“I think I have a way to crack the vault,” breathed Dorian. “Well—not exactly. Indirectly. The way Sun describes it, going in straight-up is probably impossible—”

Gerard had a look of twitching horror, cracks tickling the edges of his mask of calm. It was a look Dorian was used to getting from him. But seldom in situations quite as dire as this.

“Now?!” said Gerard. Which for him was the equivalent of, ‘have you lost your fucking mind?!’ “Sir, we must get you out of here—”

“And you will,” said Dorian, like he was a trainer trying to calm an agitated beast. Which was pretty close to the truth, come to think of it. “It is simply a matter of timing.”

And he put a finger to his lips, like he was pondering which flavor of cheese to get for a sandwich rather than making a decision on which his life—and possibly the fate of the Multiverse—hung in the balance.

“How far out is Fate’s army?”

“Days, sir. If we rush perhaps we can make it within three. Why?”

“And how fast can Fate dispatch, say, a strike force?”

“Perhaps on the morrow, if I tell him now—but they won’t be close enough to assist now!”

“Gerard, Gerard, calm.” Dorian shot him a lopsided smile, radiating, he hoped, the sort of masterful confidence he was so good at faking. “Everything is under control.” Pity Gerard had been with him so long. He wasn’t fooled for a heartbeat.

“This is no run, my liege. This is final.”

“I know. That’s why I need you to listen, so this goes precisely as planned. I’m taking a gamble.” Dorian brandished a finger. “My gamble is that they won’t move me.”

“Pardon?!”

“Jez and his army are coming to Ur for battle. My gamble is they’ll hold me here, at the palace—at least for a few hours. Or days. He will come to me. Logical, no?”

“What are you saying?” Gerard’s tone had gone a little screechy, like a strangled fowl. Dorian looked him dead in the eyes.

“I’m counting on you. And Fate. And even the runt, a little. Do you understand?”

He wished he felt even a shadow of the confidence in his grin right now. As a gamble, the odds were solid. Still, though… am I really about to do this? It felt wrong for a reason that was hard to articulate. Like throwing oneself off a cliff and trusting the net would be there. Dorian was a man for cliffs, but not nets. Where possible he preferred to break his own falls. The only creature in the Multiverse you could truly rely on, in the end, was yourself.

Yet he knew the net would be there. Of course it would. This was silly.

Do I trust Gerard? Of course he did. And the runt? And Fate?

There was nothing to think about, was there?

He swallowed.

“Follow my instructions very carefully.”

***

It was proving monstrously difficult for Gerard to peer through the boiling haze in his mind. He had to ease his fists into unclenching, talons morphing back to trembling, itching fingers. There would be no killing. Not at this precise moment, at any rate, and he forced down the throb of disappointment. He was no slobbering brute. He was a man of principle. There was a job to do now, and he would do it, and do it well, and that was that.

He gasped. Loudly. Loud enough that it cracked across the city center. He pointed a trembling finger, and, just as loud, squawked, “Look!”

He was not one for grand emotional displays, but he could summon them when he needed them. Especially when it was less summoning, and more... leaking.

Dozens of eyes followed the line of his finger. Down to a barge moseying up the channel, where a figure swaddled in dark robes clung to the hull.

The figure gave a shrill squawk. Then leapt before the guards or the crowd could react. But Gerard was there already in a spasm of space. “Halt, villain!” he yelled. The figure tried running but he slapped on two Spatial seals, deadening his legs. And at last, with a flourish, he tore off the figure’s mask.

A flurry of gasps.

“It’s Dorian!” cried a voice, quite unnecessarily.

Dorian gave a shout. He wriggled. He thrashed. He made a show of it. “Curse you!” he roared. “I was so damned close! And I would’ve gotten in, too, if it weren’t for you!”

“A pity for you I was here to apprehend you, then,” said Gerard calmly. “And a victory for the Justice of Ur, I should think.”

By now the guards had been shocked to their senses. A few lizardmen crept up on them, spears quivering with indecision. They seemed as baffled as the rest of the crowd. Mostly they seemed shocked that the legendary fugitive crowned with a twelve-thousand-high-stone bounty was wriggling like a grounded fish before them. A few were muttering urgently into the insignias on their lapels.

Then a lizardman whose lapels sported shinier insignias than the rest stepped up. “It is him,” he said. Then he blinked, clearing his throat, and leveled his gaze at Gerard. “You! Pass him over. We will take the criminal from here. Our thanks for your service.”

“It was my honor and pleasure, sir,” said Gerard. “The Laws of Ur are paramount, and must be upheld! Without its laws, what does Ur have?”

