《Rhinestone Gods》


 Chapter 1: Strung Along

    "And I grant you a duad of boons, a token of amity to you who has journeyed. When you will it, you need but speak your boon to my name, and it will be true." - Words of the Stone Crown, God of the Adelsten Theocracy.


    <hr>


    The streets of the Ribs stunk of the afternoon sweep, an unfortunately familiar scent of Sulfur and Coal. Crowds of hundreds and possibly thousands waded through the alleys and bridges at the end of their shifts, scurrying to make it home before dusk claimed the last arctic light from the mana spires and sent it to the surface of the three-floored city. Far above shone the circulations of an intricate web of mana channels, crawling in glowing blue pipes across the roof in folding patterns and alighting the box-shaped buildings of the Ribs.


    Finnian would like to think the place looked at least somewhat welcoming. The stark blue light from the towering spires reaching the roofs were a beauty, to be sure. But one look at the rocky brick and block walkways or the walls the color of swampy green not even the majestic magic illumination could hide, betrayed the illusion.


    He hunched behind two burly workers discussing their events from today''s coal vault expeditions coal vaults, his dirty cloak hiding his face and shape. "The geode cracker broke after sum'' overenthusiastic newly employed overseer attempted to crack it open, they had to bring in Dusters to shave it open! Apparently it contained a fermented sapphire." The one to the right said to which the one to the left spat. "Bah! That''s rhinestone tales, a fermented gemstone this early in the year is far too rare."


    While the two spoke to each other, Finnian slunk up much like a rat snickering at a newfound snack. Making use of the free distraction, he shot forward both of his hands into the back pockets of the workers, one came away empty but the other clutched a Copper disc, which he hurriedly stuffed into a stitched compartment in his sleeve. He felt a shift in the man to the right who''d noticed the touch, and in a quick thought Finnian pushed his right foot down hard and crashed into the pair.


    "My apologies good sirs, So sorry!" He lifted his hands up but kept his head down, playing a worried smile on his lips but hiding his eyes. "Please forgive a humble peasant for his mistake."


    The two men stared down at him and their sudden stop in the traffic of people caused everyone to move around them like a water around a pillar in a downward stream. Their breathing reached his nostrils, one smelled of roast chicken while the other smelled like burnt garlic. "Watch your step, grasshopper," Spoke the one to the left, though it sounded more like the growl of a fat bear. "Wouldn''t want any accidents in a place like this."


    "Of course, of course it was my mistake!" Finnian waved his hands innocently, "I''m so sorry, I''ll move on." And then when neither of the two men objected, he awkwardly shuffled back into the mass of moving people. When he was out of clear sight, he smoothly moved up and left, parallel to the part where he''d re-entered the traffic. As expected, ten seconds later he heard an angry yell not unlike an unoiled conveyor belt. And Finnian grinned like a kid who''d successfully stolen sweets from his neighbor.


    He continued walking with the crowd, making some turns until the traffic diverged into two paths to the left and right, and forward unto a bridge. Finnian continued with the now considerably smaller crowd up onto the crescent shaped bridge. Spires decorated the bridge on either side in trios. Two at the start, two in the middle, and two on the other side. He stopped in the middle of the bridge beside one of the spires and pressed himself tightly against it. Below him the bridge spanned an artificial canyon, a vertical relief in which the sewage of the city flowed in the sewer which were aptly dubbed the ''Bowels''.


    As he waited, the passage of people thinned from hundreds to dozens. Workers had gotten home and now it was mostly just couriers or mechanics moving around material or making it from one factory to the next. He looked to the other end of the bridge where he''d been moving originally, which was a large semi-circle square. Lampposts illuminated a small market street where pawnshops sold barely-functional scrap and low-income engineers sold their services. There were a handful of stone plant pots around, but nothing was planted, nobody was willing to put neither the effort nor the money into sustaining them, and the city sure as hell didn''t care.


    This was one of the few places that could be considered civilized during regular workdays. He watched as regular folk conversed under the lamps and dim manalight, as women coming from the surface carried baskets of groceries. Some children played around a clean water fountain used for drinking in the square center, sometimes grabbing handfuls and splashing it on each other.


    Things continued to flow like usual for likely an hour. Finnian was impatiently fiddling with the thin-fibre ropes tied around his wrist when he spotted queer movement in the corner of his eye. Locking his gaze on the abnormality, he spotted a vague figure standing in the shadows of one of the outer stores. The person was wearing a cloak much like his own, and was also staring right at him. The person lifted their head slightly revealing the dirty face of a middle aged man. Rolan nodded at Finnian, who nodded in return. Then Rolan looked over towards the roof of a building - Finnian followed his gaze and spotted two people he''d not noticed. Both were hidden in blending in with their matching cloaks on the roof, looking like statues. Malorie and Milly nodded to him, and then they all settled back into relaxed stances.


    The problem wasn''t that the square was wide open and visible to everyone around. It was easy to blend in, and there were plenty of people around. He was plenty capable of hiding, so that was no issue. The problem was that there were only four of them, while the white robed that now came walking into the square numbered in five. Unlike everything else in the entirety of the space, the Dusters wore pristine white robes rimmed with silver lining. Their hoods were down, revealing well cared for and clean faces.


    Finnian swallowed the anxiousness in his stomach, or at least tried to, as he inconspicuously bent to one knee and pressed his right hand into a stone on the walkway. Unlike an actual stone, he felt it give way to become a soft mushy material. He reached his hand further down, cracking a thin wooden panel, and rested his fingers on a button. All the while watching the Dusters. They stopped underneath a lamppost, where one of the fivesome dislodged to enter a store. He waited five more seconds which felt far too slow, agonizingly so. Sweat from his warm attire beaded his forehead and his back felt sticky. Then he pressed down.


    The lamppost glass exploded and downward flooded a stream of smoke. Finnian sprung to his feet and down the bridge towards them. In his peripheral he spotted Malorie and Milly''s cloaks flapping in the air as they fell to the ground and dashed for the smokescreen, Rolan already ahead of them all, he disappeared in the mist. Finnian shook his wrist as he ran, loosening the rope until a dagger dangled from his sleeve. He spun the dagger at the end of the rope, running while aiming at where he''d remembered one of the Dusters to be standing. With practiced precision he threw the roped dagger forward and soon after heard the satisfying sound of tearing cloth and a light thud as something heavy hit the ground.


    By the time he''d reached it, the smoke had already dispersed and the first thing that caught his eye was the gray silk pouch that lay on the ground, far too pristine and clean in comparison to the musty stone. Translucent blue light seeped from the hole at the top, coalescing into a dim mist that trickled serenely into the open air before dispersing. His fellow accomplices had done the same and before the Dusters could react they all dashed and swiped up one bag each and then separated, running four different directions. Finnian let the rope around his wrist loose until it fell away, leaving the dagger behind amongst the other three.


    Behind him as he ran he heard a feminine voice yell, "We''ll have you fuckers hangin'' from the rafters by dawn!" As the chase began in earnest.


    His legs catapulted him forward through and around the mess of people as he chose a three-person wide boulevard as his escape. Stalls passed him in a blur and people shouted angrily after him. He was short and lithe, giving him the advantage of narrow gaps. He felt rather than heard the swift and encroaching presence of the Duster behind him like a loose feral dog.


    He could outrun almost anyone, but Dusters weren''t ordinary people. They had mana pumping through their veins, energy that lended strength every stride they took. So it was no surprise when he looked backward and spotted a blonde woman sprinting full speed towards him with a hateful glare on her face. It was slim, but she was inching closer to him. This left him but one choice. Tying the pouch of gemdust to his belt he took a sharp right turn into a small alleyway. Mossy vines hung from the walls in long patches.


