The southern tower of Castle Belenus should have been given a proper name.

The Southern Tower.

There.

The Southern Tower was perhaps the most interesting of the seven towers that made up Castle Belenus. All of the six surrounding spires of the castle were there to account for the castle's defense in times of war – places from which one would fire arrows and hurl stones down at the enemy below (or, in a guild's case, spells and plasma grenades).

But the Southern Tower was squatter than the others, as though stunted. Not enough milk, by Rosemary's estimate. Those such as Urash had always despised this eccentric part of the guildhall. Whenever the dwarf looked up at the Southern Tower (which was often, as his rooms were located there) his brow furrowed and his nose crinkled up, pulling his beard along with it.

“It's like the seed that grew the castle was off,” he would say, “Don't like it. Titania Amber should've just built the damn thing by hand.”

The Belgone merchant prince had gone as far as petitioning Wakeling multiple times to add new additions to the Southern Tower. But he was always rebuffed. The guildhall was like a tree, growing in accordance to its wishes and wants. It would not be added to, not unless it gave express permission.

Rosemary smiled at that. Few would admit it, but Castle Belenus was alive, living and creaking like an ancient tree, sandstone instead of bark, a foundation of concrete instead of roots, roof shingles instead of leaves. And thus, the Southern Tower stayed, a small enigma, with far more hidden passages than the other parts of the guildhall, far more secret rooms, even an entire floor hidden beneath the floorboards that few knew of. Rosemary had considered using it to her advantage, but she didn't quite like being underground – or underwater, after Chliofrond – and thus left it be.

For now.

No one knew what the future would bring, after all.

She entered the Southern Tower via its main doors in the Great Hall, opening it up and beginning to go up the spiral staircase. The dimming day filtered orange through the apricot windows as she climbed. It was always a nostalgic feeling, climbing through Castle Belenus. It often reminded one of walking through their childhood, and though Rosemary's own had been... fraught, it still brought back memories of better times. Of eating honey fresh from the hive, of warm summer days, of watching knights-in-training flit about the skies on gossamer wings, dreaming that one day she could join them on the winds.

Or snag one of them as a husband, she had been too much of a romantic as a kid.

Another aspect of the Southern Tower's unique nature was the inhabitants, and their own (sometimes selfish) needs. The second floor was a wing entirely dedicated to Urash, rooms upon rooms of books and contracts that the dwarf had collected over the years, floating hands sorting them and keeping them in their places. Even a multiversal guild like the Amber Foundation had to pay taxes, and Urash was in charge of making sure the filings and deposits went out to both Scuttleway and the High Federation on time. He had tried explaining how it all worked to Rosemary once, and she had spent the rest of the day with a migraine.

Along those were Urash's spellbooks and theorems. Magic, to the Belgones, was a hobby. A means to defend oneself, a side piece compared to the greater world of economics. But it was there, and he even had a few halfhearted experiments set up, as Rosemary went down one of the halls to the next set of stairs. A small ruby suspended in air, from which two other rubies circled around like atoms. She didn't know the reasoning behind it, but it looked interesting enough.

Shrugging, Rosemary went up the stairs.

The third floor was, as of right now, unoccupied. It had belonged, once upon a day, to one of Titania Amber's techno-mages, a being that Wakeling had described as 'parasitic, an asshole, and a good friend.' As such, nearly the entire wing was mossed over with a technological spread of some sort, black, with neon yellow lines scored through. It was as though she were walking out of a medieval castle and into a world more in line with Ichabod's sensibilities.

And it did not escape her of just how thorough this techno-mage's job had been done, and how much of Castle Belenus he had altered, without Wakeling's – nor the guildhall's – permission.

The fifth floor was what Rosemary was after. The door here, unlike all of the others, was sealed shut. There was a chest by the door, inside which were a pile of gas masks, one which Rosemary took and snapped on. She clicked a button on the side, breathing in deep, squinting a bit as her vision became blurred by the mask's smeary eyepieces.

She unlatched the door and went inside. The temperature immediately increased – from cool to muggy, almost humid. Plants funneled up and down the walls, slipping between the cracks between sandstone brick, reminding Rosemary of Chliofrond. She went up the spiraling staircase, being careful not to slip on the oddly slick steps.

