“We have reached an accord,” Gaelvry Bride announced in the dining hall after all the tables had been brought in and fixed firmly on the backs of fifteen Rares and one lucky winner of the Quake substitution contest. After winning every day for two weeks in a row, Super Rare Yutak Zvolo asked if there might be some flaw in the randomization procedure, but the other Quakes assured him everything functioned as intended.

“Listen carefully. I don't want to repeat this.” Gaelvry paused. “I really, truly don't want to repeat this. We are going to celebrate a, um, an All Ages Cauldron-centric Nileriffic Frontier Gourd-Bobbing Arts and Crafts Mystery Mash Chili Cookout.” The assembled officers applauded, and not for the party theme. “Thank you. Thank you. The next step . . . yes, thank you. Next we have to set things up. The location has been settled as the secondary storage site, since we all know where it is. Not to mention that after the party we can get around to moving the weapons back here. I'd like to thank King Ostros for overseeing repairs of the water damage to the Armory.” Ostros stood and bowed toward each of the other tables. “Right, so we need an oversized cauldron, a huge barn with a pyramid roof, a display area for pumpkins and another for chili . . .”

“What circumstances mandate more than anything else can only be called cow removal,” Count Poitnem said. “Why are crowds of cattle chewing the cud all across the chosen construction location?”

“Ah, well, you see. We were going to a include a barbecue. Driving cattle over from West Beruvia takes time, so I did it early. Then everyone wanted chili instead.” Gaelvry shrugged and avoided meeting the eyes of other planners.

“How much time? Would you have needed to start the second you heard about a party, and that's why you came in late to the first meeting?”

“Well, Quircy.” Gaelvry looked left and right and finally at Quircy Rau. “Yes.”

“She said it! She really said it. I learned something about integrity today. But what do we do about it?”

“I propose we pen them up over at the foot of that hill.” Count Poitnem pointed both with his finger and his predator's gaze. “Furthermore, if we position the Infernos' camp partway between the pen and the material storehouse, they can release their occasional aggressions on the animals rather than on the more valuable parts of the venue and nudge their numbers down, bit by bit.”

“Why by the hill?”

“Why not? It's a landmark.” With that decided, every officer not called up by the players for active duty was assigned some task, whether rounding up the cows, hauling tools and building materials as well as lazy URs, or surveying for the construction of pyramid barns, podiums, and rest camps for when officers needed a break from not fighting.

Over the next few days, cauldrons and pyramids rose in the formerly cowed fields. Except for the pyramids. The idea of a barn with a pyramid on it was abandoned for a pyramid with a barn in it, which in turn surrendered to a ziggurat with windows when no architect capable of planning an actual pyramid could be found. A rumor spread that a Rare had offered to design it and ended up crestfallen when his bid was rejected, though investigation revealed Rares were incapable of thought or emotion.

“I am concerned about the scope of this project,” Aerywe Beruvo came to remark. “According to what conception is all this preparation necessary for a simple party? When Night Shift Lynissia joined us, Gaelvry managed everything needful in but one day. Have we regressed in organizational ability since then?”

“Not at all. Examine the evidence yourself.” Rylweadh of Mercy swept her hand to include all the ongoing activities in the discussion. “Construction may be proceeding, but look over there. A three-legged race in the Flood camp. Quake weightlifting. Over there, the shortest Storm I've ever laid eyes on is kicking everyone in the shins while they bet which among them will yelp the loudest. The Infernos have developed rules for a triathlon consisting of stone-laying, cow-killing, and running back and forth between the two. I assert that in this case, the process is the party.”

The more time that passed, the sounder that conclusion seemed. Officers hurried over from Freegate as soon as their dispatches ended with things other than labor on their minds. Work got done, but the ratio of time on the clock to off would have sent the top hat flying off a rich businessman's head if any of those had been put in the gacha yet. A festive spirit suffused the construction and even overpowered some to the extent that they had to take breaks from taking breaks, though of course no one noticed if a Rare or two went out more often than might be expected.

“Hi, Ulrik. I noticed you come out here more than I'd expect.”

Ulrik tried to slay the interloper until instinct receded and he saw it was Cadmos, at which point he tried to slay him some more. After a few missed swings, he returned to the business of cattle elimination. “I decided to be helpful. Count Poitnem told us he thought the herd-thinning could bear hurrying. He wants them to respawn in the Beruvian background before any players notice. Some of those were his words, but I leave which as a fun puzzle for the listener.”

