. The librarian looked at them.

“If I recall right, there should just be another few bends. Thank you for being patient.”

“You've memorized all of this?” G-Wiz said, gesturing, “There's... thousands of books here.”

“Datarods, miss,” the librarian said, “And yes. Thousands of datarods. And I've memorized the locations of almost all of them on this continent. At night, I study the records and infrastructure, like my father before me.”

“And that's...” G-Wiz stammered for a moment, “That's all you do?”

“Yes,” the Gul tilted his head, “What else would I do?”

“He's got a point,” Ichabod said.

“Whatever,” G-Wiz said, “Lead on, my guy.”

He went deeper still. By now, they were so deep into the canyon that the only light was blue. G-Wiz could see Ichabod's eyes flash for a moment against the black of his shades, turning on his low-light vision. Those eyes rested on her. Stayed there, for a split-second. Then, they returned back to watching the librarian's back.

“Something on your mind?” G-Wiz said.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you're so sympathetic about our friend, the shapeshifter,” Ichabod said, “After all, you were friends with Nole.”

G-Wiz looked away. Ichabod sneered.

“Dear god,” he said, “You weren't friends with Nole because you felt bad for him?”

“Shut up,” G-Wiz said, “I was in a bad spot. And he was chill. And...”

She sighed.

“You know how he was,” she continued, “I just couldn't leave him out to dry, right?”

“No, of course not,” Ichabod said, “You're to be commended, dealing with the second worst person in the guild.”

G-Wiz smirked.

“And who's the first?”

“Contort.”

The Electron snorted, a sudden laugh that echoed through the blue dusk. The librarian visibly started at that.

“Quiet down, please,” he said, “You're disturbing the datarods.”

He cast a frightful glance at them. G-Wiz blinked.

“R-right,” she said, “Sorry, or whatever.”

Ichabod had that annoying smile, like he had just watched a puppy get hit by a car. Once the librarian had turned back around, G-Wiz flipped him off.

***

“Here we are!” the librarian said, “The records of Like Shadow. They take up a good chunk of this wing.”

“This whole wing?” G-Wiz said.

“An old guild, yes,” the librarian said, “Very old, by the looks of it. Guilds with wings like these are hundreds of years old. Hundreds and hundreds.”

“So we've got hundreds of years to go through?” G-Wiz said, “That's bullshit-”

“It will do,” Ichabod said, “Mr. Librarian, could you direct us to the most recent pieces?”

“Oh, hmm,” the librarian stumbled at that, “Oh, dear. I'm afraid we don't... have any recent releases for this section.”

Ichabod's frown deepened.

“It's alphabetical, isn't it?”

“Yes,” the librarian said, “Alphabetical in several languages, with a schema that places High Speech first, then Trentian, Prime English...”

“I understand a smattering of Trentian,” Ichabod said, “Prime English, who doesn't? But...”

He took a datarod down from one of the shelves, inserting it into a port on his arm. The rod began reading out above it, holographic letters forming into sentences that sparked to life and read out the rod's contents.

“I don't understand any of this,” he said, “And no translators?”

“I will arrange for a translation probe to come down here,” the librarian said, “I myself know only half the languages in this particular center.”

“Right,” Ichabod said, “Thank you.”

He turned to G-Wiz.

“Well? Let's get reading.”

***

G-Wiz was shit at reading, so Ichabod took point. He began removing datarods, scanning them, first by jabbing them into his arm, then moving over to one of the tables nearby and setting them up, side-by-side, to read at once. G-Wiz helped with collecting them, pulling them from their places and setting them as a pile next to her guildmate. Her expression soured as she saw him move at a quickening pace, skimming through each datarod before setting it aside, each time faster than the next.

“You're not going to read deeply into it?” she said.

“Don't need to,” Ichabod said, “Most of these are simple wetworks, nothing like what Joseph described. Besides, I'm not looking for a report.”

He scowled at one of the datarods.

“This one's in High Speech. I wish Becenti were here – he's practically fluent.”

He set it in a small pile, one to denote the ones he couldn't translate on the fly.

“So what are you looking for, then?” G-Wiz said.

“A contract,” Ichabod said, “I reason the shapeshifter didn't have time to really write back to his guildmaster, considering he made a beeline for Dailori right after the gala.”

“He coulda dropped a message on the way, he was in Krenstone,” G-Wiz said.

“True,” Ichabod said, “But what's he going to say? He said it himself. The job wasn't done yet.”

He continued working, G-Wiz pulling a face as she went back to grab more datarods. The translation probe floated down a few moments later, a ball with multiple ports peppered over its surface. Ichabod took his small pile and started jamming them in, watching as the probe worked.