    He maneuvered slyly around the tightly packed people that populated the alley and in an effort of distraction pulled a wooden plank that held up a shelf with two barrels of an alleyway alehouse. He chanced a glance backward and grinned slightly as the Duster had to slow to jump the barrels. He ran up to the end of the alleyway a cart blocked the path and slid roughly under it and into an open street, taking a left and continuing his run.


    With some borrowed time, he took in his surroundings. Judging by the moving carts, he was close to the stairway to the city surface. He had to go opposite that, and in his frantic escape he''d gone the wrong way. Hearing a wooden crash behind, his head spun and he saw a cleanly cleaved cart and a very angry woman spying around, a strand of coppery glowing thread stretching from her belt to her right hand. He resumed his run. Being unable to go in the direction he needed to go due to the Duster, he resorted to the tried and true method of going up. With a firm shove off the ground, he grabbed hold of a stone store sign and threw himself up to grab the parapet, vaulting himself over.


    His mobility now doubled, he dashed away from the center of the city. Atop the roofs everything was visible in the Ribs. The mana towers conducting mana in vertiginous spirals through to the top of the city, the active afternoon streets, and the very angry now-alabaster colored duster keeping pace down below. He jumped from one building to the next, his feet nimble and quick to adjust. He kept his gaze trained on both the path ahead and on the Duster, who to his surprise was beginning to slow. Feeling victory just ahead, he pressed himself forward with all of his strength.


    After two dozen seconds more he spotted it: The large tower-like building with an opening where people walked up and down a large set of segmented stairs. He felt joy, but the feeling lasted only a second, as pain followed a split second later. A musical sound like a chord being strummed followed by a blast of air hit him from behind, shoving him off the side of the building and into the streets below. His cloak tore through the fall but saved him the rips, but his back still hurt like he''d been hit by a cart going downhill.


    Above him he barely heard the voice of the woman through his ear muffling pain. "Please lay still and I''ll make sure you get a fair sentencing!"


    He had no such intentions. Pushing himself back up to his feet, he gritted his teeth. He was too close to give up now. Instead of going out into the open boulevard he opted for going deeper into the network of alleyways. He arched his back as he half-ran, hearing and feeling painful pops. He had to get back out into the street and to the stairway, but the blast that had hit him indicated the Duster was now using String. He had two options. He could either use people as cover, or he could attempt to hide. Both were equally terrible. And as such, he chose the third option he didn''t want to admit existed.


    He heard the thump as the Duster hit the streets behind him. "Don''t move." She said in a low voice and meaningful voice. She approached with clacking footsteps, the sound echoing slightly in the tight alley. "Please. This doesn''t have to end badly. If you hand over that bag, I can see to it that you get a fair sentencing. I know why you steal, it''s not easy to live down here. I used to myself. But death is worse, and the officials don''t take kindly to gemdust thieves. So please, hand me that bag and I''ll speak on your behalf."


    Finnian turned, and saw the woman tense up. Her stance was taut and ready to spring. In her left hand she drew a long string which radiated a coppery color from a small box on her belt. Her index finger was positioned right at the halfway point, a ring with a sharp protruding bit ready to snap the string, and her right hand held the string upward. "Please."


    He breathed heavily, his heart thumping in his ears. "Please, don''t hurt me." He raised his hands shakily up into the air. "I''ve a family, they need to eat and the coal vaults don''t pay nearly enough. I beg of you, let me go."


    The woman bit her lip. "I can''t do that." She tried to take a step towards him but he took one step back in turn. "Still!" She said with more force, "I don''t want to hurt you, but I will if you leave me no other alternative."


    Finnian finally felt the rope around his left arm loosen. He took another step back, feigning fright as he lowered his arms. "Please, I''m sorry, I''m so sorry!" He put more hurt into his voice, trying to make himself sound more convincing. It worked. The Duster took two steps forward but relaxed her stance, and in that instance Finnian threw his left arm forward. The roped dagger flew through the air and snapped the copper string the woman held in twain A thin sound like a guitar chord being strummed reverberated in the alleyway except with a magical humming to it.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    He gripped the rope before it could escape his sleeve and threw his arm back and the dagger came flying back. He caught it mid stride and the making use of distraction ran at her. She struggled to draw another piece of string from her box and raised an arm to protect herself from his rush. But he wasn''t aiming for her. Instead, he put his right foot against the right wall and pushed off, then in the air did the same with his left on the left wall. A moment later he was sprinting with all the energy he could muster with at least one broken rib. He heard the musical cutting of another string, but before the blast of air could hit him he spun around the corner. The air blasted bits of stone and paper detritus into the open street,


    He darted for the stairway building at the end of the boulevard, fidgeting with his right hand he fished forward the copper disc from the small compartment, a miracle it hadn''t tore away in the fall. People all around stared at him with curiosity, then with fright as they spotted the Duster. Reaching the towering structure, he quickly spotted the man he was looking for. A dirty looking younger lad with a defiant attitude about him and a black mop of unkempt hair.


    Lucan spotted him and grinned from ear to ear. "Well if it isn''t the taker of table legs himself!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms out into a welcoming gesture. "What can I do for you today?"


    Finnian panted as he reached him and held up the copper disc. "One Duster, the longer you stall her the more you get." He said in between panting breaths. Lucan''s grin widened even more. "Pleasure doing business with you!" He said as he snatched the copper disc. He snapped his fingers, and half a dozen similar looking boys appeared from nearby groups to block the path to the stairway down. Finnian threw himself down, hearing the commotion above.


    He was almost there. His chest stung like he''d been stabbed in the lungs, but he pressed on through the ever-thinning tunnels of the Bowels. He took a left turn into a smaller tunnel and at the end lied his salvation. An open room with a hole in the middle. Below him sloshed a liquid somewhere between green and yellow, he didn''t want to put too much thought into what it contained. He allowed himself to slow down as he allocated his strength.


    "Stop!" He looked behind him after reaching the room and saw the Duster, her garment even more dirty than before. "Please, stop!"


    Before she had time to draw her string, Finnian looked down into the pit where the liquid sewage poured down into a hole and taking a deep breath, roped dagger still in his left hand, he jumped down.


    "NO!" The sound of the woman''s screams were barely audible as he plunged quickly through the drop. Spinning the rope, he threw the dagger dead ahead right before hitting surface. An instant later cold sewage surrounded him. He felt himself being pulled by the stream but before he went too long, he felt his left arm snap straight. The dagger had found a grip and pain lanced throughout his entire body. He gritted his teeth, but pulled himself back until he wrapped his right hand around the rope. Then he began meticulously pulling himself back. After a few seconds of pulling, he had enough room to look to his sides and, spotting an edge, he let go with his left hand and latched onto the sharp end. After taking a few more ragged breaths, he did the same with his right and summoning the final ounces of energy and strength in his entire body, he hauled himself out of the freezing green slum and onto solid stone ground.


    He laid there panting. His entire body ached. Then panic came over and he frantically searched his waist band, only to feel relief when the bag was still tightly tied to his belt. He couldn''t help but let the smile of self-satisfaction creep onto his face. After a few minutes of just laying there he forced himself to stand and begin to walk the sewer tunnels. It took only ten minutes of navigating the Bowels before he found the dropoff point. People stood outside of a door and on a bridge crossing the sewage stream. The door lead to a tavern, and they''d been drinking from it. Two intoxicated men looked towards him as he opened the door, their only commentary being. "Do you think we look like that?"


