They had to put Vicenorn into a large, bronze bubble, one that was modeled after a prototype design that the Braindoll had in his room for these darkest of occasions.

It was quick work. Wakeling moved fast, her eyes glowing bright silver, pulling forth the metals from the storage rooms down below, her magic bending and hammering them into shape, hollowing out parts of the bubble to insert tubes, and plugs, and a strange, swirling engine. A carrier was quickly carved into the bubble's center, in which to hold Vicenorn's lungs, a hollow rod with which to insert the false spine that carried his life-giving liquids. The brain at the top, once he was sealed in.

She listened to Tek's ramblings as he ran calculations, both in his head and on his small laptop, typing quickly and muttering to her. Mallory and Lazuli were hard at work supplying other parts of the device, churning a magic elixir that aped the liquid that kept Vicenorn alive. It was much like blood in its color, though it stank of burning plastic. They poured it into the bubble at Tek's beckoning.

“Right,” Tek said, “The devices.”

Lazuli pulled out electronics from a bag that he had retrieved on the way up to the lab. Instruments of his own make, a chip-sized voice box and a monitor, much like his own, from which Vicenorn would be able to see. He clicked them into place, connected them to cords that snaked out of the simulacrum.

The earliest forms of the Braindolls of Izos were much like this. A large, almost cauldron-like cage, in which the brain, the lungs, and the false stem were housed. They had walked on spidery legs, and manipulated objects with needle-like, mechanical hands.

They had only begun taking on false human forms when the Romano Accords had passed, outlawing their existence completely. Braindolls like Vicenorn had been systematically hunted down, their innards exposed to open air, left to slowly die.

Thus did Vicenorn sit, once more as a bronze vat, his falsehoods torn away, revealing the illegality of his existence.

He was quiet as they finished their work. It was now late into the night, and much of the guild had gone to bed. Coffee floated gently in the corners of the room, to be picked up if need be. But none of them had ceased their work, their buildings and re-buildings, to rest. All of them looked exhausted. With the work done, Mallory leaned against Tek, and fell asleep.

Becenti, who had been helping Tek with the calculations and the finer work, looked at the Braindoll. He cleared his throat.

“...Oris?” he asked, and he wondered when his throat had become so raw.

There was no answer.

Not at first.

Then, clear and crisp for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Vicenorn spoke.

“I'm here,” he said. He still held the same cadence as before. His voice was still deep and broad.

Becenti relaxed.

“Good,” he said.

“...Where's Ichabod?” Vicenorn asked, “I don't see him here.”

“He's...” Becenti sighed, “Still out. Taking the long way to get home.”

“Oh, God,” Vicenorn said, and his voice filled with worry, “Is he safe? Is he alright?”

“Rorshin and Arne are with him,” Becenti said, “Don't worry about them, Oris. Worry about yourself.”

“I can't do that,” Vicenorn said, “Why should I think about myself? About any of this?”

The entire jar shuddered.

“I look like a monster again, Myron. I don't deserve to worry over myself.”

“You're alive,” Tek said, “You have that.”

“Am I?” Vicenorn said, “I can barely... I can barely move in here. I can't breathe. I can't do anything! Where is Ichabod? I want to see him. Please, God, let me see him-”

“That's enough, Oris,” Wakeling said.

Her voice, sharp and commanding, shut the Braindoll up.

“We'll get you legs,” she said, “And we'll get to work rebuilding you. It will take time, Oris.”

“Time,” Vicenorn spat, “Time, of course. I waited years before getting a body, you know. I'll... I'll have to wait again, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” Becenti murmured.

“The others,” Vicenorn said, “They didn't see me like this, did they? You won't tell anyone else in the guild?”

The monitor moved, looking around, as Vicenorn realized just how many of his guildmates were in the room with him.

“My secret, it stays in this room, correct? Right?”

No one replied, for they all remembered the crowd they had drawn rushing in. By now many of their fellows had probably put two and two together. They knew what Vicenorn was, now.

“It will remain a secret,” Wakeling said, and she turned to the others, “What happened here, it doesn't leave this room.”

“Wakeling,” Lazuli said, “That's impossible. He's got to move at some point. Folks are going to know.”

“And are you going to tell them?” Wakeling said, her voice warning. Lazuli cowered.

“He's right, Vyde,” Becenti's voice was low, “We can't keep him cooped up in here forever. And getting a new body, one that was as complicated as his old one? That will take... time.”

“I can still do my duties,” Vicenorn said, “Let me be in here. Let me just... Just let me stay here. I can do my calculations. Send out the proper reports. Just let me say in here, Vyde. Don't let them see what I am.”

“...Alright, Mr. Vicenorn,” Wakeling said, her voice distant, “You can stay here.”

There was, despite the fact that he was nothing more than a brain and lungs, a sob from Vicenorn.

“Th-thank you,” he said, “Thank you, God, thank you...”

