Even monstrosities die in a flood of ashen smoke and, as if to give the lie to all the pain and effort someone puts into killing them, leave behind an untidy pile of random items and workable materials just like any other cheap enemy. The Diamond-Backed King was no exception; for all its mass the gigantic pit viper vaporized the instant Tesla severed its head. All that remained to prove it was ever there was a greasy smudge across cracked ice and a lengthy pile of scales. Other items of interest may have been included in the mix, but Tesla was a little preoccupied with falling to care.

It was a sloppy descent, even if he was expecting it; the "King" had yanked the entire cataphract pretty high up in the air, after all. All the chewing and shaking around didn't exactly improve the big golem's operating efficiency, either. The raggedy machine didn't so much "fall" as it "spilled" toward the ground in a cascade of shattered parts.

Luckily the head section landed upright, for the most part, so Tesla was able to force himself out through the newly-warped hatch. Frankly speaking, the blonde ryujin was a mess. His boots were gone, his leather armor little more than rags, and he was swollen with multiple cuts and bruises. Broken arrow stubs sprouted from his back, shoulders, and chest; he had several burns from flame, lightning, and acidic spells. His eyes were a jaundiced yellow after overcoming whatever poisoned him earlier. The joints in Tesla's neck and tail popped loudly as he stretched, then sighed, in discomfort. "I'm gonna' feel that in the morning."

Book flipped itself open and displayed the image of a chronometer on one of its pages.

Tesla grunted and scratched at the stubble on his chin. Overhead, the cloud layer was still too thick to allow the passage of any natural light. Then again, as far north as the Wolf's Tail Peninsula was, he wouldn't have been surprised if the kingdom had the same lighting issues as Alaska during the winter. Toward the dockside the city still looked like it was backlit by hell, though it appeared the fires were dwindling somewhat. "Well, no point hanging around here watching the city eat itself." He jerked a thumb at the shattered cataphract behind him. "I certainly don't want to be anywhere near this wreck if the Engine decides to blow."

were going to detonate, it would have done so by now.>

"Better safe than sorry. Besides, Trinzet's probably pulled half the Heathers' defenses to look for me. If I don't get back soon there'll be hell to pay."

Like ghosts from the fog, a seemingly unending stream of royal guardsmen took back the streets thoroughfare by thoroughfare, neighborhood by neighborhood, and district by district. The mobs, broken of their will by exhaustion and monstrous rumor, fell apart in short order. Here and there pockets of resistance persisted, but those men and women were fighting a losing battle and they knew it.

One particular division appeared to be everywhere at once: A detached mass of soldiers rescued from one hole after another, surrounding a core of angry warriors on a mission, led by a war hero with an obsession, and guided by a relatively unconcerned dwarf. This flying wedge of random swordsmen, culled from multiple units, wandered the entire city in pursuit of its target and had very little time for anything else. That was the key to its effectiveness, of course; Trinzet Diatom didn't waste effort trying to talk down any looters or rebels. She just plowed them under and kept on going, like a bulldozer made flesh.

Only one thing gave the Lioness of Rodannes pause: The appearance of bronze platemail. Anyone wearing bronze who was caught by the zoan amazon (and survived the experience) was summarily dragged to a swiftly-erected tent and questioned... intensely. Trinzet handled the "interrogations" herself; there was a great deal of screaming, interspersed with rock-breaking impacts. Although the royal guardsmen sweated a little, a smaller group of armed men and women in the livery of the Waving Heathers didn't bat an eyelash.

Janek, of course, refrained from comment. If there was one thing that a dwarf among dwarves learned, when he was still small enough to sit upon his papa dwarf's knee, it was not to interfere with an incandescently furious woman. That went double for a woman strong enough to wear so much steel plate she could pass for a golem and swing an enormous executioner's sword like a twig.

"Hah," the dwarf snorted to himself, "the rube better hope he's either three-quarters into a cremation urn or carryin' the world's greatest engagement ring when he gets back." Janek tugged at his beard, then chuckled. "Better make that three. I'm pretty sure the other two aren't exactly goin' to be pleased with him, either."