All of the fifth floor of the Southern Tower had been terraformed. Through careful spellwork, a weather machine bought from Blue Sky Waiting on faraway Methusaleh, and a lot of sweat and tears, they had successfully cordoned off Shambling's part of the castle and turned it into something more akin to her old homeworld.

So much work, so much money sunk into the venture, because Shambling was among the most important members of the Amber Foundation, despite her isolationist tendencies.

She was the guild's Forecaster. Her people were a strange one, from Aetum Hisemtu, the World of Setting Stars. An ancient plane, with very little left in it, composed of a bowl of darkness with a couple of lonely planets. Shambling was one of the last of her species, a mass of vines and roots, with twin stalks rising out from the mass of green. Each stalk ended in a head, drooped down and sculpted like a vulture's. There were no eyes – only proto-eyes, as those had served Shambling's species well enough. No legs, though she could move by undulating the vines that made up the bottom of her body like a snake's. Her brain was split between her two heads, working in tandem, a strange, psionic power rippling with her every thought.

It had taken the Federation two hundred years to realize that Shambling and her people were sapient.

By then, they had terraformed nearly her entire planet into something more their speed, something that they had kept doing even after their revelations.

“Hey, Shambling,” Rosemary said.

Good day, Rosemary, Shambling had taken on a woman's cantor when communicating in other's heads, deep and kind, How fare you?

“Just fine,” Rosemary said.

She found talking through the mask difficult, her voice blocked and muttered as though she were speaking through a wall. Yet Shambling understood her, all the same. For a moment, Rosemary considered peeling the mask away – it was uncomfortable to breathe in here without it, not impossible – but Shambling knew what she was thinking.

No, Rosemary, she thought, I wouldn’t recommend that.

“Oh, sorry,” Rosemary said.

She took awkwardly, trying to think of a way to broach her request. Shambling, meanwhile, returned to her work. A few vines were wrapped around a small, glowing ball, one that she held close. The orb pulsed with light, occasional reds, or greens, then blues, and so on.

No, Rosemary!

She had to put her eyes on the prize. She could not be distracted. Taking a deep breath, Rosemary began her question.

“What are you doing?”

Dammit!

Calculating.

That was Shambling's only response. Rosemary sighed, watching the great mass of vines do her work.

“Calculating?”

The multiverse is a place of calculation and prediction, Shambling explained, It exists on levels that the average mind cannot comprehend. It took me years of practice to master conceptualizing the multiverse, and thus applying geometric equations to its makeup.

“Oh,” Rosemary said, “You can do that?”

What did you think forecasting was?

“Uhm, not quite that?” Rosemary said, “I thought there would be machines and equipment, something more akin to what those Weatherfolk guys are doing up on Moonstone on the Len.”

Amusement danced in Rosemary's mind, and she knew it was not her own.

Look around, Rosemary, Shambling thought, Past the vines that are my being.

She glanced around the room. There were, indeed, other machinery that was there. Metal discs implanted in the stone walls. But there was nothing connecting them – no wires or cables. Which meant...

“Your vines, they're forming connections, aren't they?”

Astute, young Rosemary, Shambling cooed, Yes. The discs on the walls are known as Ecnodromes. They are there to help store information that is brought in by the dish on top of the Southern Tower.

“Aha, so you named the tower that, too!”

Indeed.

“Great minds think alike, you know?” Rosemary said, smiling.

Yes.

“So your vines, they're the cables, right? The connectors?”

The dish collects information, which runs to the Ecndromes, which run directly to me. I use the orb here to help me formulate the multiverse.

Rosemary stared at the orb, considering it.

“It helps you visualize things?”

The multiverse has many shapes, yet is no shape at all. The place between worlds, they are difficult to shape. But this machine has a bit of the Outside in it. As much as can be rendered here in our paltry reality.

“And from there, you do the math.”

Correct.

“A lot of it.”

At all times.

“I can't imagine,” Rosemary said, “That's... Wow, that's a lot.”

Shambling gave off a sense of pride at those words, a fuzzy, warm feeling that swaddled Rosemary like a blanket. It receded as Shambling changed the subject.

Why are you here?

“Who me?” Rosemary said, “Oh, right! Joseph and I, we want you to name one of us as secondary.”

Oh?

“I mean, I know, you've probably chosen someone-”

I have.

Rosemary's heart fell.

“But... We've got a deal, see? With Ezel, if we can get one more person-”

I have already chosen.

