The Singing Flower Entertainment District was the largest "red light" sector in all of Diatom. There, one could find all the amusements an adult could hope for: Casinos, fighting arenas, brothels, and enough raw music to force the eyes wide. Interspersed between these amusements were taverns, pubs, and beer halls that could be considered the glue which held the Singing Flower together. It wasn't unusual, especially during the warmer summer months, to find individuals wandering the district missing most of their clothes due to lost bets or drunken stupidity.

The red light district's dark side was well known, too. Down the back alleys lay the Singing Flower's black market shadow, where the survival of kings versus the skill of assassins were the subject of wagers, where the blood sports ended in death, the illegal slave trade was alive and well, and highly-addictive chemicals flowed like water. When the hungers of the Singing Flower's customers grew sick and twisted, the shadow opened its arms wide and invited them in.

"You know I don't like to be called out in this fashion." Two men sat facing one another in the corner booth of a squalid gambling den's upper gallery. "We are at a critical juncture this moment; I've almost sewn up control of the Cat's Eye District." The human leaned back in his seat and lit a cigar filled with unknown herbs. He was a dandy of a man, dressed in the latest fashions like a lord with too much money to spend; a faint aura of corruption spilled around him. "I'm busy right now, Faceless." He blew out a ring of blue smoke from his pursed lips, then frowned at his companion.

"Faceless" shook his head. "The time to move is now." As always, his voice was both gravelly and completely devoid of anything remotely resembling emotion. Like his counterpart, the man called Faceless was also human. Again, though, he was bland-featured to the point of unrecognizability and his clothes could have come from anywhere. "We should attack as soon as possible, Revolutionary."

"Revolutionary" merely shook his head and ran a free hand through his curly, oiled locks. "Oh? And what is so important that the schedule must be pushed forward?" He had no fear of their comments being overheard. Even talk of overthrowing a country was meaningless beneath the shouting and howling of angry gamblers focussed on the latest bet below: How long an enslaved group of brawling, pig-headed orc men would survive an overdose of poisonous berserker drugs. "Need I remind you that the counties are expecting genuine results, and not merely sensationalism? If this pans out the duchy of Monmouth has promised to climb down off the fence and join our cause!"

"Faceless" held up a finger. "You already have the open support of thirty districts in the city, and the tacit support of forty more." Another finger joined the first. "I finally have a few dirty priests on the inside of the Temple, and they've located the circlet." A third finger rose up. "My investment with various temp agencies has turned up results: The ring bearer is still in the city."

"Revolutionary" took a deep draw on his cigar in surprise. "The circlet, and the ring... are you sure? I thought "his kind" wouldn't come back for a year!"

"Perhaps he's just another Ember, albeit one with unusual luck, after all. "

"This still doesn't convince me we have to move now." A roar of disbelief rose up from around the orc pit as the entire group died at once, mid-scuffle. Someone, somewhere, snarled about how the house always won; this sparked another brawl amongst the gamblers themselves.

"Faceless" shrugged. "That was just the good news. I can't hold onto the priests for long; the Temple spies will sniff them out in less than a week. Likewise, the Lioness is drawing too close to Copper Downs for comfort. The fact I found out about the ring bearer is entirely due to that catty bitch starting to sniff around the center of the operation. How likely is Monmouth to side with the counties if your buds are nipped before they flower?"

"Revolutionary" cursed loudly and dropped his head. "Damn that woman's quirky luck! ...Fine, fine! Just make sure you can secure both items while I turn the city on its head. This won't be enough to crash the gates of Lonely Mountain, but I would love to see the look on Diatom's face as his precious namesake goes up in flames."

"Well, lad, ye've certainly set yerself up rather well in the few months I haven't seen ye." The main house of the Waving Heathers was like a fusion of the Palace of Versailles and a gothic cathedral; it fairly dripped with an ostentatious opulence that seemed to increase by orders of magnitude with each successive room and parlor, and the lord's personal chambers sat at the apex of the mansion both figuratively and literally. Janek Hess, that sour old dwarf, kicked his stubby feet back and forth in an overstuffed chair while he tossed back a snifter of brandy. "I look away for a minute, and suddenly yer a stinkin' lord of all things!" The dwarf's steam-powered hand hissed a tiny gout of vapor in counterpoint as he twirled it around. His nose and cheeks, reddened with alcohol, remained the only portions of his face that could be seen through his profusion of facial hair, but they quivered with barely-suppressed humor.

