Alex appraised the image confronting him, in many ways, his reflection in the mirror was more than a little discomforting.

It was as if he’d finally done it, betrayed himself, embraced his role in Uldar’s grand scheme at long last.

Or, at least, that was how he looked.

His costume was a garish crimson, chequered in yellow and blue. Big, white gloves covered his hands, and his shoes were so long, they made his feet look like they belonged to some giant, humanoid rabbit.

His face was painted a stark white, though one of his eyes was covered by a black star, and below them, a foolishly long false nose protruded, fashioned from a cored, waxed carrot.

Worst of all was the hat. More of a cap, really.

It was big and floppy, dyed bright red, sickly yellow, and vibrant blue; projecting from the top were four drooping horn-like sleeves that hung down past his ears, and attached to the end of each?

A single tinkling bell.

Four bells in total, ringing and rattling each time he moved his head: the final signature that completed his Fool’s uniform.

Finnius Galloway would have nodded in satisfaction as he penned Alex’s entry into another volume of A History of Our Heroes and their Opposition of the Ravener.

Were he still alive, at any rate.

As far as Alex knew, the author was long in the after-world, and this ridiculous costume was likely to be the only thing standing between him and a demon’s hungry claws.

In more ways than one.

After he’d bought his troupe’s costumes, he’d set about enhancing them with alchemy. They hadn’t become actual suits of armour, but he’d increased both the strength and resiliency of the fabric, then layered an enchantment of greater force armour onto each one.

It’d been expensive work, but he had the coin—with more on the way—and losing their lives would have been, well, just a tad more costly.

He just wished the entire get-up didn’t look so ridiculous.

If the worst happened, he’d rather death found him looking far more dignified.

“Alright, Alex,” he clapped his hands to his cheeks, bringing his mind into focus. “No sense in wasting any more time. Let’s go.”

On his bed—beside his staff—lay a satchel dyed in gaudy shades of purple. Waves of emotion came from the aeld branch as he picked it up: nerves, curiosity, determination and excitement.

“We’re going to get out of this together.” Alex soothed the staff, taking one last look around his bedroom in the bakery.

It was far bigger than his room in the insula and his old bedroom in the Lu Family Inn combined, and was well furnished with high quality furnishings. The bed was the most comfortable he’d ever slept in, the wardrobe had more than enough room for more clothing than he owned, and there was a sitting area near the window.

A sitting area! In his bedroom!

“I’d better not die right after I finally get rich enough to enjoy this stuff,” Alex grumbled, dragging himself to the door.

On silent footsteps, he made his way down the stairs to the dining room where a welcoming group was waiting, which he’d kind of expected.

What surprised him though, was just how many people were waiting for him.

He’d expected Theresa, Selina, Claygon and Brutus to be up, ready to see him off, but he hadn’t expected Prince Khalik, and Isolde to be sitting at the dining room table along with Thundar. Whispered conversation fell silent as he appeared in all of his foolish glory.

“Tadaaaa…” he said, trying to lighten the mood, though his voice was a little weak. “I finally look the part.”

Not a single laugh answered him.

Prince Khalik crossed his arms, his face grim.

Isolde narrowed her eyes, her gaze hard and stern.

Theresa’s death-stalker face grew even more terrifying.

Claygon stood impassively, but a wave of determination reached for Alex through their link.

Brutus whimpered. Najyah…well, Najyah preened herself showing a total lack of interest.

Selina stared at her brother—eyes red and jaw tense—as though she was intent on burning him into memory.

And lastly, there sat Thundar, giving Alex a nod of shared resolve. The minotaur was already dressed in his costume: a bright, mustard, yellow tunic and trousers, chequered with images of stags leaping over brilliant, red, berry bushes.

Bright purple paint was slathered over his hooves, which were now shod with silver horseshoes for the occasion. A snowy white magician’s cape fell from his broad shoulders, and his face was concealed by the stag’s mask he’d worn at Patrizia DePaolo’s ball and the Festival of Ghosts in first year.

“How do I look?” Thundar growled through the mask.

“Like a ridiculous magician,” Alex said lightly. “Perfectly suited for the role.”

“Great, so if I die, I’m gonna die looking like a jackass. That’s just damned perfect,” the minotaur snorted.

“Oh, please, we won’t have to worry about that!” The young wizard’s voice was positively cheery. “We’ll be in and out in no time, and if not? We’ll just smash all the demons down there! Right, Thundar?”

Silence.

“Oh, come on, you’re all acting like we’re at a funeral,” Alex said. “And the person that died is someone we actually like! Come on, let’s get some fearlessness going, shall we? And none of this last second ‘we’re all coming with you’ business either. You know how that’s going to play out: you argue why you should come, we point out all the logical reasons why you should stay here. We go back and forth, we convince you. You stay here.”

“If.” Prince Khalik started. “If we were to argue, what makes you so sure that you would win? You could be convinced by us.”

“Khalik, don’t.” Thundar shook his head. “We’ve already got a team together, and we’ve been practising our performances for two weeks. I’ve met the other mercenaries and I already know Ripp. You haven’t met them. None of you have. You aren’t prepared. You’re just going to make this harder, man, but thanks for the thought.”

“Yeah, what Thundar said,” Alex agreed. “We’ve got everything lined up. Zonon-In’s secured us spots as some of Kaz-Mowang’s performers. But she said there’d be a band of six people. Not nine or ten.”

Isolde sniffed. “Your logic is unpleasant…but correct. Know that I would have followed you into the very teeth of the hells themselves.”