“Right,” Ichabod said, “That should work. Let's give it a moment, eh? Did you bring anything for lunch?”

“...Shit,” G-Wiz said, “Thought that was your job.”

“It was,” Ichabod said, pulling out a few sandwiches from his bag.

“Asshole.”

They ate in silence as the translation probe did its work, sitting down against the shelves. G-Wiz stared at it as it spectre'd in the air, a couple beeps the only evidence of it working. She found herself tapping a beat on her knee as she chewed her sandwich in time with the probe's tone.

“Sure is takin' a sec,” she said.

“It's cataloging thousands of languages,” Ichabod replied, “And trying to grab any instances of ‘Like Shadow’ that might be hiding, due to the enchantment. Give it a moment, old machines work slow.”

“Speaking from experience?” G-Wiz said.

He sneered at her. Took another bite of his sandwich. Stood up from his seat, stepping back over to the table, pulling out a datarod he had not yet read and clicking it in. It began displaying information, reading out a short summary of events in some distant place.

“This is how they track us, you know,” he said.

“Hmm?” G-Wiz said.

“The High Federation. This is how they get a general idea of where we are, and what we're doing. Everything Is chronicled here. All the jobs we've run, the people we've gained, the people we've lost.”

“Everything, huh.”

“Your report to Galapaga, when we lost Charney,” Ichabod said, “Your first job. Mine, too. Wakeling's, even, somewhere on one of these Library Worlds.”

He glanced around, a grim smile on his face. One that G-Wiz knew did not reach his eyes.

“Nole's death,” she said.

“Aye, that too,” Ichabod said.

“That's... It ain't fair,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Nole... his people, they believed that when you die, you should only live on in the memories of others,” G-Wiz said, “That's why we buried him in the middle of nowhere. Why we didn't leave a marker.”

She tapped the side of her head.

“We remember him only in here.”

“Ah,” Ichabod said, “But we can't have that, if the report of his death is recorded.”

“Recorded here,” G-Wiz said, “Recorded when we gave testimony in court, too. Fucking sucks ass, doesn't it?”

“That's...” Ichabod said, “An odd way of putting it. But yes, it does.”

The translation probe dinged. The two of them glanced over at it, their conversation broken. Ichabod strode over and began removing datarods, clicking them into the table. Now translated, they began reading out in Galactic Common. The first few were duds, as he gave a sigh and put them aside.

Then, he stopped at one of them. Read it out. Read it a second time.

“The assassination of a noble of Scuttleway,” he read.

“Is that it?” G-Wiz said.

“It's a contract,” Ichabod continued to read, “The target's name is blotted out, as is the member of the guild who was taking the job. Odd, but not unusual.”

“Who was the client?” G-Wiz asked.

But Ichabod had frozen. He almost did a double-take. Then, he sighed, removing his sunglasses, laying them on the table. It was the first time in a while that G-Wiz had seen the man without them, and he hid them for good reason. They were clear, like glass marbles had been forcibly jammed into his sockets. Occasionally they would pierce green. Glow blue, or red. But aside from that, they were always clear, adding to his aura...

Of a ghost, she realized. Something that had died a long time ago, and was only pretending to be alive. He was rubbing his temple, and she realized that the darkness of the shades had been an illusory effect to make him seem darker. More dour. Without them, Ichabod was bone-white, pale as the moon.

“The client was Oztech,” he said.

***

They made their way out of the library, practically running up the stairs, flagging down another one of those orbular ships, clambering in and beelining towards a communications tower. It dominated the landscape, a spire connected to a long-range communication device that read Traveling Points throughout this region of the galaxy. Close enough, fortunately, to Londoa. The spire only worked if the plane was in forecast, meaning they were doubly lucky. Just another few months, and they would have needed to hightail it back to talk to Wakeling.

Ichabod was grimacing as he paid to get in, draining what little cash remained on his credstick. His hands were shaking, G-Wiz realized, a fact that set her on edge as he made his way to the elevator.

“The very top,” he said, “We need to get to the very, very top of this damn thing if we've got any chance of getting to her.”

He paced back and forth as the elevator took them up. The elevator car was clear, as was the chute surrounding it, giving them a bird's eye view of the land below. Ravines in blue, a light far too harsh for Ichabod, who returned the shades back to their place. His usual frown deepened. Became more real.

The elevator door opened.

“G-god dammit,” he whispered. G-Wiz heard him let out a quiet...

A quiet sniffle. His walking was unsteady as he strode, practically ran, almost flopped across the room, a wide open space with alcoves containing communications arrays. He stumbled to one, the datarod clenched in his hand, which would have whitened were it not mechanical. He clicked the coordinates of Londoa, selected its Traveling Point on Everlasting Truth. Waited, as the array did its work.