"All flash and no substance." Tesla sat his own chair beside Janek in a companionable fashion and dropped into it. A fire burned merrily in the hearth of the drawing room they occupied, but they turned their backs to it in order to watch the snow fall outside the high windows. "I picked it up for a song and a dance, but right now I barely have the capital to maintain it. Luckily, the princess and her soldiers are feeding themselves; taking care of the Solitaires almost has me in the red, but when I mention selling off most of the furniture or peeling the gold leaf to make ends meet they go into conniption fits. "You can handle it, lord," they say, "your prospects are great and your potential is vast!" The ryujin waved his own hands in a disgusted fashion. "I mean, look around; the lord's suite has ten rooms. Ten rooms! Why does one man need ten rooms to potter around in? And if I want to sleep in the workshop? Oh no, it's sooo improper! I have to dine in that echoing main hall by myself, bathe in the hot spring only to freeze when I get out because it's open-air, handle paperwork in the main study, sleep in the lord's chambers when night falls... on, and on, and on! The stablemen won't even let me see Crucius for more than half an hour; they say I'm spoiling him, otherwise! And-"

Janek interrupted Tesla with rowdy laughter; he shook so much the chimes laced into his braided hair and beard rang out like jangling keys. "Welcome to the nobility, lad! That's what it's all about! I'm sure His Majesty will send you an official writ as soon as he thinks of it." The wily old dwarf refilled his snifter from a nearby bottle and eyed its contents. At least, Tesla thought he was eyeing the contents. For obvious reasons, sometimes it was hard to tell. "Besides that, I'm sure ye've got an idea or two on how to handle yer money problem. Ye never struck me as the kind of man to let others suffer; the Solitaires are in good hands."

Tesla grunted noncommittally. Janek was right, of course, though he didn't know how right. Most of the hacked-together quests attached to the Waving Heathers were outrageous power-levellers with unheard of rewards involving absurdly powerful weapons and items that had no place in the continuity of the world of Corundum. Some, however, were extreme moneymaker events that would leave Tesla with more cash than the gross domestic product of the kingdom of Diatom, let alone the city. In its own way, money could break the world's immersion just as much as some random OOPArt. He would much rather find some method to make money on his own, but the temptation of vast fortunes at his beck and call sometimes churned his stomach like bad meat. The hammer-tailed ryujin could only shake his head ruefully.

"Speakin' of "in good hands," Janek continued, "I see ye've picked up a couple of amusin' toys to while away the cold winter nights. Ye bedded either one of them yet?" He arched a fuzzy caterpillar of an eyebrow at Tesla's negative snort. "No? Curvy women aren't yer type? What, ye a gnome-kisser?"

"Jackass. Even you should be able to see it's more complicated than that."

"Complicated, how? Stick it in, wiggle it around; she squeals, ye growl one out, end of story."

"Damn, you are still one perverted old dwarf, aren't you? For one thing, one of them is related to the royal family."

"So's everybody else on Lonely Mountain, and they all got to get their ashes hauled somehow, what's yer point?"

"She's also a goddamn pain in the neck who's already tried to kill me twice. Then, when I knock her on her ass after the second attack, she decides she needs to get in my pants? Give me a break; a woman that overbearing would make my life a living hell. She sees me as personal property, with extra "benefits," not her lover."

"Ah. The dragoness?"

"Esperia pretends she can't make up her mind what the hell she wants. She drags me around almost as much as Trinzet does, but the only time she shows interest is when she thinks she can get a rise out of that one-eyed queen of envy. Otherwise, she starts and stops like a golem with a bad motivator inscription. As bad as a woman who wants to be my owner is, as far as I'm concerned the "hard to get" routine is ten times worse. At least Trinzet's honest about what she's after."

"-And when they're together?"

