Ah~ah. I really don't want to get mixed up in this. Tesla ground a heel against the cobblestone street and wondered what would happen if he avoided the situation altogether. Could they possibly wipe each other out? He had nothing against Esperia, of course; he barely knew her. Likewise, he had no idea who the convoy of peasants lined up behind her were either. He didn't owe them anything. At the same time he didn't have anything against them, either.

The other group was a little more of a mixed bag. Trinzet had already tried to kill him once, and her current outfit wasn't exactly inspiring confidence in her mental state. At the same time, the royal retinue trailing behind her were most likely hand-picked by that old biddy Refireah. The last thing Tesla needed was to serve as the royal head maid's foil for proving that all men were hormone-soaked dogs to her precious princess. God damn helicopter mom. At least the crone, herself, wasn't present, but Tesla had a sneaking suspicion that was only because the king wouldn't allow it.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if any of the men and women cued up to Trinzet's rear were not ordered to be there. Tesla felt a little guilty about either group getting hurt on what was practically his own doorstep. Also, if it weren't for Esperia he wouldn't have the Waving Heathers in the first place. Last, but not least, though Trinzet herself may not have known it yet she was inarguably Tesla's Follower; he felt responsible for her, if nothing else. Crap. Let's just get this over with. With his strength in the triple digits, it was a simple exercise to bound up the street in a few short hops. While he couldn't drop from the sky between the two groups like some over-the-top superhero, it was child's play to approach the squabbling women broadside and drop a heavy hand on each one's shoulder.

"Would either one of you like to explain why there's about to be armed conflict right at the threshhold of my home?" Tesla tried to smile, but it came off a little forced. "Thanks to all the walls throughout the Nobles' Quarter, it may look deserted but you can rest assured that it's not. You are making trouble for me."

Esperia paled visibly; Trinzet released a most un-lionlike squeak. Like I care. Maybe this isn't the right way to employ high charisma, but don't try to spill blood right at my damn gate!

"What? No answer? In other words..." Tesla offered another strained smile. "This was nothing but a children's quarrel, wasn't it?" The muscular ryujin tightened his grip on each woman's shoulder. "Very well. As I am a fair man, I will let it go. In exchange I'll permit two representatives from each group to follow me inside, as I'm certain the reason why you're here in the first place has something approximating validity. However, I'm not taking you to the main house nor am I offering you any hospitality. You will follow me as I make my rounds through the property and inform me of your intentions as I request them. Are we clear?" With that, he gently pushed the women apart and passed between them as though they were not there. As always, the Heathers opened the gate in response to his presence and welcomed its master home.

Naturally, Tesla's first stop was the stables. Feeding Crucius took first priority, and watching the cub bound clumsily around him for the rest of the day was a tremendous stress-reliever. On the way, Tesla passed by both the main house and the guest house where Book's mini-map functions confirmed there were no intruders. Next was the hunting lodge, which was likewise clear, and finally the observatory tower-turned-workshop. It wasn't necessary to make the rounds, of course; the Waving Heathers were Tesla's personal territory, which meant that no Ember (or NPC) could enter the premises without his permission or assistance from another Spark. With all the other Sparks gone from the frozen territories until the rise of spring, Tesla could comfortably sit back and relax with regards to security.

Obviously, he was doing it to make the four attendants trailing along behind him squirm. Esperia gave every indication that she was fully acclimated to city life and wasn't particularly comfortable wandering through even a hundred acre wooded park like the Heathers. She often started when snow piles would fall free from overhead branches and crash to the ground below; her eyes darted around with every bird cry, the skittering of charging squirrels and common rabbits, or the footfalls of deer.

Trinzet was less bothered by her surroundings, as marching through the countryside was a regular event for her. Her problem had everything to do with the ill-fitting clothes she had wrapped around her, including a pair of lady's shoes that were not meant for hiking. It didn't help that the oversized axe she was forced to settle on her shoulders continually threw off her balance.