    Inside nobody paid him any attention. The space was a haphazardly thrown together establishment where people drank from wooden tankards and sat on unsteady tables and stools missing legs. He walked through the mess of drunkards, card players, and drinking singers until he reached another door. Finnian looked to Markus, the bartender who nodded. Finnian entered through the door and closed it behind him. Inside of the room shone a lamp from the roof, the light was dim and orange and flies circled it, buzzing. A woman sat by a table dressed in all black. She was an oddity in this trash heap, her dress flawless and stainless, and face without blemish. They called her Vivienna, but anybody with a brain cell and a half knew that to be a fake name.


    Finnian walked up to the table, untied his pouch, and lightly sat it down on the scraped wooden surface. Vivienna took it, wrinkling her nose at the green fluids on the sides as she tried to navigate the stains to open the bag. Looking inside, she nodded twice, then tightened it again and put it inside of a larger bag, from which she also drew a light purse. Opening the purse, she pulled out two silver pieces, placing them on the table. "We thank you for yet another service, Dolus." Her voice was cold but smooth. "We''ll contact you again when we have another job lined up."


    Finnian looked at the money on the table, making his puzzlement clear on his face. "I think you forgot at least two more pieces."


    Vivienna shook her head in a blunt and infuriatingly calm manner. "Whoever gave you the details should have told you that gemdust thieving is no longer in the priority list."


    Finnian scowled. "The one who gave me the details was Jacob, and no he didn''t tell me that, in fact he didn''t even so much as suggest a decrease in pay from the usual cut."


    "Then I can only apologize for our failing in our ability to communicate it to you. Nevertheless, the contract was two silver per bag. You turned in one bag, thus you get the price of one bag."


    Jacob, the man who''d given Finnian the job details, was a middleman. His job as the middleman in these transactions was to find someone with the fitting characteristics for a contract, then give them the details. Of course as a middleman he usually took a cut from the profits, both on the Employer''s end and the Employed. Jacob was reliable. Greedy, but reliable. While he''d expect the cut Jacob would request to be big, he''d not expected the man to leave out vital information. The man was like a rat stuffed on cheese, short and chubby.


    Finnian put both his arms down on the table. "Where can I find Jacob? He was the one who told me about this and I''d like to have a talk with him myself about this little error."


    "Jacob is undergoing transfer to another one of our centers in a different region. He''s likely waiting at the tram station on the city surface this very moment, so I do apologize but you''ll likely not get your chance anytime soon." Vivienna said without skipping a beat.


    "Then how will you contact me? Will you assign a new middleman?"


    Vivienna shook her head. "You''ll receive a letter. Now unless there is anything else, please take your payment and leave."


    Finnian sighed but grabbed the handful of silver. Before leaving, he asked one final question. "What of Rolan, Malorie, and Milly. Have they been here already?"


    "Rolan was here first, and Malorie after. Milly is yet to come by."


    When nothing more was forthcoming, Finnian opened the door to the room and shut it behind him. He looked to Markus who gave him a both guilty and sympathetic expression as he scrubbed the pub deck. Finnian approached and let out a deep breath. Markus continued to sweep a wet cloth across the deck when he spoke. "Sorry, instructions from the big rats above." He stopped swabbing and reached a hand underneath. It returned a second later with a bottle. "Free of charge, on the house."


    Finnian smiled. "What would I do without you." He took the bottle in his left hand, his right still clutching the silver. "Oh, and please send word when Milly comes around."


    Markus nodded. "Good day to you, Master Dolus."


    "Good day to you too Markus."


    Leaving the tavern, Finnian half walked half stumbled through the tunnels and across bridges. Though the bowels were disgusting, filthy, and outright inhospitable in certain places, it felt more homey than the Bowels, and especially the Surface. Down here it was small and tight. A long spanning network of tunnels and pathways. And in a small corner of it, his home. His store. A dingy wooden sign hung from the roof by two rusted metal hinges, and the door wasn''t doing any better. He placed down the bottle beside the door and lifted a small wooden piece wedged stuck in the door. Taking the key, he unlocked the door, picked up his bottle, went inside, and locked it again.


    He skipped turning on the lights for the store part and instead moved through the darkness of the familiar store to the back and through another door. He searched for a coord hanging from the roof, finding it after some effort. Pulling it, White light blasted through the room with blinding force before settling into a soft yellow glow. The bulb hanging from the center humming softly with electrical power.


    He dropped the coins on a table in the corner, placing the bottle beside. Then he fell back first into a bed which was propped up in the corner opposite.


    It wasn''t much, but he''d called it home for the past five years, and he''d worked it together himself. For what it was, it did the trick.


    And then, he realized one thing he''d forgotten. Raising his arms to his face, he inhaled deeply through his nose, and almost puked.


    <hr>


    Camilla pulled the strings of the collar tighter around her neck, feeling the dress tighten around her shoulders and throat even more. She grimaced, the expression mimicked by the mirror in front of her. She stood in her cabin on the tram, having just arrived in the Coal city of Skor and preparing to embark into the city. She was used to wearing gowns and dresses, and usually she enjoyed them. But while wearing this dress she wasn''t herself, and thus she didn''t get to choose how it would fit.


    "Stonecrown''s Curse..." She seethed silently to herself.


    "Are you in need of aid, Madame Arcwood?" Lilin asked through the door.


    "No, I''m quite fine thank you!" Camilla answered, slipping effortlessly into her costumed voice. "I''ll be out in just a moment, please tell me if things get hurried, though."


    "Of course Madame!" Lilin answered enthusiastically.


    Camilla tied the collar strings into an crude but acceptable knot and slipped it underneath the cloth of her bodice. Letting out a restrained sigh, she patted down her dress and took one last look in the mirror before grabbing her suitcase. In truth it was more of a crate than a case, as it contained all of the things which she would need for her stay in Skor. Longer rather than bulky, it fit easily through most areas.


    She unbolted the door to her cabin and slid it open. Outside stood Lilin, a young lively lady with cerulean blue eyes, tanned skin, and light bark hair. Camilla had quickly taken a liking to her. "I''m ready to leave now. Please, lead the way."


    "Very well Madame. Do you wish for me to carry your luggage?"


    "No thank you, I''ll carry it for now. I don''t want to burden you with too much so soon."


    "Oh Madame Arcwood, you wouldn''t. But very well." She said, then she spun on her feet to face right, and began walking down.


    The tram was the color of polished silver and inside the floor was red and blue wool and silks. While it had been an enjoyable stay for the three days it had traveled, Camilla wasn''t exactly a fan of the sheer amount of effort put into something designed around temporary comfort, but she also couldn''t complain. She''d indulged in the fresh foods and services offered on board, and she''d be lying if she said her indulgences were only due to the role she was supposed to play.


    They exited the tram from two sliding doors, the crew offering them hearty farewells.


    Outside they were greeted by a hubbub of sound and sights. People dressed in fine vibrant tabards and dresses much like her own conversed with smiles on their faces, luggage carried by servants that stood beside them. Alabaster gray pillars with ornate blue embellishments brought a sense of calm to the area. There was not a lick of filth in sight, which she had expected. After all, the mining cities were notoriously dirty and wild in that regard. She remembered tales and rumors that those living in the mining cities frequently practiced vile acts such as cannibalism, worship of the dead gods, and worse yet. But this was nothing like those stories. This was lavish and lively, comfortable and kempt.


    "I have the ticket! Look!" She heard a male voice shout to her left. Looking over her shoulder, she watched a portly man waving a ticket in front of two station guards. "My name is Jacob Mylon! Just read the damned ticket!"


    "Madame Arcwood?" Camilla snapped her gaze back. "Mhm? Oh, I''m sorry. This is my first time in Skor, so I''m just taking in the scenery."