"They bicker like old women fighting over the last fish in the market." Tesla shook his head. "If Trinzet were any more pushy she'd try to enslave me. Esperia plays so many games she never actually gets anywhere. One's too straightforward to be believed, and the other's too subtle for her own good. For me, either way is a turn-off." The ryujin developed a sullen look on his face. "I thought they'd calmed down when they first got here. I laid down the law right at the very beginning and they behaved themselves for what, maybe four days? Now they push the envelope on a daily basis, and I'm about to pull my hair out."

"Then look somewhere else. Plenty other women out there, especially if ye're just lookin' for a good time. I swear, boy, ye look like ye could use a good tumble just to take the edge off. -And if those two are as bad as ye say, it'll teach them a lesson about takin' ye seriously or losin' ye to someone else."

"Yeah, I need that like I need a knife under the ribs. -Which I'm pretty sure is what I'd get if I actually did it."

Janek downed the contents of his glass again, then reached for the bottle. "Ye're overestimatin' a stranger's ability to read ye, even if she is a woman. A wife can tell if her man's cheatin' because she knows him so well. Those two? They barely know ye at all. So ye can stop actin' like they own ye, because they don't, and see to yer own happiness." The dwarf refilled his glass again, then set the bottle to the side. "Ye know that volk lass with the bovine attributes, the Solitaire girl assigned to cleanin' yer quarters?"

Tesla tucked his hands behind his horned head and leaned back in his chair. "Holly, from the Stein family. Not an important family in the clan, but she's sharp enough to earn a position close to the lord on her own merits. She's a good girl, always pays attention to my words; she might have the ears and tail of a cow, but not the lethargy. What about her?"

"Ye notice that she's stacked like the lioness, but with naughty eyes like the dragon? That she gazes at ye hopefully every evening, even though ye never make a move, but she never tries to force yer hand? Ye think that old bastard Palmer assigned her to babysit the lord's chambers because of her skill with a dust mop, or do ye think it's because no other man's touched her? Ye think the Solitaires haven't noticed ye're tryin' to live as celibate as a monk while under "those two" and their collective thumb, but that the frustration's drivin' ye nuts?" Janek tugged at his beard and chuckled. "Ye think that old man didn't write me a letter beggin' me to come visit the instant he knew I knew ye?"

"God damn it." Tesla propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and sighed. "You really came all the way down here, after all this time, just to lecture me on getting laid? How do you know Palmer, anyway?"

"He got around in his younger years; never a Bricoleur, but he did a lot of deliveries off the books for me. No, it really just seemed like a good excuse to come see ye. Honestly, I didn't think ye'd be havin' this problem. I forgot the histories say that a lot of Sparks are unusually repressed in this regard when they first come to Corundum. What kind of world do ye fools come from, anyway, to make ye like that?" Janek tugged his beard again and laughed. "Of course, afterwards, I hear the lot of ye tend to go overboard. Never mind, just let me say this much. If ye have any interest in those two at all, and ye want them to straighten up their act, then step back and let them know they're not the ones in charge. It may sound crazy to a Spark, but once they see that ye're not puttin' up with their crap anymore then they'll change their behavior. Either the lion will calm down and the dragon will heat up to match what ye want, or they'll walk away. Either way, it's better for ye." The dwarf clenched his mechanical fist and released another shot of steam. "There now! That's out of the way! Let's move on to other things. I swear I thought I was never goin' to be released from the cloisters at that musty old temple, then it took me a month of non-stop work to put my poor Bricoleurs back into tip-top shape again!"

Tesla nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Now that they are, does that mean you have another mission in the offing?"

"Bah. We're too busy sweepin' the temple grounds for any odd jobs on the outside." Janek sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Too many rats have gotten into the woodwork while I was away. It's been a devil winklin' them out, one by one; who knows when I'll catch them all?"

"Don't you usually need bait to catch a rat?"

"Only if ye know what kind of cheese they're after. Right now, I don't."

The conversation continued in that vein for another hour or more until the sun went down. Tesla snorted at the old dwarf as Janek hopped up from his seat and stood as steady as a rock. "Look at you, old man. You'd think you hadn't sucked down an entire bottle of hard liquor standing like that."