Not that it was Tesla's fault he was assaulted by a small army. Being chased away or killed by what looked to be an honest-to-the-Soai monstrosity was also a matter of fate, but trying to explain that to a desperately irate woman was not unlike trying to describe color to a blind man. Telling Trinzet that these sort of events were supposedly "normal" for a Spark? Janek would effectively be speaking a foreign language.

"Well, he's either dead or alive. If dead, then we'll see him again in about a year. If he's alive, he's bound to turn up somewhere. What's the point in frettin'?" The hefty dwarf crossed his arms thoughtfully as his boots shifted in the broad gravel bed that used to be most of a brick thoroughfare. Whatever the true nature was of the serpentine form that appeared in the distance a day ago, it was absurdly heavy; the beast left a considerable "footprint" on a meandering track that pierced a broad swathe of the city. "How much of this is our fault, and how much of it is his? The Soai love to cause trouble around Sparks, but we've never had a catastrophe to this degree from the drifters that wander in here. It makes me wonder: Would we be better off if he-?"

As if summoned by Janek's train of thought, a commotion erupted at the vanguard of the marching line. However energetic it appeared to be, to the dwarf's trained eyes it was too localized to be another skirmish. That could mean only one thing.

The fact that Trinzet immediately raced off, with no obvious knowledge of what awaited her, towards the source of all the excitement with the bounce of a (heavily armored) school girl was all the evidence Janek needed. "Of course. Ye would have to show up the second I start to doubt ye, wouldn't ye?" The old dwarf picked up his own pace with a dry chuckle. "Well, let's go see how close to death's door ye got."

As it turned out, in Janek's estimation Tesla avoided the door by bouncing off the lintel. The ryujin was ragged, filthy, crispy, sliced and diced, tenderized, and stuck with enough arrows to resemble a cartoonish pincushion. Those wounds were undoubtedly exacerbated by Trinzet, who clung to him with the embrace of a kraken while bawling with enough force to actually push tears past the eyeslits of her helmet. Tesla didn't even have the strength to push her away.

Regardless, it was sufficient; the Spark was alive. Seeing that the princess was completely out of her element now that the focus of her rampage was recovered, Janek took it upon himself to snag the nearest dumbfounded soldier and hand out a few orders. "Right, contact the apothecarions and tell them they have a new patient inbound. Tell them it's exhaustion and a great deal of surface damage. Have them prep for lots of arrowhead removals, stitching, burn salves... hmm, tell them to get the bone splints out, too, just in case. If there's anyone with more dedicated healing magics, that's great, but if not then it's all right. Rube's a Spark, after all; as long as we can put him back together his natural healing ability won't even leave a scar. See to it."

"Well, it appears I don't have to worry about Trinzet knifing herself on a bed of black roses." King Augustinian Diatom the 47th tossed a ream of papers to the surface of his study room desk with an indulgent laugh. "It appears her stray cat finally wandered in on his own."

"Really, August, how boorish." Queen Amidahla leaned across her husband's desk and scooped up the paperwork for herself. She began to peruse the materials, and her eyes widened. "What is this?"

"Sad, isn't it?" Augustinian visibly suppressed even more laughter while he waved his hand in the general direction of the documents in Amidahla's grasp. "If the prose were any more purple the entire report would turn black. I estimate ninety percent of it is my sister waxing on about young master Stone's rippling muscles and how his hair gleams in the firelight."

Amidahla covered her mouth with one hand as her shining eyes traced from one page to the next. "I should save this," she muttered, "read it aloud at the next salon; especially if I can manipulate Trini into being there herself." Her hands shook. "Ah! She actually admits to sneaking into the apothecarions' tent so she could measure his-"

"Exactly." The king bit his lower lip as his eyes teared up with repressed mirth. "The worst part is that this is her official after-action report, so it has to be submitted as part of the official record. I can't even demand a rewrite, as I'm terrified she'll actually come back with something much, much worse."

The queen forced herself to place the report back on Augustinian's desk. "Let's stop there. This is something to be savored when we're free to take advantage of it." After a deep breath, she regained her equilibrium. "What of the situation, itself? The status of the city?"