The princess' escort, a young human soldier that was probably dragged along for appearance's sake, alternated between trying to burn a hole through Tesla's back with the intensity of his angry glare and silently begging Trinzet to pass the burden of the unwieldy weapon she was carrying over to him. Book identified him as ; the fellow was smartly-dressed in a basic uniform. It was sufficiently well-tailored to pass as semiformal while remaining functional enough for the battlefield. As usual, it was a white outfit with a carefully-stitched black lion on the breast. A couple of simplistic collar pins probably denoted rank.

On a side note, it took Tesla a long time to realize that the plain black and white common to the royal army was actually the Diatom family's official colors. Monochrome colors are drab, even funereal; weren't royals supposed to be into hard-to-get dyes and eye popping hues? The usage of black and white was rather understated back on Lonely Mountain, after all, so Tesla always assumed that the color scheme was nothing more than arctic camouflage for the military. This was especially the case since most soldiers would wear reversed colors whether it was day or night. Maybe it was just a case of killing two birds with one stone.

Esperia's escort barely deserved the term. He was an older man, also human, but he bore the typical garb of a countryside peasant who was down on his luck. He was unbothered by the Heathers as an environment; in fact, he often stared around like a child in a fantasyland. No, the man's discomfort came purely from Tesla himself in the form of old-fashioned fear. Again, Book helpfully declared him to be

At the workshop Tesla deposited his sole Nexus Rabbit catch in a nearby hutch, then made for the broad double door entrance. "Everyone, come in." The interior of the tower made it clear that most of the king's secret reward money was funnelled there. Lathes, saws, drills, pneumatic hammers, complex parts fabrication devices, synthetic flesh generators, the all-important golem core refinement system... the interior of the tower was reborn into an automated, if small scale, golem development facility. To one corner, alongside a construct that combined the functions of a practical desk, a scanner (that was examining the pendant of Julius Denatus), and a drafting sketchboard, sat a pair of crystalline vats in which floated two homunculus skulls. Tesla examined them both, then shook his head. "My level's just too low, this is taking forever. All this time and they've only managed to reform the first cervical vertebrae. Not a single scrap of soft tissue has yet to appear, either. I wonder if the entire skeletal structure will be necessary before we move on to muscle and organs?" He slowly dragged off the upper layer of his parka and tossed it atop the desk. "Now, that's enough fidgeting around for all of us; let's start with the easiest. Princess, what the hell are you doing wandering around the city in that getup?"

"Ah!" Unprepared for the sudden question, Trinzet shook herself into gear with a shuddering start. "It's... we were just... and then she... wait, my dress? I only wanted to... wait, that's none of your business!"

"At least toss the wargear, Trinzet, or did you plan on holding siege to the Waving Heathers?"

"Oh." The lioness clumsily shoved the axe at her subordinate, reached up to the heavy plate strapped to her chest, then paused. "Um, actually, I can't take this off."

"Why?"

Once more Tesla was treated to the improbable image of a zoan blushing, something that was only possible in the anime-designed world he lived in. "It's not my fault, okay! The dress is too small!" Trinzet dithered with her fingers, then continued in an unusually small voice. "I can't lace up the bodice."

At that, everyone's eyes drifted away. Even the young Marx Krull, who obviously held a high opinion his new commanding officer, developed a pale face. Tesla could readily imagine oversized droplets forming behind their heads. He collapsed into the nearby desk chair and unconsciously caught Crucius as the cub leapt into his lap. Book, she's my "Follower" right? Can I use Equip?

Fine. Auto-equip everything she has on except the armor plate. Unequip that.