Janek gave off the impression that he winked, then stretched. "Long experience, lad; long experience. Besides, I'm a dwarf. If there's one thing a dwarf can do, it's hold his liquor."

"Hah. "If it's one thing a dwarf can do," it's this, "If it's one thing a dwarf can do," it's that. Go soak your head before you lift off the ground and take flight, you egoist."

"Ye just watch me take flight, infant." Janek made for the door while shooting Tesla a rather crude gesture at the same time. "Don't get up, I'll show myself out."

"You're turning in already?"

"I realize ye nobles stay up all hours of the night, but we workin' men have to be up with the sunrise."

"Right, right." Tesla waved a hand from his chair. "The ego swells again. What is it nobles supposedly say? You have my permission to leave, sirrah."

Janek snorted, then paused at the door. "Speakin' of things swellin' up, ye might want to turn in early yerself."

"I have every intention."

"Good. After all, remember that Solitaire girl I mentioned?"

Tesla sighed. "What did you do?"

"What if I said she was expectantly waiting in the middle of yer lordship's massive and fluffy bed, immense bosom all aflutter, as naked as the day she was born?"

"You didn't."

"I did." Janek opened the door and gave a saucy wave of his own. "If ye plan on gettin' any sleep at all, my son, ye'd better tuck it in now rather than later. Otherwise, ye'll miss half the day rather than just the mornin'." Tesla almost swore the old fool winked. "Don't worry so much; ye got my full blessin'. I'll even run interference for yer two wardens if they try to grief ye."

Tesla paced the floor after Janek left and grumbled to himself about the unfairness of women and the total lack of sympathy from men. Do I or don't I? Isn't she a little young? Janek's definition of her was right on the money: A volk girl with bovine ears and tail, a physique like a younger, softer version of Trinzet, and sharp, intelligent features like Esperia. Couple that with youthful energy and a calm temperament and you got Holly. I thought she was being a tiny bit more than professionally attentive. She liked to keep her hair up in a braided bun, which kept both her hair out of the dust and her graceful neck exposed. Shining eyes, but she kept herself in check. Now, that old pervert's talked her into my bedchamber.

Before he realized it, Tesla had already made his way to the innermost suite. His hands hovered at the latch to the double doors. What if she was pressured into this? What if she isn't even in there? If she is in there, and she wasn't pressured, what the hell do I do? Damn it, if I knew my nerves were going to be this thoroughly shot then maybe I should have "practiced" with some kind of exclusively adult VR material before I came to this point. Argh! Just open the door, you bloody coward!

The silver-steel ryujin's clawed hands slowly closed on the latches, turned the catch, and soundlessly pushed the doors open. As always, the rooms of the main house were designed to impress; the lord's bedchamber was awash with piled carpets and masterpiece drapes, carved furniture of unknown dark woods, overstuffed upholstery, standing mirrors of great size and value, and, last but not least, the dominating presence of a vast canopy bed meticulously crafted from the stump of an enormous tree.

The room was not the same as usual. Tesla usually relied on the soft, but steady, light of strategically-placed magic lamps, but they were replaced with an abundance of warm, flickering candles. A faint scent of fresh milk and honey wafted from the bed, originating from its sole occupant. There, wrapped in a comforting nest of silken sheets, velvety quilts, and lace pillows, crouched a miraculous creature of alabaster curves whose fiery eyes radiated both intense desire and an aura of serene tranquility. Holly Stein shifted at Tesla's arrival, turning to face her new clan master with blushed cheeks but firm resolve. Her breasts swayed as she gently held out her hands. "My lord? Winter is always cold and painful. Come, and warm yourself."

The sun rose high and distant, as though reluctant to pass on its life-giving heat to the city of Diatom, and shed its light on yet another thick blanketing of snow left behind in the dark of the previous night. Like clockwork, the frostrakers rose up from their homes and took to the streets in response to the city's newly frozen cocoon. This was their job, to employ heavy tools and simple magics to plow away snow, shave back the ice, and uncover Diatom for yet another wintry day.