"Ah." The king immediately lost his humor; his leonine features twisted into a scowl. "We're over the hump, at least. The appearance of a monstrosity within the city limits was a blessing in disguise. Now that the rioters' will has broken they are nothing more than loose-knit trash. The city guard will have all of Diatom under control in a matter of hours." Augustinian got up from his chair and paced to a nearby window overlooking a favored garden; he placed his hands behind his back and growled. "The city itself will take years to completely rebuild. Whole districts are in ruins, especially the slums, but nothing outside of Lonely Mountain is untouched."

"Now, now, darling, surely there is some good news? It can't all be that bad."

"The wall is still intact, and the vast majority of the city's facilities remain in working order." Augustinian cracked his knuckles. "We've captured some of those bronze-armored soldiers, too."

"The ones attacking from the cover of the mobs?"

"Mm. They're not talking, yet, but when they do..." The king bared his fangs. "Someone's going to pay for this outrage."

"Well, old man, how did the church fare in this city-wide SN:AFU?" Safely ensconced behind the walls of the Waving Heathers, Tesla Stone swiftly recuperated from his injuries. It probably helped that three pairs of suspicious eyes with hawk-like vision and the focus of zen masters made sure he didn't lift anything heavier than a spoon in the interim. Honestly, between Trinzet rolling him around in a wheelchair (where she found it, he had no clue), Esperia helping him eat, and Holly bathing him Tesla was beginning to fear he would collapse altogether from total uselessness. How the three of them were managing to interact without strangling one-another was another mystery.

"Snafu? What's that?" Tesla's bedroom was just as gaudy as Janek imagined it probably would be, given the ostentation of the rest of the main house. Both men would rather have held this conversation somewhere else, but the women were bound and determined to keep the ryujin confined to chambers for the foreseeable future to "recuperate." Why Tesla was humoring them was outside of Janek's guessing range, as he was already fully healed; at least there were no restraints, but Tesla was still propped up in his own bed with a small mountain of pillows at his back. The ladies took up positions on each side and at the foot of the dominating piece of the boudoir's furniture; no one was allowed to get through. The dwarf wasn't willing to push his luck. "Never mind. I get the gist." Janek shook his head, and the chimes laced into his braids rang out. "Suffice it to say that the rats got to make their move before we could. They made off with a couple wheels of cheese we'd rather they not have, then disappeared into the outside chaos. Word is, they had help from some of yer friends with the bronze jackets."

Trinzet growled and clenched her fists as if she were searching for a weapon. "Them again! Why aren't they all dead yet?"

Tesla simply held up a clawed hand, and the lioness subsided immediately. "Nobody ever said they were exclusively after me, Princess." He scratched lightly at his jawline. "However, if they're after both the church and myself then I can think of only one common denominator that publicly links us." Tesla arched an eyebrow at Janek. "Seems like there was something left over from the fiasco at Aurora's Caul, something somebody wants bad enough to make reclaiming it part of a city-wide rebellion. Hmph, perhaps even the true focus of the rebellion itself. What did they take, Janek?"

Janek cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "Officially, nothing important. Off the record? They made off with the artifact that mutated the sisterhood."

The room temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees. "...A device you've conveniently avoided telling me existed in the first place. So now, all of a sudden, I "need to know?"

Holly turned and immediately began fussing with the arrangement of Tesla's blankets while murmuring soothing words, and the tension flowed out of the convalescing ryujin's broad shoulders like water. Janek silently thanked the girl for that, then nodded. "I've said this before, but I want ye in my Bricoleurs. However, there is a solid majority among the movers and shakers in the Temple that don't want a Spark involved in Temple politics. As a result, there's a lot of things ye need to know that I can't tell ye cause ye "don't need to know."

Esperia seated herself on the other side of Tesla's bed and ran a claw through her hair. "-And this is why, officially, nothing important was stolen?"

"Exactly." Janek hooked the thumb of his mechanical hand behind his belt. "But the truth is that the "Tiara of Arachne" was snatched right out from under our noses and, since ye were present for the opening festivities at the convent just as much as I was, I figured somebody needed to tell ye. Didn't think ye'd ask right now, though."

"Tiara of Arachne," huh." Tesla closed his eyes and frowned. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Probably because of yer ring, the "Ring of Aranea."