    "Forgive me!" Lilin bowed her head. "I had no intention of disturbing you." Her hair fell over her head and dangled unceremoniously.


    Camilla chuckled humorously. "Oh do not place such weight on such a slight. Why don''t you take me where we''re supposed to go. I think I''ve had enough of this tram station, and I want to see this city in true form."


    "Yes Madame, please follow me."


    They walked through the tram station which was breathtaking all throughout. The deeper they went, the more people she saw too. Not all were as lavishly dressed. Some even wore slightly dirty clothes, but that was hardly limited to the mining cities. After a few minutes of walking, Camilla spotted the person that Lilin was leading them towards. He wore a long dark blue coat with gold lining on the rims, and a fine doublet the same color underneath. His hair was combed back and he bore an easy and practiced smile. He was sharing a laugh with a man and woman in equally fine dressing when he spotted them approaching. Seemingly excusing himself from the conversation, he walked towards Camilla and Lilin.


    "Good afternoon and welcome to Skor, Madame Arcwood. My name is-"


    "Master Lemont. Don''t worry, I know my noblemen." She smiled warmly.


    "Why, you flatter me," Lemont raised a hand to his chest and bowed his head lightly. "And this must be your lovely servant. What a great pleasure it is to meet you too."


    Lilin appeared to blush, but she said nothing.


    "You need not be shy, Lilin." Camilla said softly.


    "True that," Lemont said in kind. "Fret not, you shan''t fear judgment merely for responding."


    "I''m Lilin Syvon, caretaker of her lady Arcwood." She bowed her head slightly. "It''s my greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Lemont."


    Lemont smiled warmly. "I can see why Madame Arcwood chose you as her stewardess. Your manner and grace is without match in comparison to those you''ll find in this city."


    Lilin visibly blushed. "You''re too kind, Master Lemont."


    Camilla watched Lemont''s smile. There was an ease to which he behaved, a rehearsed elegance. But it was just that, a rehearsal. Just as the Camilla they knew her for was an act, the gentlemanly Lemont was just the same, if not more egregious. She made a mental note to keep tabs on Lilin''s interactions with the man in the future. "Now that introductions are done, I think I would like to settle into a real room." Camilla said before any more pleasantries could be exchanged.


    Lemont nodded. "True and fair, follow me, there''s a carriage waiting for us in the streets, it will take us to your new abode."


    Camilla watched more of the city come into view as they walked down the carved marble stairs. Tall alabaster towers with striking blue shingles reflected the light and made the windows shine all the brighter for it. As Lemont had said, an embellished carriage awaited them by the bottom of the tram station on the side of the curb.


    "Let me take care of that." Camilla allowed Lemont to take her case from her and mount it at the back of the carriage, then he lowered the steps to allow them entry to the carriage.


    "After you, Madame."


    Camilla smiled and nodded. Entering the carriage followed by Lilin, and then Lemont. Lemont closed the door then banged lightly on the roof. "We''re ready!"


    "How long until we''ve arrived at our destination?" Camilla asked.


    "Oh it should only be about twenty minutes. Don''t worry, I''ve plenty to tell you about the city and our culture, so hopefully you won''t go bored."


    Camilla nodded. "That should do just nicely, thank you."


    As the wheels of the carriage started spinning towards their first destination in the city, so did Camilla''s mission.

 Chapter 2: Trinkets and Thieves

    "Three discs. No, scratch that, four. Four and no more."


    Finnian was inspecting a slightly rusted metal cylinder with a spinal tube reaching over both edges on the side. While the apparatus itself was in passable condition, the alloy used for it was highly diluted. The black coloring of lead dampened the refined coppery color and made certain rust spots more pronounced.


    "Four discs?! You might as well try and pull the money right out of my pocket and see how that goes for ya." Said the large hairy brute who stood on the other side of the counter. Otherwise known as Uthrick, he was a regular customer. "That right there is a vital component in the gem distilleries. It''s used in the crushers, and without it a whole machine could stop working!"


    Uthrick wasn''t lying, not exactly. What Finnian held in his hand was a pressure deductor used in Gemstone distilleries, more specifically it ensured that gemstones didn''t explode when undergoing powderization. What Uthrick had conveniently left out was that these were in no way rare, and there were at least four in a single machine.


    Finnian made a show of looking thoughtful, but also slightly doubtful. Uthrick caught the bait. "Irvin said he''d trade at least five discs for anyone who could get him parts from a distillery. Word has it he''s building something for the Conclave, and they pay nicely for parts in good condition."


    Finnian tapped his chin. "Five copper discs. And I''ll throw in a discount for your next purchase."


    The brute nodded. "Deal."


    The apparatus was exchanged for four copper discs. In truth, the thing was worth closer to five, maybe even six if someone would buy into sweet talk. While they weren''t rare, being caught in possession of a government employed mechanic tool would land him at least half his life in the mines. So he couldn''t exactly go market price.


    After Uthrick was out, Finnian locked the door and went into the back with the deductor. His home consisted of three rooms. His living space which served as kitchen, sleeping quarters, and engineering room. His outhouse, and the shop. He bent down, groaning in pain from yesterday''s ordeal, and shimmied his hand under a loose plank in the floor. He removed the fake floorboard and pulled up a sack that jingled of metal. He dropped the deductor into the bag and after placing back the plank, took the sack and left.


    He had two stops to make today. The first would be The Crook, the same inn he''d dropped the bag off at. Making his way through the Bowels was a simple task during the mid-day. Most people were still working in the Coal Pits or Machinery, leaving only the vagrants and powder whiffers lying on the edge to the sewer river. The tunnels were illuminated by the green light of the sludge, painting the roof and walls in a sickly color.


    The space outside of the inn was destitute, and inside it wasn''t much different. The stools stood on the tables and Markus was dragging a wooden barrel across the floor to the bar.


    "G''day Markus! Let me lend you a hand with that." Finnian walked over, dropping his sack beside a table to help the tavern keeper.


    Markus groaned with relief as Finnian assisted in dragging the large barrel over to the bar. Once there, they stood it up, and it was easily Finnian''s height.


    "Goldeye''s Ire..." Markus cursed, wiping beading sweat away from his forehead. "Thank you Dolus." He pulled out a stool off a table and sat down on it. "I swear they just keep getting bigger and bigger every year."


    "Ain''t that a good thing?" Finnian took a stool as well and sat down. "Great for business and all, you''re making more money by the day. A little more glitter won''t be enough to break your back, right?"


    Markus scoffed. "At my age, it will. Marge wants me to close up so that we can retire to the surface, she''s been bugging me more than ever lately, and I''m not sure if it''s because of the fumes down here or just plain old age, but I think I''m starting to get why."


    "So you''re just gonna quit?" Finnian remarked. "You''ve got at least a few more months in you before your back breaks. And even then you''d probably be able to pull more coin as an act. Just think about it, Crookback Markus slinging tankards throughout the room, come down to the Crook tonight for a crooked good time!"


    Markus chuckled. "Ain''t that nimble, I''m afraid. Now," He straightened, "What do you need, you don''t come here for no reason."


    "Well, my last job for the Conclave cost me both of my slinging knives..." He pointed to his wrists with a guilty expression and Markus cringed.


    "I can have them replaced by tomorrow. I will warn you though, the quality of the newer ones have gone down. The smiths don''t want to admit it but the shortage in workable iron last year has sorely affected the quality in black market tools."


    "Yes yes, that''s fine. So long I have a new pair as soon as possible. How much will they cost me?"


    "One silver."


    Finnian stared at Markus lost for words. Finnian tried to use his mind to trick himself into thinking there was a playful smile on the tavern keep''s face. But there was no such thing, his expression was stern and unflinching.