“It's late,” Becenti said, “All of you, get some rest. Laz, I want you to watch over Vicenorn for the night. Let me know if anything comes up.”

“Got it,” Lazuli said. For the first time in a while, he looked dead serious.

“What about you?” Tek said, “You going to rest?”

“Hmm,” Becenti said, “I think not.”

“Neither am I,” Wakeling said, “We've got a lot to talk about, Myron. In my office, please.”

The metahuman nodded. Turned to the others. Tek was scooping Mallory up in his bear-like arms. Lazuli was pulling up a chair and sitting by Vicenorn's metallic bulk. He gave a thumbs up to Becenti.

“Right, then,” Becenti said, “To your office.”

***

A severe silence had settled over the guildhall as Becenti and Wakeling went up the stairs to her office. The events that had transpired earlier in the night had set whispers ablaze, whispers that were only now starting to cease as the guild turned to bed. The rumors, the theories, the arguments, they would come with morning's dawn, when the Inner Sun burned to life once more.

Becenti would be hard at work dispelling them.

“A cover story,” he murmured, “That's what we'll need.”

“Don't say anything,” Wakeling said, “We only talk when we're in the office.”

Becenti frown deepened, but he nevertheless nodded. The walk up to the top of Castle Belenus was quiet, tense, and not a bit awkward.

It felt like eyes watched through closed doors. Guildmembers opened their eyes, either stirred from sleep or from half-wakefulness by the sound of Becenti's footsteps echoing dully up the stairs.

They made it up to Wakeling's office.

The door, usually closed, was half ajar. Wakeling's eyebrow quirked at that. The two of them exchanged looks, before Becenti walked forward and opened the door up.

The office was quiet, the blue runes along the spines of Wakeling's books shining moon-like in the darkness. There were no stars above on the ceiling, however. No, something had obscured them, cast them away, blanketed them in a whirling stormcell, dark clouds hanging and swirling, lightning coursing through their make.

The reason for that was sitting at Wakeling's desk, having pulled the chair around so that he could sit facing the door.

“Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said.

Joseph sat there, his hands clasped together on the table, as though he had been expecting them. The air reeked of ozone.

“Mr. Zheng,” Becenti repeated, “It's getting late, perhaps you should-”

“I'm...” Joseph's voice was trembling, “I'm not leaving. I heard about what happened. With Vicenorn. I heard you...”

He took a deep breath, getting his emotions under control.

“I heard you were working on making sure he was okay. Is he... okay?”

“He is,” Wakeling said.

“Good. I didn't want to disturb you,” Joseph said.

“He's... as fine as can be, Joseph,” Becenti said, “Everything's alright.”

“Bullshit.”

At his words, lightning cracked overhead.

“You and me, we have to talk,” Joseph said, looking to Wakeling.

Wakeling chose her words carefully. She feigned ignorance.

“About what, Joseph?” she said.

His eyes widened. His fingers clenched together even tighter.

“I know where you sent them,” he said.

Wakeling, for a moment, looked like a deer in headlights. Then, she composed herself, turning to Becenti.

“Go to bed, Myron,” she said, “We'll talk in the morning.”

Becenti looked over. Wanted to reach out to Joseph. But his words were for Wakeling, not for him. Right now, he was only getting in the way of the young man's anger.

“Alright,” he said, “Good night, Joseph.”

Joseph merely nodded.

Becenti walked down the steps. He heard the door to Wakeling's office close as he went halfway down.

***

The pillow on the desk drifted upwards, meeting with Wakeling halfway in the air as she settled down across from Joseph. No laying on the desk luxuriously. This floating head simply sat mid-air. Joseph stared hard at her as she took a deep breath, steeling herself for their conversation.

When she looked at him, she looked at him directly.

“Alright, Mr. Zheng,” she said, “How much do you know?”

“That Ichabod took a team to face Agrippa,” Joseph said, “Even though he's off-limits, right? Everyone I talk to, they say Agrippa's dangerous. That he's- he's, a monster. That we don't go near him.”

The thunder roiled.

“That's... correct,” Wakeling said, “We do not, traditionally, take jobs that involve Agrippa.”

“Then why did Ichabod go?” Joseph said, “Don't tell me bullshit, I can smell it on you when you do. Why did you send Ichabod? Becenti, too, I guess? G-Wiz?”

“Rorshin, Vicenorn, and Contort as well,” Wakeling said. She took a shaky breath, “Mr. Zheng, what we are talking about, it does not leave this room.”

“I don't care about what leaves this room or doesn't,” Joseph said, “Quit it with that doubletalk. Tell it to me straight.”

“I am, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “But dealing with Agrippa holds risks to it. He's not a man who you deal with lightly. He's got eyes everywhere, ears in the right places. He's among the most powerful men in the multiverse.”

“You're saying that you're afraid he'll do something.”