“Who's to say she'll even pick up?” G-Wiz said.

“Shut up,” Ichabod snarled.

G-Wiz blinked.

“A-alright, man,” she said.

A few minutes passed. Ichabod took a moment to try and compose himself, standing up tall and proper, putting on his mask of ice. Which broke, melted back into a grimace as he muttered another “God damn it” as he waited for Wakeling to respond.

After what felt like an eternity, the signal connected to that old, beat-up communicator back at Castle Belenus. They could not see Wakeling's face, only her crone's voice, crackled and garbled, as it inked through the array.

“Ichabod,” she said.

“W-Wakeling,” Ichabod said, “W-we... we found the damn contract.”

“Oh, good,” Wakeling said, “Our good captain will be glad to hear that, won't he?”

“Vyde,” Ichabod said, “The client ran their job through Oztech.”

There was silence on the line.

“Vyde?” Ichabod said.

“Then this changes things,” Wakeling said, “I think it's time we settled this business. I'll make arrangements to refund Ramsey-”

“Wait,” G-Wiz said, “What?”

“Oztech's involved now, G-Wiz,” Wakeling said, “I don't like dealing with Agrippa, even with an investigation like this.”

“But we're so close,” G-Wiz said, “Seriously, we've been going all over creation to get this information, Wakeling. This is it, I know it-”

“No, G-Wiz,” Wakeling said, “Marcus Agrippa was a monster who played both sides during the war, a man who silenced anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Julius Agrippa, if rumor is to be believed, is even worse.”

“...Like father, like son,” Ichabod murmured.

He pondered the datarod as he stood up tall once more, the aura of ice returning to him. His voice was clear as he spoke.

“We can do it.”

“I'm sorry?” Wakeling said.

“I said, we can do it,” Ichabod said, “I know Oztech. It's home territory.”

“Ichabod, we both know-”

“Becenti dealt with Oztech,” Ichabod said, “So have I.”

“Myron dealt with Agrippa with a ten-foot pole,” Wakeling said, “Not a... what would you even do?”

“Gather a team,” Ichabod said, “Slice into their data network. A heist. I can take Becenti. A few others, too. The best of us at this sort of thing.”

“Becenti's on a mission right now,” Wakeling said.

“...That's fine,” Ichabod said, “I'd still want him. I can wait.”

“I still haven't said yes,” Wakeling said.

“Vyde, please,” Ichabod said, “If we do this, I can get you our man. See who the hell ordered the hit on the Doge, or whoever was targeted at the gala. Because whoever did this won't stop. They'll keep hiring people. Still keep using Oztech as the go-between.”

“And you're not doing this as some sort of... crusade?” Wakeling said.

The words hung in the air. G-Wiz felt like a bystander of an impending accident, in the moments when one realizes that two trains are about to collide. Ichabod took a deep breath. Then another. Cleared his thoughts. Prepared his speech.

“All this time,” he said, “I've worked for you. Never complained, always was the consummate professional. I've asked for little in return. Save for this job, of course.”

“And...” Wakeling said.

“If I do this, I owe you a favor. A debt. To you. To the guild. I need to do this job, Vyde. That's all there is to it. You know what they did to me.”

Their guildmaster was quiet for a long time. Ichabod's jaw was set, his hands gripping the sides of the communication array.

“Alright,” Wakeling said, “But there... there would be terms.”

“Of course,” Ichabod said.

“Myron leads the mission,” she said, “Not you.”

“Of course.”

“If he sniffs out that something's wrong, he pulls you all out.”

“Naturally,” Ichabod said, “I-We, would be careful.”

“And I decide who goes,” Wakeling said, “None of this 'first pick' bull that Urash pulled.”

“Deal,” Ichabod said.

“Now, get back here,” Wakeling said, “I want you back home. I need time to think. To plan. I need... I need a damn drink.”

She cut off communication then, the array powering down, darkening as Ichabod stepped back, hanging his head. The look on his face was almost one of relief.

Almost.

“So you're not moving out until Becenti gets back,” G-Wiz said, “He's off-plane.”

“That's good,” Ichabod said, “It gives me time to think, and plan, and see what Agrippa's been doing since I left Neos.”

“Are you sure about all of this?” G-Wiz said, “Wakeling really didn't want to agree to this.”

“I know,” Ichabod said, “I've made quite the deal with the devil, saying I owe her. But this is the sort of job I've been wanting for a long time. I'm doing something I've been... planning, shall we say, for a while now.

“I'm going home.”