Tesla's tail shifted beneath the covers. "Of course! They wanted anything spider-related we picked up from the convent. Naturally, they'd be after the ring as well. I'd almost forgot I had it." He crossed his arms contemplatively. "This means that whoever bankrolled the sisterhood is also responsible for the riots. What is their goal?" The silver-steel ryujin glanced up. "Trinzet, did you ever get a handle on why these riots were supposedly taking place?"

"Royal excess." The lioness shrugged, producing a tremendous amount of secondary motions in her chest, and twitched her own tail. "It's the same old hard-line garbage spewed by the radical factions every year. Taxes are too high, the money gets wasted, two sets of laws for the nobility and the commoners, heavy-handed government, etcetera, etcetera."

"All right. How much is accurate, and how much is bombast?"

Holly spoke up. "The nobles do receive a certain level of preferential treatment from the guard. I've heard all sorts of stories about abuse of servants, too."

"Hmph," Trinzet snorted, "neither of which are legally sanctioned. They're just evidence of criminal behavior that has yet to be caught out. In truth, most of the complaints stem from the lesser nobility out in the hinterlands. The lesser counties, baronies, and margravates resent paying taxes to maintain the King's Army, and hate the fact that the army has the right to patrol their lands unmolested. They forget that they are nothing more than fiefdoms administrated at the king's behest."

"Oh!" Holly put her hands to her cheeks in surprise. "Even I've heard of that! Aren't the counties responsible for the tin mines fighting out in the open, now? It was the talk of the markets for months."

"Far-fetched, but a possible answer." Tesla closed his eyes. "Let's say, purely for speculation, that a consortium of counts in the hinterlands want to reap greater profits from their tin mines by reducing the king's taxes and enjoy greater power over their counties by restricting the military's access to those lands. To do this they would first have to gain popular support, or at least apathy from the rest of the kingdom's citizenry, by playing up the worst fears commoners have of the nobility run amuck, specifically the royal family. Then the counties rebel, claiming the ethical "high road" in the process."

"They can't win, though," Trinzet cut in, "there isn't enough manpower for a dozen counties to resist the entire kingdom."

"That's where the Sisterhood of Aurora's Caul comes in." Tesla twirled a clawed finger, then stabbed it forward into the open air. "The counties spend money like it's going out of style to set up a military research facility on the Krakenside, probably employing abusive taxes they turned right around and blamed the king for, to obtain weapons designed to compensate for their lack of numbers."

Janek rose slightly on his toes. "And, in the process, they find a cache of ancient goods. Mixed in that number is the tiara and, possibly, the ring."

"Though we don't know what the ring's good for, we know the tiara can magically "refit" people into eight-legged abominations that are naturally strong above and beyond what one would expect purely on the basis of levels. Even a small child could be mutated into a violent monster." Tesla sighed, "I guess I'm finally going to have to get the ring assessed if they want it, too."

"Wait," Trinzet held out a hand, "I thought the reports on this incident said the tiara was cursed and the arachnosis cases were uncontrollable. Even the one to wear the artifact is twisted horrifically by it: They're reduced to a slobbering, immobile behemoth of a spider."

"Maybe our hypothetical colluding counts don't know this?" Esperia shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time a contractor was kept in the dark by their own subordinates."

Holly padded over to a nearby tea service, poured her master a cup, then returned and placed it gently in Tesla's hands. "This might be silly, but what if the counts think Lord Tesla's ring can control the tiara or something?"

"That, or they've found someone to reliably lift the curse. It doesn't matter," Janek replied, "it's enough to know they want it. I'm still wondering why they didn't try a covert mission instead of this nonsense with the riots?"

"I believe the riots were already in the offing," Tesla answered, "Trinzet's shown me some of the reports, and the way this whole thing kicked off was unnatural. Let's say the counts' agents took advantage of a pre-existing plot to make a grab for the artifacts at the same time."

"For a plot, it fell through pretty quick. How do ye account for that?"

"The princess' abduction: The entire city was thrown into turmoil early because of the countermeasures we were establishing to improve public order and rapidly respond to the appearance of armed military threats within the city walls. They jumped too quick because they felt pressured. The city's bleeding heavily, but they wanted it gutted and dead. However, the most important question is "where are they?" If this truly is a plot from the rebelling counties to get their hands on what they think is a fresh source of military power, then the conspirators in the city have got to be looking for a way out. We need to catch them before that happens."