“Oh,” Rosemary said, feeling the wind leave her sails, “I-I see. Yeah, sure. Uhm, who did you choose?”

“This one.”

The voice, watery and dripping, ran down the wall. It was XLS, who was quickly forming into a vaguely humanoid form as he slithered over to Rosemary. The sapient mound of goo was purple today – then, he was purple most days (except Fridays, where he chose orange) and he gave a wave to Rosemary.

“Sup, XLS.”

“Sup, Rosie,” XLS said, “Deepest of apologies, from this one. Shambling said she'd take me to a seminar on Keren Paradigm Biologies.”

First come, first serve.

“Oh,” Rosemary said, “Well, sorry to bother you.

It is never a bother.

“I know,” Rosemary said, “Just... No, it's fine.”

You really want to go?

“Yeah, I do.”

Then I bid you good luck.

***

Joseph found Mekke outside.

The former soldier was holding a sword in hand, giving it a few experimental swings. The blade sang an iron melody as it went, a satisfying swish that seemed to hang in the air, ringing. It was, Joseph realized, the Vlaynian sword she had obtained a few months back. Evidently she had saved it from Lylana's greedy mitts. Beside her was Tiger.

No one could pronounce his full name, what with it being an unpronounceable series of growls and roars. He preferred it when one called him Tiger, however, for he claimed it meant he truly had no real name. Only a moniker. The big cat stood on two legs, a full six foot three, a katana always held at his side, sheathed in painted blue wood. He stood now, watching as Mekke tested the Vlaynian sword, his emerald eyes sliding over to consider Joseph as he walked over to them.

“Mr. Zheng,” he said.

“Tiger,” Joseph nodded, “Mekke.”

“Ah, Joseph,” Mekke stabbed the blade into the dirt, leaning against it, “Good afternoon. Hopefully a good one?”

“A busy one,” he said, “I'll cut to the chase-”

She raised her hand.

“...You already found someone, didn't you,” Joseph said.

Mekke nodded.

“It's Tiger, isn't it?”

“Indeed,” Tiger said, “Many apologies, Mr. Zheng.”

Joseph sighed, stretching his back a bit as he absorbed the news. It wasn't too surprising, was it? Mekke considered him as he stretched, a smile curling on her face as she noted the way he carried himself now. She pulled the blade free, noting how Joseph stopped stretching at the sight of the blade.

She flicked it at him, and he stepped back. There was no shout of surprise at that, no whining cry.

“Good,” she said, “You've really learned a thing or two out here, haven't you?”

“Har,” Joseph drawled, “Look, if you're going to kill me, at least make it quick, alright?”

“You've become quite sardonic in the face of death,” Mekke said.

“I cope how I cope,” Joseph said.

“He has quick reflexes,” Tiger said to Mekke, “He'd make a good fencer, had he begun learning fifteen years ago.”

“You started that early?” Joseph asked.

“Earlier, when I was a cub. Not even a year. Then, I was already standing by then. You humans and metahumans are still mewling at that age.”

“Neat, man,” Joseph said, “Alright, so what are you two going there for?”

Mekke presented the blade to Joseph, who took it in hand, giving her a suspicious look before giving it a few swishes.

“Well?” she said.

“It's a sword,” Joseph said, “It's, uhm, Vlaynian. Got a cool hilt design. I like how whoever forged it made the basket look like a leaping antelope. Cool stuff.”

“And that's why I'm taking Tiger, and not you,” Mekke said, “We're taking the sword to get it appraised. I've a contact in the Weaponeers, looking to trade it for a scimitar from Ashen Garuun.”

Joseph held the sword on high, feeling all the world like some sort of Asian Zorro. He handed it back to Mekke, who still wore a smile.

“Maybe it's an opportunity to learn,” Joseph said, “Sorry, Tiger, I'm going to make my case.”

“Good luck,” Tiger said, huffing out a chuckle.

“It's a good opportunity to learn weapons, and whatnot,” Joseph said, “I get to see you interact with the Weaponeers, learn a bit about how swords are examined and graded, and whatnot. It's an opportunity to make for yourself a new apprentice, right?”

Mekke shook her head, still smirking, as she sheathed the Vlaynian sword. She walked over to the fountain, where a customary cup of coffee lay. Planting a foot on the fountain like some sort of Captain Morgan, she took a swig from it as though it were a mug of ale.

“You could be a politician, with a tongue like that,” Mekke said.