“We know,” Alex and Thundar said at the same time.

“Come back safe. Safe.” Theresa emphasised.

Alex crossed the room, planting a kiss on her lips. “We will.”

He turned to Selina, spreading his arms. “A hug for your big brother?”

There was a pause, followed by a scrape of wood on wood as the young girl’s chair shifted. She slid from her seat, rounded the table and wrapped her brother’s torso in a tight hug.

Selina buried her head in his chest. “Please don’t die,” her voice was small and teary.

Alex hugged her back, stroking her fluffy hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

Internally, he hoped that he’d be able to keep that promise.

The goodbyes were quick after that.

Nobody staying behind wanted to dwell on grim possibilities of failure, while Thundar, Claygon and Alex didn’t want to delay any longer than they already had.

Friends and family watched the golem and two young wizards from the bakery’s front doorway, waving as they stepped into the early morning light, footsteps heavy from the weight of their supplies, and their even heavier hearts.

Alex looked over his shoulder, waving until they rounded a corner and passed into the busy street beyond.

“So, are you ready? Like actually?” Thundar asked. “Like without the brave face, I mean.”

“No, of course not!” Alex hissed. “I think I’m gonna turn the seat of these pants brown! You?”

“Same.” Thundar snorted. “I think I spent three hours in bed last night asking myself if I’d lost my damned mind. Didn’t get to sleep until I took a tonic.”

“What about you, Claygon, are you ready?” Alex asked.

“Yes…” Claygon said. His grip tightened on his war-spear. “If I am destroyed protecting you, father…I’ve fulfilled my purpose. And I would really…like to kill that big demon.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us isn’t afraid,” Alex said. “But you’ve got to value your life more, buddy.”

“I…do. I don’t want to die…but I am…still ready.”

“Ugh, well now I feel shitty for turning coward at the last minute.” Thundar glanced down at his mustard-coloured costume. “Like, shit, yellow was the perfect colour for me.”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” Alex shook himself, taking a deep, calming breath. “We’re the ones practising meditation and the Cleansing Movements the most, and we can’t calm ourselves down? Come on, what’s the matter with us? Why should we be afraid, except for common sense, of course.”

“Yeah, and the danger of being horribly killed,” Thundar added.

“Mashed into pulp…” Claygon chimed in thoughtfully. “Stone ground to dust. Eyes gouged out. Elbows shattered. Knees split. Our bodies burned away. Our limbs hacked and mangled—”

“Yeah, maybe we should bravely run away,” Alex interjected.

“Turning tail and fleeing sounds good.” Thundar nodded seriously.

The three companions looked at each other, then laughed for the first time that day.

As they laughed, they drew eyes from those out in the early morning air. Merchants looked at them with puzzled expressions, as did travellers and folk having their morning meal on their balconies, watching the streets below.

But one person in particular caught Alex’s eye. Just for a moment. It was a lean woman, one whose face was very familiar, who disappeared as the morning crowd moved around them.

Alex thought he’d seen her before, and it took a minute for him to remember who she reminded him of.

She bore a striking resemblance to Lucia, the sky-gondolier who’d ferried Alex and his family to the university on their very first day in Generasi. When he’d last seen her, she’d been making great haste to leave the city after Khalik had paid her a hefty sum to take them—and one unconscious mana vampire—into The Barrens.

But it couldn’t be her.

Since when did Lucia wear such rich, finely-made clothing? And the woman definitely lacked the dead-fish stare that was characteristic of Lucia’s face. There was no way she’d have such lively eyes and bear an expression that was so relaxed.

No, it must have been a relative of hers.

“Morningtide, boss!” a voice called from up ahead.

Ripp was waving the wizards and golem into an alleyway. The swiftling was dressed in bright greens, looking like a merry forest faerie. A big bycocket sat jauntily on his head, its forward brim so long, that it reminded Alex of a duck’s bill. “Your tailoring was right on the coin, boss. It fits me as well as my own skin.”

“Glad to hear it.” Alex smiled wanly, stepping into the alley with his two much larger companions. “We’ll need it to fit well in case there’s any fighting to do.”

“It might not come to that,” Ripp said. “The plan’s solid, even if we need to make it happen earlier than planned. But that’s the way with monster hunts. Things got a way of surprising you.”

“Yeah, that’s when you’ve got to think and adapt,” Alex said wryly.

Ripp frowned as he led the trio deeper into the alley. “That’s not a bad expression, you know?”

“Well, it’s something of a mantra of mine.” The Thameish wizard came to a dead stop as the alley ended. “So, you all ready?”

Ripp spread his vest open, revealing an array of nasty looking hooked knives. “Oh I’m ready. You sure they’ll let us bring weapons in with us?”

“Within reason,” Alex said. “If it’s part of the act, then it won’t look suspicious. There’ll be a lot of us taking part in the ‘sword dance’.”

“Aye, I getcha.” Ripp glanced at the minotaur’s mace hanging from his belt.

Thundar shrugged. “Weapon dance doesn’t sound as good.”

“Aye, that it doesn’t. And you got the other supplies we need for the acts?”

“Yep.” Alex patted the heavy pack on his back. “And enough dried waybread to last us a week if things turn bad and we end up having to hide out in the maze.”

He didn’t mention some of the other things they were bringing with them.

Claygon’s bag held two chaos bombs, ready for use if things went really wrong. Dozens of potions were spread among all three packs.

And lastly?

Alex’s hand fell on his garish satchel, feeling the small book within it; he had brought the book of the Traveller along, and with it, he hoped to unravel her mystery at long last.