It was a hard job, but it paid well and garnered respect. Without the frostrakers the city would quickly grind to a halt. That's why they were the first targets. The killers began with simple attacks: A knife in the back, a blow to the head; these were the crimes of thuggery and muggings gone wrong. The city guard made note of the violence and assigned soldiers to investigate, but evil men were everywhere and not even a frostraker was safe from a cutthroat's greed.

At this time it was still early; the city wasn't truly awake. The king had barely sat to breakfast. The bishop was still at his morning prayers. None of the shops were open. In the Heathers, Janek joined the Solitaire clan in an early repast and nursed a cup of coffee; Old Man Palmer sat with him and talked of days gone by. Tesla luxuriated in the warmth and softness of a girl who was neither too crafty to admit what she wanted nor so desperate as to force herself onto him. Meanwhile, a certain desperate lioness indecisively prowled in front of a row of wigs in the hunting lodge while a crafty dragoness reviewed her company ledgers at the breakfast table in the guest house.

The pace outside picked up. More and more reports began filtering in. Frostrakers were falling like flies; random pedestrians were being attacked. Knives were replaced with swords. Thrown stones were replaced with loosed arrows. The city guard took notice, and orders were given to double the patrols.

As the guard presence increased, so did the attacks. The downtrodden: Those who were sick, the beggars and illegal prostitutes, the cheapest of the cheap thieves, and the dispossessed slowly filtered out of the slum districts and took to the streets. Mixed into their numbers were hard-faced men concealing martial weapons and heavy armor.

Guards began to die; without the frostrakers, it was difficult for a solid force to make any headway on the frozen streets, but the growing mobs just ebbed and flowed wherever it was easiest to travel. In turn, the attacks became more random in nature. A business caught fire, then a home. Looting began, followed by internicine violence. Old grudges were settled in dark alleys and new grudges were born on the thoroughfares.

The king was informed and orders were given: The guard was to arm for war and march out in strength. They would chip their own way through the morning ice if they had to. The riots needed to be stopped.

The show of force slowly began to quell the looters, but more guards died in the process when they encountered those hard-faced men. Even with knots of hard resistance, it was almost enough; the mobs faltered and there was talk of running away. Then more smoke rose throughout the city.

The slum districts started burning. Given their interconnected, ramshackle nature only a handful of fires were necessary to spread the damage throughout each area. Soon those conflagrations threatened neighboring districts. Now there was nowhere to run. Word got around that the city guard started the fires to "cleanse" the city of the riff-raff. True or not, the mobs exploded; this wasn't a game anymore, this was about survival.

The fires spread, the fighting grew savage, and the situation chaotic. Spur-of-the-moment militias sprouted amongst the middle class commoners; these mobs were also restless, and they clashed with the poorer groups with such gusto that it became difficult even for the professional guardsmen to tell them apart. Retirees dusted off skills unused in a decade or more, and the collateral damage skyrocketed. The noble families refused to participate in the madness; they locked their residences up tight and relied upon both their walls and their mercenaries to safeguard both life and property. Most were successful. Some were not. Tesla followed their lead: The Waving Heathers was put on lockdown. Reports from the various clashing fronts, and commands to them, were tossed back and forth over the estate's outer walls by guardsmen with solid throwing arms. Unfortunately, with Lonely Mountain issuing its own orders and guard officers forced to make their own decisions when messengers were killed, Trinzet's commands didn't amount to much.

Amidst the chaos, two groups of armed men coagulated from the mobs they incited. One contingent painstakingly worked its way east across the city, targeting the diocese. The other pushed inward, in search of the nobles' quarter.

Tesla stood patiently at the center of the Waving Heathers' small armoury as a small knot of men and women painstakingly cinched a full body set of studded leather armor to his person. They didn't have to; he could have equipped the defensive items in an instant had he wanted, but they insisted. The longer Tesla came to know the Solitaires, the more doctrinaire about certain things they appeared to be. It was almost as if they were overcompensating for all those years spent banished to the Krakenside.