“I... I practiced, on the way over,” Joseph said.

“Joseph, we both know you're too busy with your metahuman business to ever take the time to learn swordplay,” Mekke said, “You only have so much time in the world, right? Gotta learn to find what you're good at, and from there go all-in.”

“What if I want to be good at a little bit of everything?” Joseph said.

“Knowledge that's broad, but not deep?” Mekke shook her head, “That doesn't help anyone, especially in a guild. We've ninety-nine experts here at Castle Belenus, each with our specializations, experts in their chosen fields. For the most part, at least.”

“You really think someone like Lazuli's an expert at anything?” Joseph said.

“Lazuli's a master at working with artificial intelligence,” Mekke pointed out, “He is one, first off, but he's also created multiple AIs in his time. He was raised by a man who discovered them on his home plane. So yes, he's an expert, and worth more than his burden.”

Joseph took her words in, leading them over to the logical conclusion.

“Right,” he said, “So I've got to find something, don't I?”

“Indeed, Joseph,” Mekke said, “You've shown that you can take a punch, and deliver it in turn. But I don't have any use for someone who can do that, not this time. It's time you asked yourself: What are you an expert in, out here in the multiverse?”

She let the words hang in the air between them. Tiger was standing back, listening to the conversation. It occurred to Joseph that he hadn't spoken to the big cat very often. Then, Tiger was stand-offish. Sighing in defeat, he gave a nod.

“Right, then,” he said, “I'll figure it out.”

“Good,” Mekke said, “When you stop drifting in the waves and start riding them, then we'll talk about you being my secondary.”

She gave him a light punch in the shoulder.

“Next year.”

***

“So no deal, then,” Joseph said.

“Nope, nada.”

The two of them had returned back to the library, Rosemary resting her arms on the table, Joseph leaning back. Both wore looks of defeat. Someone, perhaps Barbara, perhaps Lazuli (which was worrying), had set up a new coffee kettle down for them, along with two bottles of creamer and a couple of fresh mugs. But neither of them touched it as they both ruminated in silence. The rain had returned again, earlier than expected. A few of their fellow guildmembers could be heard screaming and shouting in surprise as they ran back inside.

“It's almost not even worth it, at this point,” Joseph said.

“Hey, knock it off with that attitude,” Rosemary said, “We'll figure it out. We've still got a couple of people on the list.”

“Oh, come on, Rosemary,” Joseph said, “Ichabod? Wakeling?”

“Okay, I know,” Rosemary said, “Ichabod's an ass, but I'm sure, if we talk to him...”

But she faltered, for they both knew that the mechanical man disliked Joseph, and merely tolerated Rosemary.

Their respective goals hung in silence. Joseph poured out a cup of coffee, not even bothering with creamer, drinking it black, letting the bitter taste overtake all of his senses and pull him into a dark deluge. Rosemary simply stared at him, still leaning on the table, using her arms as pillows, her eyes glazing over.

“Well, well,” a voice said, “Looks like you two got the short end of the stick.”

It was Contort. He was walking into the library, whistling as he went, a book tucked beneath an arm, one that he put on Barbara's desk. He made his way over to their table, giving a light smirk at the list of names written on the chalkboard, before turning to look at them.

“Sup, guys?” he said.

“Hey, Contort,” Rosemary said.

“Why the long faces?”

“Why do you think?” Joseph snapped.

“Woah, hey, alright,” Contort said, “Just making conversation.”

He sat down by Rosemary stretching himself as he did so, his arms dislocating from his shoulders and twisting around his torso.

“Are you looking to be in the running for this year's InterGuild?” Rosemary said.

“What?” Contort said, “Oh, yeah. I'm already going.”

Joseph and Rosemary looked at him. Contort's smirk returned.

“You two have been going back and forth all day, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” Rosemary groaned, “We've begged anyone who’s not a dick to take us.”

“Who's left?”

“Tek, Ichabod, and Wakeling.”

“Well,” Contort said, “I'm afraid that Wakeling's no deal. I'm her plus one this year.”

They both blinked.

“What have you guys been doing? What have you been saying?” Contort said, “Have you just been... asking nicely?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said.

“I mean, it worked with Ezel,” Rosemary said.

“Ezel cries at cat videos,” Contort said, “Come on, guys, don't be morons.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Joseph said.