“...Half of the team still isn't accounted for,” Wakeling said, “They're out there, Mr. Zheng. Something went awry. I'm afraid of retaliation.”

“Retaliation,” Joseph's voice was flat.

“It's... a distinct possibility,” Wakeling said, “I haven't gotten the full details from Becenti yet. But whatever happened on Neos, it wasn't good.”

“No shit,” Joseph said.

“Indeed, Mr. Zheng.”

“So why hide it from us, then?” Joseph said, “Why keep it a secret? Then we'd all be in agreement, right? You want us to know if a man like that is out there, and you might have pissed him off?”

“It's not so simple, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “It would incite a riot among the guildmembers.”

“It probably fucking would,” Joseph said, “But they deserve to know, don't they? That you made a call like that.”

“In time,” Wakeling said.

“What if he bombs us tomorrow?” Joseph said, “What if he sends someone out here tomorrow?”

“That wouldn't happen,” Wakeling said.

“Why?”

“One, because I am here,” the guildmaster said, and her voice became barbed, “You think that I would just sit by, and let my home be destroyed, Joseph? You're wrong. I would rather die, Joseph. Agrippa destroys this guild over my dead body.”

Joseph subtly shook his head, his teeth gritting.

But he could not refute her point.

“The second reason,” Wakeling said, “Is because any response that Agrippa would have would be delayed, by time, by legality, by preparations. He knows that Castle Belenus is no easy prize, if it comes down to an outright assault.”

“He could have sent someone ahead,” Joseph said, “If he's such a big deal. You should have seen the way Becenti was looking over his shoulder. The fear in his eyes. It's like he and G-Wiz were chased all the way here.”

“I know that, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “I... I know.”

“So you're going to tell everyone, right?” Joseph leaned forward, finger rapping against the table with each word he said, “You're. Going. To.”

Wakeling was quiet. Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Sure, take your time,” he said, “Take your fucking time. I don't give a shit. Talk to Becenti about it. Cry about it. Sob and wheeze and all of that. Sure. Wait a week. Wait two! But tell them, at the end of the day.”

“...What's this really about, Mr. Zheng?” Wakeling prodded.

Joseph began seeing red. For a moment. She was avoiding the question. Avoiding his concern. Like it didn't matter. He took a deep breath, forcing his harsher emotions down. The way she looked at him, it was like how his father looked at him. Like his mother. The sighs. The eyes rolling. The exhausted concern.

What's this really about, Joseph? He could imagine his father waving the rest of the family away so the two of them could have their private little talks. His father ignoring Joseph's protests. Complaints. Brushing them aside.

What is this really about, Joseph?

That's what he would say, in an irritated, tired way, as though everything Joseph said stemmed from one, singular point of anger.

Perhaps it was.

But Joseph didn't care. He could hear that same dismissive tone in Wakeling's voice. The same deflections.

And, goddammit, he was falling for her ruse.

“...You went to Agrippa,” Joseph said, “You told me that I shouldn't go near him. That no one could. And yet you went anyway.”

“It was my call,” Wakeling said.

“Why?” Joseph said, “What was so important that you threw all caution to the wind like that?”

“...Personal reasons,” Wakeling said.

“Whose?”

“Ichabod's.”

Joseph took a deep breath. In. Out. Wakeling fixed him with a pointed look.

“I did it,” Wakeling said, “Because it's something that Ichabod had been wanting for a long time. It's... Agrippa made him what he is, Joseph. And he owes me for sending him there. Big time, for letting him use guild resources. For potentially compromising us.”

“So that's it, then,” Joseph said, “You did it because you felt bad.”

There was a mocking tone to his voice. Wakeling's nostrils flared.

“None of that nonsense,” she said.

“Bullshit,” Joseph said, “You said-”

Wakeling opened her mouth, but he tapped the desk, rapped angry knuckles on its surface.

“You said, that no one could go near Agrippa. We even had an entire talk about it, about something that he probably doesn't even notice, or care about. And then you let Ichabod go.”

“Ichabod is a lot more experienced than you, Joseph,” Wakeling said, “He could handle it.”

“And I couldn't?” Joseph said, and there was an edge of desperation to his words, “Look at me. Look at this!”

His soul flared. The eagle shuddered upwards, out of his back, in all of its glory, painting the entire room a deep, cobalt glow. Wakeling looked up at it, gauging its size. The eagle had grown stronger than when Joseph had first awakened. Its muscles were larger, its claws sharper, almost glinting despite their plasmatic make.

But more, it was scarred. Heavily so. Up and down its back. It's chest. Its arms were covered in cuts and scrapes that had scabbed white, glowing brighter than the eagle itself.

Joseph's soul, made physical.

“I've been fighting since I got here,” Joseph said, “Since I made a deal with you. Every job I've gone on for the guild that went off-plane, I've almost died. I faced Mordenaro. I survived Chliofrond. I fought other metahumans in bumfuck nowhere. I've been fighting, for you. For your stupid fucking guild.”