    "You''re kidding. Please tell me you''re joking." Finnian said. "That''s almost twice the original cost from two years ago, four times the price since five years!"


    Markus rubbed the back of his head. "I''m sorry Dolus, I don''t make the prices. Something''s happening up above, something''s been happening for some time, and the demand is getting bigger but production is slowing down. I''ve heard, and this is just a rumor, that a majority of the Conclave is moving their forces to Askelan."


    Finnian frowned. "You think this is the doing of the Light Eyes? The Theocracy finally moving in and seizing control?"


    Markus looked nervously to the door and then back at Finnian. "Maybe. I''m probably not your best bet to ask, though. I''ve only heard bits and pieces from those coming in. You might want to ask Rolan."


    Finnian nodded. This was expected, but bad news. The Theocracy had slowly but steadily been making advances to acquiring positions of leadership within the industrial cities during the past decade, and while the changes had been few, they were clear. The arrival of Copper Eyes had seen a majority of the original city administration re-organized, and an overall increase in Weavers, as proven by the presence of five Dusters yesterday rather than the usual four.


    Seeing Markus tense up, he switched the subject. "What about Milly, have you heard from her yet?


    The aging man''s expression turned to doubtful sadness and Finnian immediately knew something was wrong. "What happened?"


    "Two of the dusters chased her down into the Bowel''s trash separation. While trying to escape she was forced to take a dangerous route, if the compactors had activated we''d be reading in the news article about a gemdust explosion." He turned thoughtful, going over something in his head.


    "But?" Finnian asked the silent question.


    Markus looked up at him then, fear in his eyes. "The dusters, they took her arm. They didn''t blast her with wind or trap her, they cleaved her arm off with string in a failed attempt at taking her head."


    "What!?" Finnian leaned forward. "That''s against Weaver regulations, no matter how many bags we take they''ve never been allowed to cross that line!"


    Markus nodded gravely. "Something''s happening, Dolus. Something we ought to take note of. I''ll get you a new set of daggers, but I doubt the Conclave will employ you anytime soon. Now, unless there''s any gossip you feel in need of spilling, I need to start up the stew."


    Finnian shook his head. "I''ll be out of your hair. Thank you Markus, I''ll see you again when I''m in need of subpar provisions."


    "Goodbye and good luck, Master Dolus."


    Finnian grabbed his sack and continued his daily venture. He wanted to check in on Milly but knowing Malorie she was likely well taken care of. Finnian had a broken bone problem he needed to fix first.


    And so, with a pep in his step, he made for the seaside district.


    <hr>


    "Now, I understand that you are excited to explore the city, Madame Arcwood. However, if I may inquire, what exactly is it that drew you to the docks so soon?" Viktor Lemont asked with a poorly concealed displeased expression. He was looking out through the carriage window.


    "Well, for one I thought to see the beautiful shores you have here. The view of the light blue water and trees from my suite is quite astounding, but nothing beats seeing it up close." She began, "We don''t really have these kinds of vibrant colors in the mountains, you see. Back home it''s all gray and dour and unimaginative. Oh just thinking about home sends shivers down my spine." She shook her shoulders slightly.


    "I''m thrilled that you''re finding your stay here sufficiently engaging." Lemont turned and smiled. "I can have it arranged for you to take a boat out to our fishing hamlets if you''d like. The views out there are just breathtaking."


    "I most certainly will take you up on your offer." She began. "However, I must confess. The rich views are not the sole reason for our being here." She leaned in, feigning a stage whisper. "My brother told me that one of the curios that are to be sold at the auction is being kept down here, and if possible I''d like to get an early peak at it."


    "Oh? Well that''s a most cursory brother you must have to be able to get information like that from across the continent." Lemont said in a lightly sarcastic manner.


    "He has his ways of getting information, not that I know what those ways are, of course." Both of those things were lies. She turned to gaze out the window. Her view from inside the carriage was mostly obstructed, all she saw was a slightly dirty stone street and light gray walls. Her intel was clear. The item she was in search of was a spherical object that would fit in a pocket or closed hand. Also described as blue in color, neither of those things really helped her much. She''d been told of at least two confirmed auction item locations, with a potential three more.


    The horses in front neighed and grunted, their hooves clopping heavily against the ground. The carriage came to an unfitting halt. Camilla knocked thrice on the ceiling. "Chauffeur, is something amiss?"


    "Aye Madame. Mid-day traffic''s got the streets ahead all packed. We''ll be here for a while, but it should let up soon."


    "Don''t worry about it, we''ll go the rest on foot. Find somewhere to park nearby and we''ll find you once our business here is concluded."


    "Very well." The chauffeur responded.


    "Oh no, I forgot to pack the traveling boots!" Lilin panicked. She reached up from beside Camilla where she sat and searched through the case holders.


    "Don''t worry about it, Lilin. We''ll just have these ones cleaned when we''re back in the suite." She calmed her stressed servant. "Besides, they''re just a pair of boots."


    "Her ladyship must always wear befitting footwear, otherwise she could trip or bruise her feet!"


    They made to leave the carriage. Lemont exited first, followed by Lilin and then Camilla. She noted him taking Lilin''s hand and helping her down the steps, smiling all the while.


    "We''ll be back within three quarters." She told the chauffeur.


    "Aye Madame, I''ll be here."


    "So," Began Lemont. "Where to now?"


    "Well, that''s just the thing. I have absolutely no idea." Camilla smiled sheepishly. "My brother told me that the location belongs to a wealthy copper eye, in the gated area of the docks." She made a show of looking around. "Unfortunately, I''m not well versed in these streets."


    "Ah, you''re speaking of Bermand Sublime. I suppose it would make sense for him to be holding one of the items." Lemont looked thoughtful. "His estate is about ten minutes from here. Shall we?" He swiped one hand down the walkway in a humorous fashion. Lilin giggled, and Camilla smiled. "Lead the way."


    While the vibrant colors of the dockside matched the ones of the upper city, they were very much muddled in comparison. The entire place stank of fish both fresh and rotten, but the pronounced smell of salt permeated both. Camilla couldn''t help but spot all of the stained puddles of muddled green or brown and something rouge red.


    Workers wore fishermen''s clothes or uniforms of manual labor, rough faces and hairy heads. It was a stark contrast to the pristine towers and boulevards up above.


    "So, who is this Bermand Sublime exactly? I know the names of some of this city''s coppers, but Bermand doesn''t ring a bell." She asked Lemont.


    "Bermand Markaat Sublime is the son of Vimar Markaat Sublime, who moved to Skor roughly fifty years ago as the ocean industry seemingly wasn''t performing very well up in the regions of the Theocracy," Lemont spoke as if he''d recited this before. "Bermand is a very welcoming man, he oversees the fishing operations for our city and provides the people with the necessary equipment from his tailors and factories."


    "A copper specializing in fishing? No wonder I''ve not heard of him." Camilla risked the slight. "I''ve met many coppers in my time but I wouldn''t have expected one to work in this department."


    Lemont flinched slightly. "Yes, it is quite a surprise to many others too. But trust me, Bermand is a lovely and sociable fellow. He cares greatly for his trade and, if you''d ask my opinion, the quality of the fish has greatly increased since he took over the reins from his father."


    "Then I look forward to meeting him."


    They reached the docks and Camilla looked out over the sea. The water was a cerulean blue, and tall lively palm trees with leaves of veridian green stood on the shore. The gentle breeze caressed the sandy shores and the sun spawned flickering glittering stars on the soft swaying water. Birds both croaked and sang, and small rowboats with fishermen swam in between the thousands of isles both close and distant.