Contort's grin only broadened. He leaned in, giving them both a conspiratorial look.

“Alright,” he said, “You want to know how I got Wakeling to name me as her secondary?”

“How?” Rosemary said.

“She's going to InterGuild for two reasons. The first is because she's the guildmaster, and it's rare for them to not go.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, “What else?”

“The second reason is because I know a guy from our home plane,” Contort said, “He's an old buddy of mine, I'm going with Wakeling to introduce her to him. My mate's an apprentice wizard at Ringorio's Traveling Circus-”

“What?” Joseph asked.

“Ringorio's Traveling Circus!” Contort said, “All great wizards come from the circus. At least, back home, they do. Don't interrupt. Anyways, he's been doing some research on a few spells from our home plane that she's been interested in, and if things go well he'll introduce her to his mentor at the circus, who's got more knowledge on how those spells work.”

“So...” Joseph said, “You're introducing her to a guy, who knows a guy, who knows the spell.”

“I'm introducing her to an in,” Contort said, “Listen, Wakeling hasn't been back to our home plane in years, Joe. Like, I think she left when she was barely in her twenties, and look at her now. She's been wanting an opportunity like this for years. Why do you think she let a sop like me into the guild?”

But a light was going off in Rosemary's head. She sat up straight.

“It's a business opportunity,” she said.

“One she wouldn't get from anyone else here,” Contort said, “Only I know the guy. That's what you've got to offer these people. InterGuild's a business opportunity, so treat it like one. Convince them that you're the only person for what they need. It'll all go on from there.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee, adding a bit of creamer.

“So,” he said, taking a sip, “What'll it be, then?”

“What can we offer Ichabod?” Rosemary asked.

“What's he even going for at InterGuild?” Joseph said.

“Some investigation or other,” Rosemary said, “And I've already heard, he's taking G-Wiz.”

“What about Tek?” Joseph said.

Contort's smile, which was beginning to annoy Joseph in how it smarmed, grew broader.

“Something,” he said, “That I think you could do, Joe.”

***

“It's a simple process,” Tek said, “But an interesting one. An engine, Joseph, one that uses a sparkeater as a battery.”

They were in the mound's laboratory, which was also his personal quarters. The only evidence that he slept here at all was a pile of hay nested in the corner, impossibly small for Tek's great size, but that was the only place Joseph could think of that looked comfortable enough to rest in. The rest of the room was taken up by equipment, particularly a large computer that took up the entire back wall, along with three desks pushed together to form one super-desk, atop which were diagrams, graphs, calculators, books, monitors, and an army of misplaced pens and quills and inkwells. It was any wonder that Tek could fit in here at all, his head brushing up against the ceiling and his bulk squelching between pieces of furniture as though he were made of jelly. His hoof-like fingers were opening a diagram, one hand unveiling it across a table, the other brushing the random pieces of machinery and inkwells and junk to the floor.

The diagram showed an engine with various measurements and mathematical equations covering the actual drawing of the engine, which was square and hulking. The diagram named it as being a full eight feet tall, and in the center, almost glowing even on the page, was a sparkeater, a small orb of light.

“It eats electricity,” Tek said, “Or plasma. Or something of the like.”

“I kind of figured, from the name,” Joseph said.

“Ah... yes,” Tek said, “I prefer its scientific name, astrator hoffmani. Makes it sound like more than just a ball of light, and all that.”

“Is it a spirit of some sort?” Joseph asked, “An elemental?”

“One of the two. Either/or,” Tek said, “The astrator hoffmani is the converter between the electricity that is delivered into the system and the energy that the engine uses, which is, we believe, something related to the Warp. It was primarily used by the ancient Galshonans in the Mellow-Diriad Paradigm to planeshift, some three thousand years ago.”

“Neat,” Joseph said, “And that's what you're going to InterGuild for.”

“Correct,” Tek said, “A colleague of mine from the Academy of the Unreal recently came into possession of one.”

“The Academy of the Unreal,” Joseph said, “That's a guild?”

“One that uses its students and faculty as its guildmembers,” Tek said, “A unique setup, one with a rich education-”

“And a high turnover rate, I bet,” Joseph said.

“Yes,” Tek said, “'To Knowledge, the Stubborn', is their guild motto. But enough of that. My colleague has recently acquired one of these engines, though it is rundown.”