“Joseph-”

“And what do I get?” Joseph said, “What the hell do I get? I can't sleep at night, you know, not without those pills that Becenti has. I close my eyes, and-”

He leaned down, and he suddenly looked haggard. As though he were spilling out for the first time.

“And I see everything. You get that? Everything.”

“Mr. Zheng-”

“What do I get, Wakeling?”

The question hung in the air. Joseph's soul began sinking back into his body as he sat back down. Wakeling herself was looking away from him.

“That was our original deal, right?” he said, “I work for you, you help me get back home.”

“It was,” Wakeling said.

“So, why the hell aren't you helping me, then?” Joseph asked.

“I have been,” Wakeling said, “I gave you our library. I gave you room and board.”

“I've read as much as I can,” Joseph said, “I've practically asked everyone here. Not even Becenti knows anything about Earth. The one time I got a lead, anywhere at all, was from someone outside the guild.”

“So you're concerned that we're not helping you enough, then,” Wakeling said.

“Never mind 'enough help,'” Joseph said, “You're all take and no give. Playing favorites. Telling some of us that we can't go some places, yet trusting others to.”

“That's an immature way of viewing things,” Wakeling said.

“Immature?”

Wakeling swore under her breath. The wrong word to say. Joseph looked about to explode again.

“Context, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “I... I trusted Ichabod-”

“And you don't trust me?”

“And there were conditions,” Wakeling said, “If Becenti didn't trust that the mission could be pulled off, he would pull out. If he even sniffed out that we could be compromised, he would pull out.”

“...So do you think he did?” Joseph asked, “When he got here, he sure looked pretty fucking compromised.”

“A conversation for him, later,” Wakeling said.

“Sure. Whatever,” Joseph said.

He crossed his arms.

Wakeling sighed.

“I am sorry, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “It was... Pig-headed of me.”

“...So, what?” Joseph said, “That's it?”

“What do you want from me, Mr. Zheng?”

“I want...” Joseph looked over. He hadn't…

Hadn't thought about that.

But he knew, deep down. Or, at least, grasped at what few straws were left.

“I want to go to Melmaen,” he said, “To the Museum of Unnatural History. To Anuté and Inweth.”

Wakeling truly looked apologetic.

“I am sorry, Joseph,” she said, “But I can't let you go. Especially not now.”

“What do you mean, not now?”

“Not with what happened on Neos,” Wakeling said, “Not with the heat we're most likely catching from Agrippa.”

“Of course,” Joseph sneered.

“...Perhaps, later,” Wakeling said.

“Sure, why not,” Joseph said, “Later. When the heat's died down, or Agrippa fucking sends a nuke at us, or something. I don't know. Fucking whatever.”

He was leaning back, sighing. He suddenly felt very tired, an exhaustion seeped into his bones and soul.

“Give it time,” Wakeling said, “Let things simmer for a bit. Then, if things are well, if he doesn't suspect you...”

Joseph paused.

“...Suspect me?” he asked.

There was a moment, as he looked up at her, as the lightning roiled on the magical ceiling above, flashing so he could see her face more clearly. That she was looking away, her nostrils flaring again, for just a moment, as though she had said the wrong thing. A momentary, involuntary response. One that she smothered at once.

“That you're a member of the guild,” she said, though there was a tightness to her voice.

The same that she had when she had talked to him before, about Nai Nai, when she was forbidding him originally.

She was lying to him.

“Suspect me for what?” he said.

“I told you, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said.

“No, you didn't,” Joseph said, “For what?”

“Nothing, Joseph,” Wakeling said, “I already-”

“For what!”

He was rising back to his feet. Standing tall.

“Cut it with the bullshit!” he said, “For the love of God, for what?!”

Wakeling grit her teeth.

“If he suspects you're Zheng Chun's grandson,” she forced out.

“That I'm...”

He glared at her. Realizations washed over him like waves.

“How well did you know my Nai Nai?” he asked.

Wakeling turned away.

“How well did you know her?” Joseph pressed, “How much did you know about Fēngbào?!”

He watched as Wakeling visibly recoiled at the use of his grandmother's metahuman name. All at once in her eyes there was recognition. Fear. Anxiety. Anticipation. Joseph's hands curled into fists.

“You knew her a lot better than you told me,” Joseph said, “You've been lying to me about her from the start.”

“I...”

“What did she do?” Joseph asked, “I know she was an explorer. That she was a big deal. How did you know her? Were you close? How did she get to Earth and back so often? You told me it wasn’t in forecast.”

He was pointing a finger, jabbing it in her face.

“Forty years!” he screeched, “Forty years, Wakeling! I saw her every Summer! Yet you tell me that she was a great explorer! She used the sarcophagi, I know it! And you won't let me see them. Because of Agrippa. Why! Why?”