Trinzet's face took on a peculiar expression. "Wha!?" With the sound of creaking leather and flowing thread, the silly gown she was wearing unbunched itself and settled into a proper configuration befitting her body. The armor plate fell away with a metallic clatter, but by that point Trinzet's dress had already expanded into a perfect fit even for her ridiculous figure. Luckily it revealed itself to be one of those neck-height formal dresses with no exposure, since even a little bit of the Lioness of Rodannes' cleavage went a stupidly long way. Of course, even if it fit her like a tailored glove, an evening gown was still entirely the wrong kind of outfit to be wandering Diatom's streets in. As an added bonus, even the wig on her head straightened from a dangling mess into something respectable: It turned out to be a high-ponytail setup of exceeding thickness that managed to hang all the way down to her waist, and even though its sky blue coloring clashed horribly with the violet tones of the dress, Tesla decided that the wig somehow suited her.

Huh, Tesla wondered, how do you keep a wig from falling off?

Right, magic; of course. How convenient, in a number of different ways. "There, that should do it. Now, at least, you don't look like a ten-year-old who tried to dress herself in something she wore when she was five." Tesla waved a hand dismissively at the others' incredulous looks. "Don't ask; just consider it a unique skill native to Sparks, one that I can only use on myself and, oddly enough, Trinzet for the time being. Now, Esperia, I realize that it was rude of me not to offer my greetings and thanks as soon as possible, and I'm not surprised that you would come by at some point to see the Heathers for yourself. Was the mass retinue entirely necessary, though? I'll tell you now that I'm not interested in subdividing the property and selling it off."

Esperia coughed into her hand, then indicated the elderly peasant by her side. In an instant she was back to business. "Palmer Solitaire, here, represents an old interest in the property. It was my original intent to arrange a meeting in my offices, but the unusual nature of the events following your purging of the estate's haunt made that impossible."

"So I see." Tesla turned to the old man and arched an eyebrow. "I also noticed that mister Solitaire brought quite a lot of backup with him for a simple meeting. Men, women, children, cartloads of home goods... I'd almost swear you were trying to move in." The ryujin Spark turned back to Trinzet and tapped a claw against the surface of his desk. "You, too; that was a hell of a wagon train you were pulling up to my gate, princess. What are you after?"

Like Esperia, Trinzet also sobered up and tried the serious approach. "His Majesty the king has asked me to supervise the general improvement of the city guard. As your property is centrally located, I have come here to set up my headquarters." The martial pose she took was actually quite impressive, invoking an image of vast military prowess, keen oversight, and a humble resumption of duty; it just didn't fit well with a party dress.

"I take it this is a legal, albeit temporary, conscription of a portion of my premises for military matters? On the orders of the king?"

"Correct." Trinzet held up a hand. "However, we have absolutely no intention of making any modifications to the property for the duration of the stay. I merely need personal housing for myself and my staff, as well as a proper bivouac for my forces. Neither group is particularly large." Her cheeks reddened again. "Also, I am requesting your personal assistance as I make my rounds. I'm a soldier and accustomed to the battlefield, despite my honors. Normally, I leave administrative duties and legal issues regarding my demesnes to more capable hands than my own. I'm not entirely sure how city guardsmen patrolling Diatom's interior differ from the army's defense against exterior threats."

Oh, dear; somehow I'm beginning to feel sorry for the Rodannes Plains. Tesla swiveled his desk chair around and contemplated the peacefully bobbing skulls in their outsized crystal tubes. Finally... "Alright, it's the order of the king after all. I'll put you up in the hunting lodge, and the soldiers can use the guard barracks below the main house. If you have too many for the barracks, we'll try converting the dungeon space first. Otherwise, the remainder will have to put up tents in the woods. I will not accept a single tree getting cut down. Leave the animals alone. However, any naturally fallen branches are free game; the same goes for fallen trees. I don't know how many maids you brought with you, but the lodge is bigger than you might think. Come see me if there's an issue." Tesla turned back around. "I trust this is sufficient?" Maybe I can use the 'web again; download some criminal behavior theses and law enforcement protocols for large cities.

"Yes!" Trinzet scooped up her discarded breastplate from the floor while nodding like a giddy schoolgirl. "And... your assistance?"