    "Oh my..." She whispered in awe.


    "It''s beautiful, isn''t it." Lemont stepped up beside her. Camilla heard Lilin gasp as well.


    "Truly." She wasn''t lying. The view wasn''t grand, it wasn''t majestic. But there was a harmony in the verdant views, the simplicity of nature''s beauty. The way the light blue waves ate away at the sand and then the stark green grass. The way the light bounced off the ocean to paint the sun a quivering symbol all across the water. And the active fisher folk who no doubt went here and did the same thing on a daily basis. "Do you ever think they get bored of it? The fisher folk, I mean."


    "Maybe. Some probably do," Lemont said with a calmness in his speech. "But most of them likely don''t. I''ve spoken with some of them myself over my time. The art of the harpoon is as much a way of life for them, as courts and carriages are for us."


    Camilla shook herself from the sight. "My apologies, let us make haste. Master Lemont, please continue leading."


    They returned to their stroll, moving back to walk alongside the buildings. Soon the ocean view faded from sight, replaced by rock and stone and glass. As much as she hated to admit it, Skor wasn''t as bad as she had anticipated. The people that walked the streets were men and women, like those she was used to. It was a bit on the dirtier end when it came to keeping the streets clean, but she also couldn''t fault a city aimed at productivity and efficiency for a slight mud stain here and there.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Tell me, Master Lemont. Is the city really as pretty all around?"


    "Unfortunately, while I want to say that the city is only full of the most clean and hospitable alleys, that is not the case," He said. "We do our best to maintain health and cleanliness up above the middle layer. But down below it''s different. Filth. That''s all there is down there." The lines in his face shifted. ''Anger? Resentment? Disgust?'' Camilla pondered his visage.


    "Alas, we attempt to maintain an annual cleaning operation in the lower levels of the city. However, it''s a challenge to be sure. Partly due to the nature of the work conducted, of course, but also because of the sheer level of activity and people. It has become nigh impossible to soap and rinse those who do not wish to seek better conditions, instead wallowing in their own pits of piss."


    "I see," Camilla said with indifference, careful not to display any outward emotion. "This is a matter you are more entwined with, I take it?"


    "My apologies, Madame Arcwood," He said with sincerity. "We shan''t discuss such topics when out in a beautiful place like this. Even less should we waste your time speaking of this city''s failures. You''re here to enjoy your time."


    "Oh no Master Lemont, I''m more than happy to-" She was cut off as she felt someone bump into her from behind. She staggered to the right, leaning up against a wall. Her eye caught the silhuette of a black robe and cloak discolored by mud and waste into a green & brown piece of cloth.


    "Madame Arcwood!" Lilin rushed up to her mistress''s side.


    "Watch it, Vagrant!" Lemont''s voice came a second later, anger clear in his pitch and tone. The dirty figure had seemingly bumped into him too.


    "I''m so sorry, good and esteemed folk of the city!" The hunched man turned and bowed roughly, staggering over his feet and clutching a sack over his shoulder and an arm around wrapped around his chest. His face was hidden by the sodden hood, and Camilla immediately knew that he had had a purpose to this little mishap.


    "Please accept my apologies, I was just on my way to the slaughterhouse, you see. I''ll be on my way now, forgive me, please." The man staggered back around and walked more hurriedly away from them, disappearing into an alleyway ahead.


    "Filthy vagabond." Lemont uttered the words in a low voice that he''d probably only intended for himself.


    "Madame Arcwood, your dress!" Lilin examined Camilla''s gown. It now brandished a hand-sized brown stain. Lemont saw this stain and his frown turned into a scowl in an instant. "I''m so sorry Madame, we''ll summon cleaners as soon as we return to your Suite."


    "Oh don''t fret it." Camilla said while Lilin tried to pick away bits of mud. "My dress should be the least of your worries. You should consider looking through your pockets."


    Lemont looked confused for a moment, then realization, and he plunged his hands into his pants pockets. He groaned and then looked in vain towards the alleyway the thief had disappeared into.


    "If you ask me, this should be our punishment for our lack of attentiveness," Camilla said in a half-joking manner. But Lemont, despite his seeming ease to align his mood to those around him, only gave a half-hearted "Perhaps." in response.


    The rest of the way to the gated home of the Markaat went quickly, and no more ill transpired. It was a large three-story building and the city''s equivalent of a mansion. The double doors were made of wood the color of deep mahogany, and golden ring knockers hung from them. Lemont went up and knocked once, then twice, then three times. Six times in total, the standard for a noble visit.


    She heard the creaking of a lock, and then the door cracked a jar to reveal a balding man with a finely trimmed and groomed mustache. He peered out over the three, quickly recognizing Viktor Lemont. "Good day to you sir and ladies. What errand do you have with the Lord Sublime?"


    "The lady here, Madame Camilla Arcwood has expressed interest in meeting with the Sublime. I''m afraid we come unannounced, so if the lord is busy then we shall be on our way." He said, and Camilla shot him a glance. Was he scared?


    "Well..." The butler looked over the trio. "I do believe Lord Markaat is caught up in some business documents at this time. I can leave a note to him and he''ll be back with you within the week. Shall I leave it for the Lemont house?"


    "Yes, that will be quite fine. Thank you Ulysseus."


    "Very well, good day to you, and apologies that you came out all this way out for nothing."


    "Wait!" Camilla grasped the door rim before it had time to close. Ulysseus looked at her, perplexed.


    "I have been told that the Master Sublime is in possession of a most extraordinary object. One that, if it is true, will be sold at the coming auction." When Ulyssues didn''t close the door, she continued. "If possible, I would like to get the chance to examine this object firsthand, before the action takes place."


    The butler looked at her in a new light. Inquisitive, his stare was piercing and demanding. It searched every bit of her for something he could use. When he was either satisfied or dissatisfied with the results, she couldn''t really tell which, he stepped back and opened the door fully.


    They stepped inside into a widely furnished foyer. Red tapestries and banners hung from indoor balconies and the carpet was a lush rosey color. The butler gestured for a set of chairs that stood against a stone pillar. "Have a seat, the Master Sublime will see you shortly." He said before heading upstairs, leaving them in the quiet with only the light whisper of yells and wheels from outside seeping in through the heavy doors.


    She went over and sat down in one of the lush cushioned chairs. Lilin followed and opted to stand beside her instead of sitting. Camilla was acutely aware of Lemont''s gaze upon her as he too took a seat. "You are quite the outgoing woman I dare say, Madame Arcwood."


    She smiled mischievously. "Never mistake me for someone who settles for enough, Master Lemont. When a lady wants something, a lady gets something." But she also knew there to be an undertone of frustration to Lemont''s words. An unspoken question. "What are you doing, are you insane!?" And she couldn''t blame him. The Light Eyes of the Theocracy were renowned for two things. Their inhuman strength and ability to surpass expectations and goals. And their lack of patience for lesser people and things that intruded on their schedule.


    They didn''t need to wait long as soon came heavy footfalls down the stairs. Each of them looked up to see a tall and broad-shouldered man dressed in ultramarine blue clothing walking down the steps. His hair was tied into a bun behind his head but the most striking detail was not what he adorned, it was his eyes. They were a brilliant copper, and they sparkled when facing the electrical light. Deep and metallic they appeared durable, unflinching. But unlike most copper''s his smile was not condescending. It was warm. Genuine.


    "Ah, Viktor Lemont. What a pleasure it is to see you again, and so soon!" He said when he was halfway down. Viktor Lemont straightened to his feet like an arrow and bowed to the Copper.


    "Lord Markaat Sublime, I apologise deeply for the mid-day disturbance." His words bore a forced calmness that he likely did not possess.