But Wakeling was silent. She was looking away.

There were...

Tears.

In her eyes.

Joseph, glaring, dropped his hand.

“Fine,” he said, “You won't tell me. Sure. Fuck off, then.”

He moved away. Made for the door. His hand turned the knob.

“Joseph,” Wakeling said.

He turned.

“...Sleep well,” she said.

Joseph let out a low 'tsk.' He opened the door, and walked out.

***

He started packing as soon as he got back into his room. He made for his closet, opening it up, pulling out the meager collection of shirts he had collected, the other two pairs of jeans that had been provided to him. He pulled out the duffel bag that had been given to him for the expedition to Chliofrond, and started throwing them in. A claw curled over his fist as he worked, lighting the room up for him to see.

There was movement from under Phineas's bed. The Deep One crawled out blearily, globe-like eyes glistening in the blue half-light. Joseph looked down at him for a moment.

Then, he turned back and continued packing.

“You are leaving?” Phineas asked, “A secret job?”

“No, Phin.”

“An impromptu camping trip?”

Joseph stopped packing. Couldn't bear to meet Phineas's eyes. For a moment, he was quiet, and the Deep One let him keep his silence.

“I'm quitting, dude,” Joseph said.

“Oh?”

“I'm... I'm done with this,” Joseph said, “I can't take this sort of life anymore. Not with the lies. Not with everything getting in my way.”

“What will you do?”

“I'm going to Melmaen,” Joseph said, “To the Museum of Unnatural History.”

“Ah,” Phineas said, “Quite a journey.”

“Sure.”

“Do you know where to go?”

“I...” Joseph looked down, “No. I don't. I'll figure it out.”

“You have Hermes,” Phineas said.

“I do.”

“Patron to travelers.”

“Hope he's feeling pretty damn generous,” Joseph said.

“Perhaps,” Phineas said, “But traveling is not always kind. Not when you don't know the road, or have the money.”

“I've got a bit saved up,” Joseph said, “My shares from Luevo's job. Chliofrond.”

“Ah, good,” Phineas said, “But no map.”

“No.”

The Deep One nodded, and slithered out from under his bed. He fixed Joseph with a long stare, before turning away and leaving the room. Joseph waited for him for a few moments, before turning back to his packing.

Another guildmember, letting him down.

Typical.

***

And then, almost twenty minutes later, just as Joseph finished up and was heading out the door, Phineas came back.

Rosemary was with him. She was holding her sceptre in hand, and slung over her shoulder was a pack of her own.

“'Sup, Rosemary,” Joseph said.

“Heya, Joe,” she said, “Phin told me what's up.”

“Nice,” Joseph said, “Get out of my way.”

His eyes slid over to her pack. It was the same one she had been wearing when she had first met him, all those months ago, aboard the Fortune's Favor. The one that had held the Dragon's egg, which had led to his going meta. Phineas pushed past him, pulling out a duffel bag of his own from beneath his bed.

“We're going with you, Joseph,” Rosemary said.

“Like hell you are-”

“No buts,” Rosemary said, “We are.”

“How?” Joseph said, “You know I'm quitting for real, right?”

Rosemary tilted her head, fixing him with an odd look. Gauging his sincerity. He stood tall, glaring back at her.

“I'm going to Melmaen,” Joseph said, “To the sarcophagus they have there. I'm going to find a way to go back through. Go back to Earth. Should've been the first thing I did as soon as I got some spending money.”

“Melmaen's a long way from here,” Rosemary said, “You'll need maps.”

“I can buy those.”

“Can you read them?” Rosemary asked.

“I... I can ask around.”

“From who?”

Joseph swore under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Out of the way, Rosemary,” he said, “Let me go my own way.”

Phineas piped up.

“I can read them,” he rasped, “They are easy, for my kind.”

Joseph was quiet.

“Just... let us go with you, alright?” Rosemary said, “Look, it's obvious you had a big argument with Wakeling, and you want out. That's fair. More than fair, if I'm honest with you.”

“Sure,” Joseph said.

“But if this is your last trip, might as well make it one with friends, right?”

There was a hopefulness to her voice. Joseph looked at her. She was smiling at him, though it seemed forced, almost sad.

“...Alright,” he said, “I don't really have a plan, anyways.”

“You want to leave now, yeah?” Rosemary said.

“That was the deal,” Joseph said, “I figured I'd make my way to Kelphaven, see where I can go from there.”

“Kelphaven's not the best idea,” Rosemary said, “If we want to get anywhere fast, we'll want to take another Traveling Point.”

She took a deep breath.

“I think I know who can help us with that.”

***

The Lady Sunala was still awake. She had been getting very little sleep, what with the election season running at a fever pitch. A warm glow emanated from the top of the manor, from the noblewoman's room. She was still working. Rosemary could imagine the fireflies inside glowing like miniature stars, lighting her bedroom up in imitation of sunrise.