He glanced around the room for a moment, before shuffling over to the computer, brushing away a few errant papers to reveal a small, glass jar. Inside of which was a glowing orb of festering blue light.

“And I've got the sparkeater,” Tek said, “A rare find. It took me months to convince the Weatherfolk to let me buy one from them.”

“So those guys are here for more than just surveying the storm,” Joseph said, smirking.

“Never turn down an opportunity, especially when it comes waltzing into your city,” Tek said, “You'll go far with that thinking, Mr. Zheng.”

“Which brings me to my offer,” Joseph said, “That engine needs electricity, right?”

“Yes,” Tek rumbled, “And you produce electricity.”

“It takes me a second to get up and running,” Joseph said, “But yeah, I can be your battery for this.”

Tek regarded him for a moment.

“I was planning on perhaps recruiting Rorshin for this,” Tek said, “Or Metrizan. What makes you think I would pick you?”

“Well,” Joseph said, “I'm glad you asked. For one, the reason why I edge out over Rorshin is I'm not an asshole.”

“Agree to disagree,” Tek said.

“Not as much of an asshole,” Joseph amended, “Plus, Rorshin's spellwork is based off of animals, right? He replicates using an electric eel to produce electricity.”

“Correct,” Tek said.

“But he isn't as strong as I am,” Joseph said, “I've heard his shocks aren't that powerful when he does it, just a quick bite, and that's it.”

He pointed at the sparkeater.

“Which means your little guy really isn't getting much to go off of. Not much bang for your buck. I, meanwhile, can produce a full-on lightning bolt. A quick flash, and I have your sparkeater powering the guildhall.”

Tek shifted his head a bit, which Joseph took for a nod.

“As for Metrizan, she converts her body heat to other forms of energy. But she needs to run in place for that to happen. And needs to rest for a long time after. I'm guessing you're going to need to be running quite a few tests, right?”

“Yes,” Tek said.

“Those could last hours. I hate to sound like a Viagra commercial, but I can last that long.”

The mound did not respond to his poor humor. Instead, he simply stared at Joseph as though he were a particularly interesting lab rat. For the first time, Joseph saw Tek's eyes as they peeked beneath his hay-like fur, beetle black and stone-like.

“Extend your arm,” Tek ordered.

Joseph did so.

“Your other arm. Your soul's arm,” Tek said, “It's part of you, isn't it?”

Joseph blinked, but after a moment, he produced the eagle's arm, which climbed up his palm and rose in a tower. Tek took out an orb-shaped device and began scanning it, hovering it just a few inches over the plasma surface.

“Hmm,” he said, “It's electricity, alright. There are a few things about it that doesn't make sense, but...”

He trailed off, staring at the cobalt limb for a moment. Then, he uncapped the sparkeater's jar, presenting it to Joseph.

Who, after a moment, stuck his soul's finger in.

It was much like watching a black hole, pieces of talon stripping away as though caught in the sparkeater's gravity well, peeling into lines of blue light that swirled around the ball before subsuming into the whole. The air around the sparkeater in the jar began to ripple and twist...

“Maybe a bit too much?” Tek said, “Hmm, yes….”

He was writing in a notebook. When had he gotten a notebook? It had just appeared in his hand…

The sparkeater continued to consume him.

“Oh, dear,” Tek said, “Joseph, get the finger out! Now!”

Joseph complied, but Tek's warning came a bit late, as the jar exploded, pieces of glass flying out. Joseph winced as his electric arm swirled up to cover him against the small, jagged shards. It felt a bit too much like Silicon, and he found his heart hammering far more quickly than was normal as Tek brushed glass off of his fur, seemingly unconcerned as to what happened as he stooped to scoop the sparkeater into a claw.

“Excellent,” Tek said, and with his other hand he re-adjusted his glasses, “Most excellent! Very well, Joseph. You, sir, are my secondary. Congratulations, and don't let me down, and all that.”

He extended a claw. Smiling, biting down his sudden panic, Joseph took his hand.

***

He left Tek's lab, heart still slamming against his chest as Rosemary punched his shoulder outside.

“So, what'd he say?”

“What?” Joseph blinked, remembering where he was, that he was at Castle Belenus and not deep in the earth, “R-right.”

“You good?” Rosemary asked.

“I'm good,” Joseph said, and he smiled, “Better than good.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying.

“Pack your bags, Rosemary,” Joseph said, “We're going to fucking InterGuild.”