“That's commendable of you.” Cadmos sat on the slope of the hill and watched the storage site. “It's quiet here except for the cow-killing. I like to come out here to relax, think, and receive espionage reports.”

“What was that?”

“Sorry, I wasn't clear. I asked Sibyl to spy on people for me. Here she is now.”

“What kind of client comes out and says it like that? Beat around the bush more. Either a PI has to investigate her own client or he winds up murdered. That's the rule. Anyway, I've got photos and reports.”

“Great! Let's hear it.”

“Will listening to this make me legally culpable?”

“Yes. The lord of Freegate will judge your case, and that's me.”

“First of all, there's the Old West faction. There are just two buckaroos in that little wagon train. Here you can see Beruvo the Lesser trying to talk Georgia Anne Cooper into making a play for attention. What kind of play? Neither of them knows, and Miss Cooper's having none of it anyway.”

“Why does it say 'Espionage by Ipons Ulsrada' on the back?”

“Sometimes you have to grease a few palms to get the inside dope, and other times you have to promise an officer you'll let everyone know who crept up on a private rendezvous and snapped your secret pictures for you. It's a crazy business, but I can't give it up.

“Next is the Witch faction, which by rights is every lady officer in the army minus Winze. They cooperate and keep secrets about as well as you'd expect from a group that makes up half the roster. It's every witch for herself out there, and Adigail Zem's dog having to wear little wings she got from Quircy Rau is about as deep as it goes.”

“'Need a spy? Ask for Ipons Ulsrada!'”

“Advertising is key, apparently. After that is the Mummy faction, and what a strange setup they have. Most of them would like to see Havamal win, and he isn't even in on it. I guess the Lord Protector inspires a lot of love and admiration, but too bad for him it's a burning kind of love. Some of them have an idea about accidentally pouring chili all over him and bandaging him up so he's already a mummy when Halloween comes around. Then there's Surgeon Merilia, who thinks that's a swell idea except for the part where it's him instead of her and where she gets covered in scalding chili instead of faking it.”

“'All tied up? Ipons Ulsrada can be there for you!'”

“Then there's the Vampire faction, and I gotta say, it's tough to unravel a conspiracy between one conspirator and himself. I haven't seen anything I recognize as plotting. Wish I could say more.”

“Thanks, Sibyl. You've been a big help. I think I'll ask Havamal to judge the pumpkin contest while the chili fest is going on.” Sibyl departed for the hustle and bustle of the festival area.

“And so the secret mastermind stands revealed.”

“That's right, Ulrik. Remember when that thing you didn't like happened? I did that. And that thing you liked? Also me.” Cadmos stood.

“That's not true. I never liked anything.”

“You have me there. I don't normally keep tabs on zany schemes like this, but something about this place has me on edge. I feel like something's here that isn't supposed to be, or we aren't supposed to know about, or . . . I'm not sure. Staying out too long might be a bad idea. It's probably my imagination.”

Ulrik watched Cadmos leave, then waited a bit longer, and at last ran around the far side of the hill. “Spy on people faster! Flames of Dovesk!” The blazing arc shot forward and melted a small slice of hill, increasing the size of the gash he had managed to carve out.

“What are you doing?”

Ulrik's scimitar did not leap out to take the life of the speaker. It had decided to relax and enjoy Hill Parade Day. “Princess Melban. Behold this hill's arrogance. It's not even that tall! It needs humbling.”

Vinnette Melban hopped down the hill and examined it from Ulrik's side. “It doesn't seem all that proud . . .”

“Then why does it cover up an unused castle? Places like that are meant to be challenged. By me. Not to be monopolized by a miserly hill.”

“Oh! Do you think that story's true?”

“No, but it isn't enough not true to overlook it.” Ulrik ambled back to the cows and started slashing. “The excavation process will slow after the cattle are gone. Even so, I will dig up the rumored tower or build a new one in a hole here. Nothing is more certain than this. The time frame is a bit hazy though.” He ran back when his Skill Star filled and vaporized another chunk, and the bottom end of a caduceus began digging as well.

“Thanks, Princess Melban.”

“Happy to help!”