The manor stood tower-like in the distance. It reminded her of the lighthouse on the edge of the city, where she had squirreled away some of her affectations. But she wasn't going to Sunala's manor tonight. She had only gone there when called, per contract between House Sunala and the Amber Foundation.

“Rosemary?” Joseph said, “Where are you taking us?”

“I'm...” Rosemary looked over to Joseph and Phineas. They were packed up, and ready to go. Joseph was swaddled in a dark blue cloak. Phineas had his tome in his bag as he peeked around Joseph to look at her.

“Everything is alright?” Phineas asked.

“Yes. Maybe. I don't...” Rosemary sighed, “I don't know.”

“For a second, I thought you were taking us to Sunala,” Joseph said.

“I thought about it, for a little while,” Rosemary said, “But she's gotten scary, Joe.”

Joseph cocked his head, eyebrow raising.

“How?” he asked.

“At first, I thought about taking you to her manor. But there's been... there have been a lot more elves there. From the Verdant Reclamation. From the White Feathers.”

Joseph nodded.

“The ones who don't like non-elves.”

“I think... I think you were right, Joseph,” Rosemary whispered, “Sunala's been getting angrier. There's a fire in her eyes. She's been reaching out to more and more of her contacts off-plane. A lot of the big Scuttler families are aligning with the Rithmounds.”

“I see,” Joseph said.

“I'm worried, Joe,” Rosemary said, “About what happens if they win.”

Her confession hung in the night for a moment.

“Right,” Joseph said, “So they're not a good look. Where are you taking us, then?”

“I'm taking us to the Bronze-Hued Keep,” Rosemary said.

Phineas let out a low hiss.

“Careful,” the Deep One said, “That is playing politics. They will not take any of our money.”

“I know, Phin,” Rosemary said, “But I have something more than money for them. Something that can get them an edge. Besides, we're already playing politics. I think we've been playing politics ever since the gala.”

“What's the Bronze-Hued Keep?” Joseph asked.

“It's the home of House Rithmound,” Rosemary said, “Busciver's main political rival.”

She turned.

“Shall we be off?”

***

Isaac Rithmound had been dealing with a bout of insomnia for most of the night.

It came up every so often. Stress would get to him, or too much energized drinks from off-plane. Sometimes it was nothing at all. He hated it, hated not being able to sleep, as though some supernatural force had gotten in the way of his body's natural processes. He felt like he had lost control of something on these nights. If the Lady Busciver were here, she would be able to get him to drift off. There was a softness to her voice, as she spoke to him, whispered in his ear, one hand clasping his, the other resting on his chest, feeling its rise and fall.

He missed her, bitterly. He wondered if she was awake, too. Before this damned election, before these political games, before the gala, he could have sneaked her in. Most of his guards were aware of their affair.

…No. Affair was such an ugly word for what they had. It was love, truly. Like in the books he had read as a child. That his mother was so keen on reading.

How could she not? Better to read about the life she had dreamed about. A better relationship was in her books than what she had with his father, whom Isaac respected but did not love.

These thoughts, this forlorn heartsickness, rippled in his chest as he stood on one of the balconies of the Bronze-Hued Keep. His only companions were his two guards, who stood flanking either side of the door leading back inside. Always, he was to be on guard. The assassin that had been at the gala had been after someone.

They just weren't sure who.

And they had foiled four more attempts since then.

“Trouble, Raulito?”

The voice came from the door. Isaac turned, just a bit, to consider the voice's owner. Alonso Moriguchi was on his nightly patrol, dressed up in a casual white dress shirt and black pants, his multi-colored mask freshly cleaned after a morning's session of sparring with his guildmates. It occurred to Isaac that he had never seen Moriguchi without it.

“Nothing, Alonso,” Isaac said, “Just thinking on things.”

“Insomnia's quite the vile thing,” Moriguchi said, “My mamá, she always said to drink a warm cup of milk before bed.”

“Hobgoblins don't drink milk,” Isaac said.

“Maybe not here,” Moriguchi said, “But on other planes, I have seen it. Must be an allergy here.”

Isaac snorted, smiling despite himself.

“Odd that there are other hobgoblins out there,” he said, “All of our records here, all of our histories, they state that hobgoblins evolved on Moadma Landmass from reptiles that learned to walk and had too much time on their hands.”

“Ah, there are always theories,” Moriguchi said, “There are plenty of humans about, no? Plenty of talks of evolution with them. Of migrations. No one's figured it out. I would not be surprised if anyone ever will.”

He let out a low chuckle, walking over to Isaac, leaning on the scaffolding.

“You're thinking of your lady, aren't you?”

Isaac let out a heavy sigh. And nodded.

The Exodus Walker rested a hand on his shoulder.

“These elections, they are not forever. Things will pass. They always do.”

“Maybe,” Isaac said, “But I'm of marriageable age, Alonso. My heart was not made for love.”