Whatever; I'll use the "Equip" function later, when nobody's looking, and then the whole set will fit perfectly. As armor went the leather wasn't bad, though it paled in comparison to the old steel half plate he lost in the ruined convent. In fact, the whole suit was nothing more than a slightly modified version of the stuff the clan boys uncovered when they moved into the Heathers' barracks. Of course, "modified" was a bit of an overstatement: An old woman with a respectable degree of skill in leatherworking was able to open up a space for Tesla's tail and pick out any stitching that marked the wearer as a member of the Skywalker clan's armed guards, but that was it. Some of the young men got excited about attaching a new crest to their old armor, something symbolizing their new lord, but were stymied by Tesla's actual lack of a coat of arms.

The reason why armor was even necessary was thanks entirely to Book, who informed Tesla just a day previous that, due to a city-wide riot "event," the basic anti-intrusion programs linked to the Heathers' outer walls were now shut down. Until the riot was over and order was restored, the privacy settings for any Sparks' properties within the city of Diatom would not be re-initialized. This forced Tesla to participate in the event if by no other means than pressing him into defending his own estate. In other words, the Soai were screwing with him again.

"Palmer." Tesla glanced to his right and immediately caught sight of the old man, slouching in his own set of leather that looked about two sizes too big for his frame.

"Yes, lord?"

"From this point forward, none of the servants are allowed on the surface without an armed escort. In fact, no one's allowed to come up at all unless it's absolutely necessary. As you know, both the well and the cellars are down in the third basement, so there's no real need to poke your head above ground until this insanity is over and done with." The blonde ryujin held his arms out while someone strapped a sword belt to his waist, then buckled his prototype chainsword to it. Sheathed in its boxy scabbard, the golem-weapon looked like a squared off club. "Make sure the escape routes are properly cleared, just in case you have to use them." Tesla wasn't really looking forward to seeing how well his weapon tore through "human" opponents.

"And the others?"

"The others..." Tesla scratched his chin. "I don't care what Esperia says, she's a noncombatant so she stays down here with everyone else. She can review whatever property losses she incurs to fire and vandalism after the riots are quelled. Do not let her escape." His gaze slid to the opposite side of the room. "Are we clear?"

The Blood Crimson ryujin exhaled a small gush of flame and pointedly looked away. Esperia was in a bad mood, which didn't surprise Tesla in the slightest; she certainly wasn't the only one. The source of that foul temper was standing in the small armoury's doorway while fidgeting her fingers and biting her lower lip in obvious worry. Ever since Esperia discovered that a heretofore unknown girl now knew more about Tesla Stone's naked body than she did, a series of very important switches clicked over in her mind and welded themselves open; she'd been mentally kicking herself for days. Lock me up in the same damn hidden rooms with a Soai-damned, barely legal, sugary sweet, milk cow of a girl for who knows how long? To hell with you! I'm not enduring that "I'm-so-innocent" superiority from that strumpet just because she horned in and stole a march on me! Esperia reached up and rubbed her shorn antler, but said nothing out loud. My fault, damn it all, my fault my fault my fault my fault!

Tesla waved the armorers back and rotated his shoulders. Not bad. Not as good as I can do myself, but not bad. "I am done playing games, Esperia. You have prevailed upon my hospitality for long enough, demanding my constant assistance in your business ventures with little to nothing in exchange. I need you to decide where you stand with me, and then act accordingly. If, on the other hand, you can't make up your mind then by all means return to Enigma Realty and we shall sever ties. For the time being, though, you will stay down here and keep yourself safe. If you cannot abide by my orders in my own household, then you will no longer be welcome in my household."

"...Fine."

"Good enough." Tesla marched to the armoury's only exit and dropped his hands on Holly Stein's shoulders. The girl was dressed demurely in the old-fashioned maids' uniforms available to the Waving Heathers and typically gave off an air of polite concern, but she was currently shaking like a leaf and staring up at her lord with dewey eyes full of distress. Perhaps it was because she was his first, perhaps it was because she was so thoroughly guileless, but Tesla always felt an overprotective surge go through him whenever he looked at her. "I'll be fine." With that, Tesla stepped around Holly and exited the door. Two down, one to go, and then... well, we see what the Soai have in store.