"We'll see. I do have other projects going, believe it or not." With that, Tesla shifted his attention to Palmer. "Mister Solitaire, it appears you're looking for an excuse to move in, too. Care to elaborate?"

Palmer Solitaire visibly swallowed his fear and discomfort, slowly clenched the beat up old cap he held in his hands, and bowed his head. "Y... Yes. M'lord, the old Solitaire clan served the Waving Heathers for generations. We worked hard for the Skywalkers' glory: We fought at their command, toiled their rural fields, dug in their mines, served in their houses... We offered them our strength to raise their riches, married our best women into their family. We aren't noble, but our clan rose with their clan even if it was in their shadow. When the Skywalkers fell they abandoned us. The fighting men were stripped of their honor, the farmers were stripped of the land, the miners stripped of their ore." The old man raised his head; his face was stricken, but he didn't cry. "It was their right: It was their land, their mines, their swords. It was their right, but it wasn't right."

Tesla nodded. "No need to be so polite; I'm no lord. So, the Solitaire clan fell into decline faster than the Skywalkers themselves?"

"You have the Heathers, that makes you a lord in the eyes of the clan. And, yes: We left the city, the farms, the mines. The Skywalkers were perceived as corrupt, likewise anyone attached to them was seen the same way. Nobody would take us on. Boys started turning to brigandry when the clan heads weren't looking; girls sold themselves as unlicensed whores for a few coins behind our backs. The misdeeds piled up until Diatom declared us a criminal clan, and we were chased out to the Krakenside. Who knows, maybe back then we deserved it. Maybe some of the heads were just as dirty as everybody said. No, I'm sure they were; times were desperate, and some people give up too much hope to make do the right way. For years we endured, eking out a living near the rocky shores of the Gulf, slowly dying off one by one for generations. That caravan outside? That's the last of the clan, lord; our last gasp. The Skywalkers disappeared; don't know where they went, don't care, not like they were offering us any help anyway. All that was left was the Heathers." Palmer's eyes brightened. "It was our last hope. With the Heathers as a starting point, just like way back when, the clan could build again. It was haunted, somehow, but that kept it pristine and unbroken. Now you come along, and the Waving Heathers lives once more." The old man's arthritic knees creaked as he lowered himself to the workshop's floor.

"Whoa, now!" Tesla jumped up from his chair and dropped a hand to the elder's shoulder.

Palmer shook his head. "No, I'll kneel. Without you, without the Heathers, the Solitaire clan dies. I know you've got nothing but the land itself, but it takes a special kind of man to claim this land in the first place. I want to take my chances, I want to call you "Lord." The Solitaire clan will work for wishes and prayers now if it means we can have a share in the future. As it stands, we have no future otherwise. As weak as we are, as tattered as we've become, the core of what made my clan famous is still there. I swear the Solitaires shall execute your will faithfully and with every ounce of vigor; may the mighty Soai end us all now if I lie." The old man bowed lower until he pressed his dirty forehead to the stones his knees rested upon. "Take my clan, Tesla Stone, make us whole again."

It took considerable effort to get Palmer Solitaire up from the floor. Forming a pact with an entire clan, even one as tiny and decrepit as the Solitaires, involved a whole lot of sworn oaths and outrageous promises. The Soai supposedly stood watch in order to bear witness and guarantee outlandish levels of divine retribution for any oathbreakers. This put a lot of pressure on Tesla's shoulders: As a Spark, he drew considerable attention from the Soai anyway. The last thing he needed was for them to take notice of a clan pact, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was their fault the Solitaires appeared in his life in the first place. Thus, it was with a sliding sense of inevitability that he found himself suddenly responsible for the survival of roughly three hundred Embers.

After that the entire property turned into a madhouse. The Solitaires promptly adopted the entire servants' wing, that subterranean complex beneath the main house, and began producing items from there that Tesla didn't even know existed. It was nothing particularly special, just stores of liveried clothing tied to the property, the day-to-day tools for maintaining the architecture and the gardens, even the crockery, porcelain, and silverware. Half the young men invaded the underground guards' barracks and claimed that as well. It almost turned into a fight with Trinzet's soldiers, but there was luckily enough room to accommodate both groups. Like the servants' quarters, the barracks turned out to also have martial livery, basic weapons, and simple armor.