“Perhaps,” Moriguchi said, “Or perhaps that's just what you keep telling yourself.”

Isaac fixed him with a reprimanding glare. But Moriguchi ignored that.

“There will be time enough to think on that,” he said, “But for now, I would start calling for someone. I see three people walking up to the entrance now.”

Isaac turned. He could barely make them out. He gestured to one of the guards, who approached, pulling out a spyglass and handing it to him. Enchanted with nightvision, he could make out the three figures more clearly. Isaac grimaced.

“Well, well,” he said, “Let's get downstairs. Get a few more guards. It's the Amber Foundation.”

***

“Surprised you're still around, Moriguchi,” Rosemary said.

The Exodus Walker stood with Isaac Rithmound at the gates. Four soldiers were flanking them, two to either side. All of them looked ready for a fight. It could come as no surprise – they knew who the Amber Foundation had traditionally worked for in this election.

“Hola, Rosemary, Joseph,” Moriguchi said, “Who is the last...?”

“I am Phineas.”

“Ah. One of your magicians. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Moriguchi said.

“Enough with the guild talk,” Isaac Rithmound said. He jabbed a finger at them, “State your business, or leave our grounds.”

“We came to talk to Lord Rithmound,” Rosemary said.

“You speak with him.”

“The other Lord Rithmound,” Rosemary said, “Or, at least, someone with the authority to allow three passengers aboard an airship.”

Isaac Rithmound grimaced.

“This late at night...?”

“In exchange,” Rosemary said, “We have... information. On the Lady Sunala's dealings in the multiverse.”

Phineas let out a low hiss at the sound of that. What Rosemary was proposing...

It threatened the Amber Foundation's reputation. One didn't just go out and reveal client information like this. Not for politics.

But...

The Lady Sunala made him uncomfortable, so he said nothing.

Isaac Rithmound took a second to digest the information. His jaw was set.

“Truly?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rosemary replied.

“Very well,” Isaac Rithmound said, his tone careful, “You will follow me.”

And he turned, opening the gates to the Bronze-Hued Keep. As its name implied, the entire dome-shaped building looked like it had been painted with a bronze shell, gleaming in the fire of Scuttleway's nightlife. A wall separated the building proper from the outside world, and as they went in Joseph could see various scaffoldings and balconies peppering the dome's surface. The courtyard itself was bare. No shrubberies, no gardens, no decorations. Just a bare platform of stone. Servants opened the door to let the entire entourage inside, and Isaac Rithmound guided them down dark halls, barely lit by blue ghost-like torches. Guards were on patrol. Magical paper birds flapped about the place, runes blazing on their chests and wings.

The shadows seemed to dance. Ket seemed to be aware of them, and watching.

Isaac Rithmound led them to his father's office. He knocked twice.

“Enter,” a voice said on the other side.

Isaac opened the door, beckoned them inside.

Lord Bryce Rithmound, too, had not slept this night.

His was not based on insomnia, however, but like Sunala there was a desperate zeal to his work. Coffee cups, freshly ordered from the local Friendbucks in the market district (he liked their pumpkin spice this time of year) littered his office, overflowed from his trash can. The patriarch of House Rithmound nonetheless looked exhausted as Joseph, Rosemary, and Phineas walked into the room. Paperwork covered his desk, and at the sight of the Amber Foundation he returned his quill to its holder, clasping thin, orange fingers together as he gave them his full attention.

“Amber Foundation,” he said, “If you're coming on behalf of Wakeling, I'm afraid you will find us sour clients. We've already hired security.”

He gave a nod to Moriguchi.

“Actually, sir,” Rosemary said, “We're here on our own.”

Lord Rithmound's eyes narrowed.

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir,” Rosemary said, “We have some information on Sunala's dealing in the multiverse. Something you might be able to use for your own sake.”

“...I see,” Lord Rithmound said. He took a moment to think, “And... how do I know that this isn't some sort of Busciver trick?”

“The information we have can be seen as baseline rumor,” Rosemary said, “But the implications are enough that...”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“That the High Federation would take a look at Sunala's dealings. At the very least, it would delay her ventures off-plane. You know that she's been relying on her extraplanar contacts for this, don't you?”

“I do,” Rithmound said, “And what do you want in return?”

“A ship,” Rosemary said.

“A... ship.”

“We're on a mission to get off-plane,” Rosemary said, “And we can't use the Amber Foundation's resources.”

“You're deserting,” Rithmound spat.

Rosemary paled. Rithmound was a military man. He wouldn't like the fact that Joseph was leaving. For a moment, she thought of lying – avoiding the question, dodging to one side. But Rithmound was a shrewd man. He reminded her of her father, where even if he had the truth he would still disapprove.

Better to tell the truth, all things told.