“Yes of course,” said the lizardman guard with poorly disguised impatience. “The outlaw, if you would—”

“Pardon….” Gerard tilted his head. “Of course justice is its own reward. But it does occur to me that there was to be a bounty for the capture of this most heinous of criminals, wasn’t there?”

“Bounty?” The guard blinked, like he’d never heard of the term before.

“Bounty. Twelve thousand high stones, I believe.”

The guards did not look pleased at that.

“Now look here,” said the lizardman. “We don’t wish for anyone to get hurt. Hand him over.”

“And of the bounty?”

A hesitation. “That is not in our purview. The criminal is. I say this to you but once more, guest of Ur! Hand him over.”

“You, in front of all of these witnesses—” Gerard gestured to the crowd. “Would deny me my due compensation? Has the Kingdom of Ur no shame, no face? Was not Ur built on law and order? ‘The most righteous place in Hell!’ They say! A heaven for commerce! Would such a place violate its principles so easily? Surely not!”

Rumblings of discontent from the crowd. A most constipated look was forming on the guard’s face. “Err—”

Just then the air split open at invisible seams, and out of a gaping maw of darkness stepped a one-eyed woman. By the frills on her dress alone you could pick her out as a princess.

“Enough!” cried the First Princess of Ur. She turned one frosty eye on Gerard. Gerard didn’t flinch.

“You will have your compensation, auctiongoer,” She snarled. “Let it never be said the Godking of Ur does not keep his word.”

She threw him a gold-banded Interspatial Ring, which he snatched in one hand. It took a flicker of will to inspect it. Inside, set in neat rows, were Spirit Stones. Not the raw kind. These were cut like blocks of ore. They looked like miniature galaxies trapped in glass, tiny whirlpools streaked blue and white and purple. Radiating a power that could only belong to a Spirit Stone of class.

“Take him!” snapped the Princess. And this time as the guards rushed forth Gerard let his master free. They locked eyes but once more, and he strained to convey in that glance a single thought. I WILL come for you, old friend. I swear it!

Dorian winked. I know. Then they pulled him into the void, and that was that.

***

“You may proceed,” said the Royal Guard. Nodding, Gerard took back his faked papers and stepped into the true test—the wards. Sun had done her job. They didn’t so much as flinch as he passed, and he was through.

“I think I have a way to crack the vault…” Dorian’s words echoed in his mind, and Gerard was taken back to a scene mere moments before.

…

“I always thought it’d be a longshot. Infiltrating the most high-security vault on the night of the Auction—and without knowing what its defenses even are?” He shook his head. “It’s too much. The best way to crack that vault is not to crack it at all.”

“I don’t understand, sir. Do you mean to abandon the heist?”

“Heavens, no! We’re simply doing an impromptu change of plans. Rather than steal from the vault—which now that we know is trapped, is even more impossible—we’ll do two proxy heists that produce the same effect. And, hopefully, foil our good friend Jez’s plans while we’re at it.” And Dorians’ eyes had taken on that dangerous glint only seen in geniuses and madmen.

“Step one. You turn me in—shhh, let me finish! You turn me in and collect the bounty on my head. Twelve thousand high grade Spirit Stones, eh? An outrageous sum! Outrageous enough to afford the crown of the auction, the Millennium Elixirs! You attend the auction and take Ur’s best good with its own money. And—while you’re inside the Palace proper—you plant your bombs. This is the first heist—stealing the goods.”

A second finger shot up.

“The second heist… is stealing me, after the auction. From whatever prison they’ve stuffed me in.”

“For all you know they could spirit you away ten thousand li! Or execute you on the spot!”

“Possibly. But why go ten thousand li when the most secure place in Ur is a stone’s throw’s away? Somehow I suspect they’ll stuff me in the Royal dungeons! Jez isn’t the killing type. He’s more of a gloater. Oh, the security will be immense. Wards galore! But nothing a well-placed anti-qi bomb can’t nullify, eh?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “If worst comes to worst, tell Fate to send a strike team for me. His army’s close. He owes me. I am not perishing here for his silly war. Soon we’ll walk out of here with the Elixirs. Unscathed. With Ur blown to bits, Jez’s armies vanquished, and Fate’s forces taking the city.”

He said it in such a Dorian way—with the absolute confidence of a seer proclaiming a prophecy—that Gerard nearly believed him.

“You realize you sound utterly mad.”

“Of course.”

It never ceased to amaze Gerard how his master managed to magic utter nonsense out of thin air.

The thing was—it amazed him even more how often it seemed to work.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, you know better than to ask me that.” Dorian smirked. “But if we do pull this off… can you imagine the look on Jez’s face?”