In no time at all, the ill-kempt peasants from the Krakenside turned into a proper team of maids, butlers, cooks, gardeners, stablemen, pages, maintenance men, guards, and arborists. It was like hereditary memories passed down through the individual families in the clan leapt to the fore the instant the Solitaires set foot in the Waving Heathers. Once, when Tesla mentioned the matter to Old Palmer, the elderly chief admitted that the surviving branches of the clan were mostly composed of descendants of the Heathers' servant class. Each generation trained the next to serve in a position they may not ever get the chance to fulfill.

It went without saying that a sudden influx of people meant a whole lot of mouths to feed. Unfortunately, with no means of stable income the only way to take care of everyone's needs was to hunt. Tesla wouldn't allow hunting in the Heathers, as the animal stock would rapidly have been depleted into nothing, and his "Nexus Rabbit Breeding Program" was in too early of a stage to make money harvesting and selling their magic stones. Thus, the only source of revenue was to leave the safety of the city and hunt. Naturally, hunting in winter was not only very dangerous but also highly unproductive. Tesla was able to rely on Book's maps, though, and his newly-acquired young guardsmen to track down prey for the dinner table. From his perspective, it killed two birds with one stone. Ice bears gave lots of meat and their other item drops were semi-valuable; he could trade them for different meats, cheeses, vegetables, fruits, and the occasional wine cask. At the same time, he was effectively power-levelling the eager young men he was responsible for; there were plenty of trips to the Temple to visit the Reagan Stone.

As an added bonus, hunting larger prey than rabbits gave Tesla the opportunity to test his "golem device" designs for their practical applications. The chain sword worked as well as he expected, though there were some early issues with random bits getting under the chain and forcing it out of the channel of the "blade." He also developed a pneumatic crossbow: It had decent range but tremendous stopping power. The only problem was that the automatic reload function kept jamming when the next bolt was halfway into the firing chamber. Either he would have to rethink the spring mechanism, break down and attempt a second inscription on a basic core, or run two basic cores in the same device. As a third project, he was working with coagulated goo from frost slimes to create a gel golem that could function as temperature-regulated pillow.

Trinzet's soldiers didn't have to worry about food, as everything they needed was requisitioned from the military, but it did take a little while for them to settle in. Tesla didn't mind what the boys did on their down time for the most part, but drew the line at bringing outsiders onto the property. Friends and fellow soldiers from other units couldn't come over and throw a party, prostitutes were not allowed on the premises, those sorts of things. There were complaints, but the Waving Heathers was situated right in the middle of Diatom so it wasn't like they were deprived of entertainment. A few scuffles occurred between them and the Solitaire guardsmen on occasion, but even that settled down in short order. Every now and then a soldier or two would join Tesla for the hunt, returning with lurid tales of giant bears and an extra level.

Regarding Trinzet herself, she took to the Heathers' hunting lodge like a bee to honey, and typically ran the facility like the iron-fisted general she was. Of course, the stern facade often cracked during Tesla's visits. He would routinely find himself dragged off on yet another "observational excursion," which looked suspiciously like a date to any passers-by, or forced to resize every last spare piece of the lioness' armor, underarmor, pairs of boots, and random selections from the small mountain of outfits bestowed on Trinzet by Her Majesty the queen over the years. Tesla found he couldn't put those visits off for too long, either. Otherwise, the Lioness of Rodannes came hunting him down herself. In one infamous attack she caught the ryujin and hauled him away just as he was about to pass through the outer gates of the city, thus publicly putting a premature end to a carefully-prepared hunting expedition.