    The larger man waved his hand in a gentle dismissal. "None of those formalities in here, you and I have a shared interest, and you are a guest of my house. Please, Bermand will do."


    Camilla was shook by the Copper''s easy welcome. It was unlike those of his kind. To show courtesy, she followed Lemont''s example and stood up to bow. "I am Camilla Arcwood, Tradeswoman of the Eastern Mountains and the true culprit of this interruption. Thus, it is my place to apologize for the intrusion," She bowed her head respectfully. "Please do not put the weight of blame on my companion and guide''s back."


    She felt Bermand looking down at her, his gaze far heavier than that of the butler. "Yes, I was told by Ulysseus that it was actually you who made the inquiry. Oh don''t stand bowed like that you two, you''ll become a hunchback far too early in your years. Stand straight."


    They straightened and looked at the Bermand. "This visit is actually quite convenient, Viktor. I would like for you to come by in two days, as I have some matters I need to discuss with you. For now, however, stay here with Madame Arcwood''s servant girl. Hello, by the way." He waved to Lilin who bowed lightly. "Madame Arcwood, please come with me." He turned around and gestured for her to follow. She did.


    They went up the stairs and to the right, into a bulb-lit hallway. She walked behind Bermand, who walked elegantly with his hands clasped behind his back. His easy and warm attitude had been subdued and replaced with a wrought focus. They walked only a few minutes before stopping by a door that looked the same mahogany as the entrance. Bermand opened the door and waved her in before closing it.


    It was a lightly furnished library. The couches were a deep ruby red with gold lining, and there was a study desk at the far end of the room and a bookshelf twice her height beyond. "Have a seat." He gestured, and she did. Sitting down in one of the plush couches, he chose one to her right. She instantly felt a tension settle into the room¡ªan iron weight twice or thrice herself landing on her shoulders¡ªit crushed her further into the chair, despite there being no physical force.


    Bermand crossed one leg over the other. "There are scant few people that I trust with what items I keep in my collection. Fewer are those I trust with what items I intend to get rid of," He leaned forward, his metal gaze fixed on her own. "How do you know that I keep one of the items to be sold at the auction, and who told you."


    Camilla played into her role. In a situation like this, it truly had to seem as though her life depended on her answer. And it did. She shrunk back into her chair slightly, shuffling nervously. "My brother, who much like myself is an established trader from the Eastern Mountains, is in search for of a specific trinket. He intercepted the original trade between you and the Conclave, and tracked the items transported here."


    He continued to look at her with a killing intent for a few more moments before nodding simply. The tension in the room evaporated, dispersing into the cool air. "Very good."


    She looked at him in astonishment. "You believe me?" She asked, to which Bermand smiled sheepishly.


    "The only other person in this household that is aware of the object is Ulysseus. But in truth, he is also the only other person in this household besides myself, since my father''s passing." He got up and walked to the middle of the room in front of her. Then he bent down and lifted a loose plank that she hadn''t spotted. Lifting up a small box, he placed the plank to the side and the container on the coffee table beside his own couch. Camilla drew herself closer.


    "You just keep it here? In your study? No safe or lock or hidden traps?"


    He looked at her, that sheepish grin still plastered on his face. She couldn''t lie in that he looked quite handsome. "I keep my other things somewhere else. The things I actually care about. No, this thing isn''t here to stay. In fact, it will be somewhere completely different after you leave." He gestured for her to come closer. "You are the one who wanted to know, so open it."


    She reached out her hand tentatively. Could this be the object that I''ve been looking for? Already? Putting one hand on the lid, she carefully lifted it. It fell over but still connected to the hinges, and then she looked inside. It was wrapped in a light white silken handkerchief. It was spherical and small. Small enough. Putting one hand on the light drape, she tugged at the fabric and pulled it off.


    It was beautiful, a perfectly shaved and round crystalline orb. The way the light of the room sparkled off of it gave it a depth unlike anything she''d seen this side of the world. She knew what the object was right away, and unfortunately, it wasn''t blue. Instead, it was a lively violet, a magical beauty that was as rare as it was taboo. And it disgusted her to the very core.


    Her disappointment must''ve been evident on her face. "I assume you''ve come all this way for nothing, then?" Bermand Asked.


    "Yes, I''m afraid so." She laid the cloth back over and closed the box. "This here is an ornamental globe used in the worship of the dead gods. By the looks of it, it was created during the early stages of the Adelsten Theocracy. The mere possession of this object in certain parts of the world is a crime against their law."


    "Thank the crown we''re not under their law, then." He said, blowing away almost all good will he''d earned thus far with those simple words.


    She stood up. "I''m sorry for the intrusion, I mean it. I''ve disturbed your quiet and your work for little more than to look at a shiny ball." She bowed. He waved her concerns away.


    "You brought me Viktor, so you''ve helped me some. Allow me to show you out."


    When they returned to the foyer, Camilla quickly spotted Lemont and Lilin speaking animately and laughing together. They stopped as Camilla approached but Bermand refrained from following, instead standing back at the top of the stairs. Lemont and Bermand seemed to exchange some silent understanding before he turned back and walked into the hallway.


    "Did your adventure prove fruitful, Madame Arcwood?" Lemont asked.


    "No, not at all, unfortunately." She sighed heavily, wiping imaginary sweat away from her brow. "The only thing that I''ve come to realise is that I''m craving a hot bath and scrub."


    "I''ll prepare you a tray of pastries and fruits, would the lady care for some wine while she bathes?" Lilin asked as they made for the door, escorted by Ulysseus.


    "Yes, Lilin, that would brighten my day with a whole new sun."


    <hr>


    Finnian knocked heavily on the door. The alleyways of the fishing docks were cold and wet, uncomfortable. He felt water dripping from the roofs above down on him, and the sun barely broke through the covering of the shingles, leaving him in an early dusk. He heard latches on the other end become undone and then a small window unbolted in the top middle of the door. Two green eyes peered out at him, then the hatch shut again and more sounds of unbolting came. Finally, the door opened wide.


    "Finally, I was beginning to think you''d finally let me drown in this shit hole." He entered and closed the door behind him, redoing all the locks while the other man walked away.


    "Bone-Growth''s over in the kitchen, small yellow bottle." Came the rough raspy voice of Daymen.


    "How''d you-" He began but cut himself off. "Oh why do I even bother, there''s nothing you don''t know at this point." He sauntered over through a dilapidated wooden arch. Entering the kitchen, he bent down to one of the cabinets and opened it. After looking around for a few seconds, he grinned and reached in, grabbing the bottle and standing back up. Uncorking it he downed the whole thing and tried not to spew it all back up. The liquid tasted like piss smelled.


    "Don''t empty your guts out on my floor!" Daymen yelled from the living room.


    "No worries there old fart, nothing to be emptied." He put the now empty bottle on a counter and then walked through another arch into the living room. Daymen sat in a chair that had gone from brown to green to gray, and the fact that it still stood amazed Finnian. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two silver coins, slapping them down on the table in front of the old man. "This should keep you fed for the next week."


    Daymen scowled. "I don''t need your charity."


    "And I didn''t need yours, but you gave it to me anyway and now look where we are." Finnian walked over to a table and, finally being able to unmount his sack, poured the metal contents out onto the table. His shoulders felt relief like he''d been given a fresh massage. In front of him now laid what to most looked like a random pile of metallic scrap. But to him, it was half a decade''s worth of work.


    "Still working on that machine?" Daymen asked. "Even after all these years, you still work on that damned thing like it''s going to change anything?