“No, we're not,” Rosemary said, “Phineas and I, we're escorting Joseph home. He's leaving the guild, and we thought we'd accompany him to the Traveling Point to his home plane.”

“And you can't use guild resources?” Rithmound asked, “You're not going through the proper channels with your guildmaster? In the dead of night?”

“He's not...” Rosemary glanced at Joseph. The metahuman gave her a nod.

Go ahead.

“He's not telling the guildmaster,” she said, “If you want to let her know where we went, go ahead.”

“I will,” Rithmound said, “If someone from your guild comes knocking.”

He took a moment to look at his drink, giving it a sip. He tossed the empty cup over his shoulder, just barely missing the trash can. He snapped a finger, and a servant drew into the room.

“Get me another. Give the manager my regards.”

The servant nodded, and went out the door.

It was to give him time to think, Rosemary knew. Rithmound scratched at his chin.

“I wouldn't be able to give you a free ship to go where you please,” he said, “I've haven't got any to spare. But I do have a number of ships leaving port in the morning. You can pick from them, and be on your way.”

“We'll take it,” Rosemary said, “Get me a contract.”

Rithmound smirked.

“This isn't your first time doing something like this, is it?” he said.

“I learned a long time ago to have a paper trail,” Rosemary said, shrugging, “Nothing crazy. Just something concrete. At the very least, you can tear it up if the deal's off. Pretty dramatic.”

“Hmm,” Rithmound said, “Very well.”

He pulled out a blank page from his desk, and started writing. He was quick, inking out the agreement in but a moment. He handed the page over to Rosemary, who read it over. She nodded in satisfaction.

“I'll be the one to sign,” she said, “It's me with the info, after all.”

“Very well,” Rithmound said.

She signed. As did he.

When he was done, he leaned in.

“Now then, your information.”

“It's about a plane we traveled to. A dead one,” Rosemary said, “And what we found there.”

“And what did you find?”

Rosemary's eyes glistened in the candlelight.

“A Shard of Imagination.”

***

Sunala was working on her own when she received a knock at her door.

She glanced up from her work. It was dark outside, and only the servants and overnight guard were awake at this time. Her entire bedroom, where she had set up her office for comfort's sake, had a melancholic air to it. The only light came from the will-o-the-wisps floating in the air, shining duskily in the mid-morning night.

Something had happened. Something that was important, for it wasn't delivered to her in the usual messenger birds or magical requests from the Doge.

“Enter,” Sunala said.

Adonal Adaya stepped into her room. He looked cross as he stepped forward. In his hand was a spell. A trapped air elemental, endomed within crystal so it would not disperse. He had a dark look on his face as he stepped to Sunala's desk.

“Greetings, Lord Adaya,” Sunala said.

Without a word, Adonal Adaya released the air elemental from its cage. It floated over Sunala's desk for a moment, before it lost its form, swirling into a mirror depicting an event from earlier in the night.

One of their security elementals, she knew. This one had been positioned just outside the Bronze-Hued Keep's front gate.

It depicted three figures walking to the gate. Rithmound's son, Isaac Rithmound, greeting them. He guided them inside.

They were the Amber Foundation.

Leading the trio had been...

“Rosemary,” Sunala said.

“Your ward turns coat,” Adonal Adaya hissed.

“She... She wouldn't,” Sunala said.

“She would,” Adonal Adaya said, “I saw her during InterGuild. During my speech. She was afraid, Sunala. She is not one of us.”

Sunala was careful as she cleared her throat.

“Not... one of us?”

“I have done my research, Sunala,” Adonal Adaya said, “She looks like an elf, but she is not. She is one from one of our cousin races. She had been lying to you.”

Sunala nodded, feigning restrained shock.

“I... see.”

“And now, she goes to the enemy,” Adonal Adaya said, “I do hope you did not reveal our secrets to her.”

“I swear, I did not,” Sunala said, “She was barred from all of our most important meetings. You know that. She's only been my assistant in certain matters.”

“Hmm,” Adonal Adaya said, and Sunala's heart sank.

He did not believe her.

But he also knew she was too important to throw away.

“Do not forget,” Adonal Adaya said, “How important Scuttleway is to our future prospects in this region. It sits on an important trade route here in Londoa. Its mines harbor more than jewels and gold. If we are to maintain a foothold in this region, we must have Scuttleway under our control.”

“I am aware,” Sunala said, “Once this election is over, and we re-seal our hold on the Doge's mind, we can better align his interests to ours.”

“The gnome?” Adaya spat, “He thinks every shadow his enemy. He is a coward, as all his kind are. Be careful, Sunala, for he will betray you to save his own hide.”

Sunala could do little but nod.

“Hope your Rosemary, your precious falsehood, knows little,” Adonal Adaya said, “If we lose this plane due to your greed, due to your love of the lesser races, it will be on your head. I will make sure of it.”

He swept out the door.

Sunala exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath.

Her hands shook as she returned to her work.