For some ungodly reason, Esperia likewise wormed her way into staying in the Heathers where she promptly took over a few rooms in the guest house. When asked why, she merely claimed she intended to keep an eye on things until the Solitaires settled completely. Of course, the maids passed along rumors that she often muttered that there would be no leaving until "that woman" pulled up stakes and vacated, herself. To keep the overeager businesswoman from dragooning his pages into running errands without pay, Tesla often found himself accompanying Esperia on her real estate expeditions. There, he discovered that real estate developers and agents were more cut-throat than he ever imagined; Esperia was often put in more danger of bodily harm, by bought-off toughs and irate renters refusing eviction, than Trinzet was on a daily basis.

When Trinzet's excursions coincided with Esperia's expeditions a great tension would fall upon the Waving Heathers like a certain divine hammer, causing Tesla to be bedridden with a migraine for days.

"Here, right here." When Trinzet took over the hunting lodge she made very few alterations whatsoever, but she did employ the old smoking parlor as the center of her operations. As a result the parlor was strewn with city maps and daily reports coupled with a constant flow of messengers and random soldiers. The antlers of a particularly large trophy buck were used as a glorified in / out tray, with incoming letters punched onto the tines of the left antler and outgoing messages punched onto the right. There were dinner plates and shot glasses everywhere, along with several burnt cigar butts and ashen pipes. Trinzet herself was currently leaned halfway across a billiard table while she poked a finger at a specific district.

Tesla merely rolled his eyes. Can she get any more obvious? The zoan woman had opted for the sky blue wig again, was wearing a uniform tailored to fit practically like a second skin, and had specifically chosen a point immediately in front of Tesla before bending over at the waist and stretching across the table top to indicate the map. Young officer Krull stood nearby with a pinched look on his face as he desperately tried to pass a chart pointer over to Trinzet, which she pointedly ignored. She's even waving her tail at me. Do zoan women go into heat, or is this one of those "I'll only bear the children of the man who beats me" scenarios? You're a grown woman, damn it! Stop acting like a teenager! Either way, it was a pain in the ass when Tesla was supposedly there to help with revamping the city's painfully lapsed police system. "Copper Downs? That's another low-rent housing district, right? What about it?

"That's the thing, I don't really know. Typically we get nothing out of "The Downs," except monthly reports from the district representative. Now, it's totally quiet."

Tesla shrugged and walked around the table, eliciting a low growl of displeasure from Trinzet, and began leafing through a short stack of papers strategically piled next to the district in question. "Sounds pretty common for a poor neighborhood: Illegal prostitution, the occasional mugging, a little light thievery here and there. Looks like the murder rate spiked somewhat a month or so ago, but that's already settled down to normal values. In fact, everything across the board is a bit below the annual average. Who's responsible for the district? Maybe they deserve a commendation."

"That's the thing." The lioness followed Tesla around the table, then leaned against him in a show of reading over his shoulder. "No one is responsible for Copper Downs; it's a "lawless district."

Tesla idly watched Krull fight to keep a straight face on the other side of the map. "Lawless districts exist due to insufficient manpower to cover the entire city, and previous kings thought it would be better to know where criminal gangs were most likely to "hole up" in case they ever became a genuine threat to public order. However, this makes the district in question a pretty hellish place to live for ordinary subjects of the crown. Now, in complete contrast to the norm, a lawless district has transformed into a relatively quiet neighborhood with no more crime per capita than your average middle-income residential area. What do you think, Captain?"

Tesla often thought that, at the very least, Trinzet's primary staff for her current job was hand-picked by a certain overbearing head maid. None fit this description so much as Marx Krull. Krull's face phased through an interesting series of expressions, most of them bordering on some form of dislike for the questioner, before he found his professional voice. "Vigilanteism."

Just one word, and it still looked like it hurt him. "Vigilantes, eh? It's not outside the realm of possibility for a group of concerned citizens to come together and lash out against crime, especially when law enforcement isn't doing its job. However, by its very nature a lawless district has been a hive of scum and villainy for decades. Is it really likely that one or more "heroes" would rise up in such an environment?" Tesla slipped away from Trinzet a second time and waved the reports in his hand. "The longer it goes on, the lower the likelihood becomes."