"My Lord, you sound like you don't think that's possible."

"You're right, Holly, I don't. There's enough manpower to cover the city wall, but there's nothing to stop someone from marching across the frozen harbor. Our thieves could be long gone by now. What's important is that I believe I know where they're taking their ill-gotten gains, and this gives us a chance to act."

"Only if this is actually a plot cooked up by the Tin Counties." It was Esperia's turn to shrug. "If not, where does that leave the kingdom?"

"I believe it is. This theft, and the attack on me, were too well coordinated with the riots themselves. With that in mind, who else stands to gain from weakening the king than our rebellious counts?"

"Ye said we have time to act, rube. How?"

"We're in the depths of winter. You remember how we suppositioned that the corrupted sisters couldn't leave the convent due to the cold weather? The spiders won't be viable as a combat force out in the open until summer hits." Tesla frowned over his tea. "We still need to act fast; if this is really going to fall out the way I think it does, I believe that the counties have more up their sleeves than just an army of mutants. Remember how large that underground facility was? I refuse to believe that nothing but a couple of mouldy relics came out of it. The tiara feels more like a final piece to a bigger puzzle than an end game in and of itself."

Far and away to the north and east, the so-called "Tin Counties" of Diatom were mountaintop fiefdoms renowned for the copious amounts of tin, and to a lesser extent copper, that could be wrenched from the cold rock. No one county could be called powerful, but together the counts who held sway over them enjoyed a wealth and strength all out of proportion to their meagre rankings among the nobility and they knew it. Over the passage of time and the passing of generations this developed into a monumental conceit until, with the current generation, the willfulnes of the Tin Counties spilled over into genuine rebellion.

This spelled trouble for the kingdom on multiple fronts. First, the counties as a whole were responsible for a hefty percentage of the nation's overall tax revenues. By refusing to pay, the fiefdoms forced the Diatomian government to tighten its belt. Many civic projects were either placed on hiatus or suspended altogether as a result.

Second, this bit into Diatom's supply of bronze. To be sure, the country had many sources of tin, copper, iron, and more precious materials besides, but there was nowhere that tin and copper could be mined easier than in the Tin Counties. Without a ready supply of bronze, many architectural endeavours were put on hold as the cost of the materials shot up vertiginously.

Third, as a consequence of the first two, the entire scenario served to weaken the royal family's grip on the other fiefdoms. From a political standpoint it looked ridiculous for a kingdom to be unable to corral a handful of upstart counts. Recently, the situation was beginning to affect foreign relations as well.

Fourth, and perhaps the most important of all, the Tin Counties were the primary gateway to the wilder lands of the north. The king was unable to send proper reinforcements to the anti-monstrosity divisions stationed in the northern badlands. While it was possible to use older, secondary resupply routes through the mountains, what got through was limited, morale was low, and casualties were on the rise.

Without concentrated firepower and routine extermination missions the number of monstrosities in the northern lands continued to increase. New abominations were appearing with greater frequency. The country was rapidly entering into a dangerous time.

It became singularly necessary to quickly put down the counties' rebel forces, but that was easier said than done. As mountaintop fiefs, the counties were natural fortresses whose terrain broke up military formations and prevented the use of heavier equipment. The King's Army found itself bogged down in guerilla warfare, taking and losing strategic peaks and passes surrounding the Tin Counties' southern approaches without ever quite setting foot within the territory of the counties themselves. The northern divisions, naturally, had no time to spare for the fighting to the south; it was all they could do to stay alive battling giants.

Throughout the fiefdoms fat noblemen rubbed their palms in anticipation. Diatom burned, and the king was disgraced. The weapons of war were in their hands; the army would swell with new recruits. Nations from across the sea were already preparing to open diplomatic channels. Copper, tin? Soon they could name their price.

Some dreamed of marching south, a glorious military parade of conquest. The royal banners would fall swiftly, in their estimation; the house of Diatom had grown old and decrepit, unable to keep up with the modern times. Better for it to fall now, they said, rather than wait for it to collapse from within. It should be toppled.

All eyes turned to the Tin Counties. It was history in the making!