Trinzet pouted slightly at Tesla's departing back and crossed her arms. "What about that thing you mentioned a couple days ago, the "protection racket?" Could it be that?"

"Protection scams are typically employed against businesses, and usually have less to do with "we protect you from criminal behavior for a fee" than it does with "we promise not to bother you ourselves for a fee." The Copper Downs is a residential burg, though, and it's also a slum. There's no money to be had through racketeering in a place like that." Tesla paused, though, and took a deep breath. "There could be an organized presence... it's not racketeering, mind you, but there used to be an old trick employed by the more "established" groups that travels in the direction you're thinking of. It was a neighborhood con whereby gang affiliates injected money and a certain degree of genuine protection into a given area. In exchange, the people would protect the gangs from legal authorities by giving them a safe zone they could work out of. In this manner the gangs could construct small-scale businesses and the like that were legal, but actually served as fronts for behind-the-scenes criminal activity."

Trinzet frowned; "You think this is what's going on there? The rise of a highly-organized gang?"

"Maybe. Then again, maybe not. The tactic itself isn't exlusive to gang activity, after all. Some terrorist organizations have been known to use it."

"How do we find out? Move in force?"

"Nope. If it is this con that's being employed, then an established guard presence will have exactly the opposite effect. Especially if you take into account that there has been no guard element stationed in the district all this time. The people would see you as attempting to return Copper Downs back to a lawless state." Tesla turned back to the map. "We need informants on the inside, someone who's willing to talk with the right incentive."

"Like who?"

"Enigma Realty has a lot of low-rent housing-" Tesla blithely ignored Trinzet's hiss of outrage. "-but it's not a good idea to drag her business into a possible threat of reprisal for no reason. We don't even know if she has anything in the district, anyway. You'll have to find someone else as a middleman."

Krull gritted his teeth and pursed his lips; it looked like he was sucking on an imaginary lemon. "I know a place," he finally forced out, "it's a "Temporary Agency," but they run a legitimate business and have connections everywhere in the city. If anyone's going to have an informant in Copper Downs, it would be them."

Trinzet smoothed a part of the map, then pointed at Krull. "Really? What's the name?"

"Crowsword, I think."

"Well, we might as well try it. I'll send someone down to post a request; we'll see if anyone takes the bait."

Tesla nodded; "Make sure whoever you send doesn't give off a "military" or "guardsman" vibe. If there's even a single whiff that the authorities are involved then nobody will take the bait."

"Excellent idea!" Trinzet marched up to Tesla and dropped her hands on his shoulders. "Luckily, I know just who to send!"

Vender Quip scribbled at an itenerary list he had for tomorrow's day off when a short burst of cold air and the ringing of door chimes announced yet another intruder into his daily life of boredom and toil. This time, he didn't even bother to look up. "Lookin' for work, or lookin' to make work?"

The voice that replied was deep, but not too deep. "I'm looking to place a request."

Quip snatched up a paper and laid it across his itenerary. "Collection, escort, extermination, or investigation?"

"Hmm, investigation I suppose."

The old man sighed inwardly. "Make up your mind, son; CTA doesn't waste its time. You shouldn't waste it, either."

"Investigation, then."

"Particulars?"

"I'm a merchant looking to expand his business, but I can't afford anything too pricey. That's when I heard that the old Copper Downs district is getting cleaned up. I want to know if this is just a temporary deal or a more permanent arrangement, so I'd like details into the situation and how it's changed."

"Mmm-hmm. Off season or not, this shouldn't be too hard. How much is the reward?" In response, a small bag of coins dropped onto the counter. Quip poured them out and counted them off. "Not too little, not too much; CTA will take thirty percent, and the rest goes to whoever fulfills the request. First man to get the information to us gets the reward. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

"Your name?" Finally, Quip looked up.

"Tesla. Tesla Stone."