    "This machine will change nothing." Finnian picked up a small metal tube and inserted it into a socket. He heard the satisfying sound of air hissing and a soft blue glow following that. "I will be the one changing things, this pile of scrap will just be helping me accomplish it."


    The old man scoffed."You place the future of your life in the hands of a tool you''re creating to chase a ghost that long since abandoned you. When is this nightmare of yours going to end, when are you going to let go of this farce of yours and make use of what you have been given."


    "I am making use of what I have been given. I am chasing no ghost, I am chasing those who turned their back on me for no good reason other than doubt." He attatched the metal cylinder he''d bought earlier from Uthrick and flipped a small switch. A blast of warm mist spewed out from a pipe right at his hand and he whipped it back exclaiming in pain. "Damnit. Stupid thing. Knew I should''ve gone for something more expensive."


    "Idiot." Daymen half-whispered.


    Finnian turned around and sneered, but quickly resumed his work. "Something''s going on out there in the city old fart. The amount of dusters has increased and the prices have gone up again. I''ll bet five silver that the Theocracy will have seized control by next Summer." he spoke as he tinkered with the damage.


    "Theocracy is already in control, they have been in control for the past seven years since the closing of the Waygate." Daymen groaned as he stretched his arms into the air. "It''s just a matter of time before they make it public, but once they do, there''ll be no denying their holy scriptures and sanctimony."


    "And here I thought you were one of those that worshipped the Stone Crown, you and all your prayers." He commented.


    Daymen spat on the floor. "I''ll worship no Rhinestone God in my life. The thing that sits upon the throne is no god, it is a terrible creature playing pretend." He sipped from a glass of water standing on a table beside him. "But those of the Theocracy are too blind to see that. They are too absorbed in the idea that their leader was somehow chosen by an ancient and archaic power to rule over the world in all its glory. Bah."


    "Then what''ll you do, run off to some distant island in the deep seas where they still worship the dead gods? Finnian screwed on two bolts.


    "I''ll stay here, there''s nowhere to go for an old man like myself anymore." His words had the finality of time. "I''ve done what I can, I''ll do what I can do, but my aspirations will only lead to further damage to both myself and others at this point. No, I''ll remain here."


    "That''s not the spirit I''m used to, you were all about rising above the rest and never giving up."


    "I''ll still tell that to those who can achieve such things. But me? I''ve achieved what I want. I''ll not jeopardize myself any further."


    There was a momentary silence before Daymen asked the dreaded question. "And what will you do?"


    Finnian flinched and stopped what he was doing, and then he answered. "You know what I am doing already."


    He heard Daymen rise to his feet, and turned to face his savior. He was tall for his age and stood upright. His head was bald and his face bore both wrinkles and scars. His hands bore the many calluses of a worker, and Finnian knew that if he wanted he could squeeze the life out of him in a blink. They stared at each other in that dense silence, the only other noise being the creek of the roof above and the distant sound of the alley outside.


    "I did not save you so that you could run right back to those who left you to die." Daymen snarled. "You can do more than this, your life can be spent doing better. You still have one of your boons from the stone god, use that boon and do something with your life while you still can." His face became somber, pitying. "You walk down a path by the whims of a grudge spawned by those who think you dead and no longer care. You have everything to look forward to! You''re healthy, you''re young, and you have a future!" He threw his hands out to his sides. "Why do you choose to pursue this dark desire when you know yourself that you may easily move on from what has transpired."


    Finnian stared at the man, his heart racing, his thoughts racing. He clenched his hand and unclenched it, feeling his tendons tense and loosen. A part of him knew Daymen to be right, a part of him would always know, and had always known. But that knowledge was deep down a pit he''d long since forsook.


    "Please Finnian. Just stop this."


    Finnian looked away from the old man''s eyes. It hurt too much to look at them, it hurt him in a primordial place that he seldom felt anymore. Guilt, that was what he felt.


    "I''m sorry gramps." He turned back around to his machine, flicking another switch. This time it made a satisfactory click, and Finnian gasped in relief. He knew that Daymen could stop him at any point, all he''d need to do was take the machine and throw it against a wall, or the floor, or at him. But he didn''t, Daymen couldn''t do it. And so he sat back down in his chair as Finnian inscribed the first name onto a small glass panel using a pen with a sharp crystal edge.


    "Cassius." Read the first name. The first of five.


    "I have to do this, Daymen." Finnian didn''t turn around as he spoke. "I just have to. I''m sorry."


    And Daymen''s response was both calm and sad, filled with a grief deeper than a person should possess. "And I''m sorry that I couldn''t do better."

 Chapter 3: Untimely Arrival

    This would mark Finnian''s third stop of the day.


    He''d left Daymen''s home an hour ago and he was presently pushing his way through the maintenance tunnels of the Bowels. Finnian both applauded and was appalled by Rolan''s genius. The ex-smuggler turned ex-businessman turned ex-pocket-picking professional turned full time silverfish had a knack for finding the most obtuse but effective hiding locations, and he''d been using this one with Malorie and Milly for the past two years.


    But at this time his thoughts weren''t on figuring out the most snide remark he could possibly make about Rolan''s mind. It was on the tracking device. Finnian had left the locator back in the harbor with Daymen, knowing that the old man wouldn''t destroy it because Finnian would just build another. As expected the connection was weak, meaning that Cassius'' location couldn''t be pinpointed exactly. What had surprised him, though, was that it was pointing North¡ªTowards the regions of the Adelsten Theocracy.


    And while he would now be able to track down his long lost friend, he suffered from a problem as old as he was. An ailment that had plagued him from birth and across worlds through the very fabrics of realities. He was poor, and he needed money.


    If he sold his pawnshop he''d amount to maybe ten gold slates, give or take the fees he''d have to pay to even find a buyer. He would be nowhere near enough buying a home on the surface, let alone tracking a transient throughout the continent. And he wasn''t willing to even think on a price for his locator device


    As his half-crawl took him closer to the hideout, Finnian swore he was able to make out the sounds of yelling, and the clatter of something metallic. He shimmied past two angled pipes and into another path to the left, where after only a few seconds of walking he finally cape upon a trapdoor in the ceiling. It was barely visible as such, and Finnian only knew what it was because he''d had the thing slammed into his nose at least twice. The sounds came from within.


    He grabbed the rusty door handle and with effort turned it, the locks gave away and it fell down. Finnian avoided the falling metal plate and all sounds inside stopped just as light flooded into the tunnel.


    "It''s me!" He yelled out before anybody poked a stick through his skull.


    A brown mop of hair with a head attached shadowed the opening. "You''re late again, why are you always late?" Rolan reached out his hand in aid.


    Finnian stood up in the small space and, grabbing hold of the offered help, pulled himself into a well-lit room where he could finally stand straight again.


    "Is it Dolus?" came Malorie''s sing-song voice from another room.


    "Unfortunately!" Rolan yelled back, earning him a caustic sneer from Finnian.


    "Finally, now-"


    "THAT FUCKING BITCH!" A knife flew in an eye-blink through a doorway and dug its tip into the wall with a thump. Finnian stood only a couple feet away from the anger-thrown tool.


    "THAT CROWN CURSED, RAT-FUCKED MOTHER BORN, WHITE COATED WHORE! I''M GOING TO FIND HER AND DROWN HER IN THE SHIT STREAMS OF THE BOWEL RIVER!"


    Finnian looked to Rolan who gave a nervous grin. Both of them moved through the doorway that was only barely Finnian''s height¡ªmeaning Rolan had to duck¡ªinto the other room. There stood Milly in the middle, one hand clutched a new knife, and the other one was off somewhere in the trash compactors. Malorie held up both hands in a calm gesture.


    Milly''s disheveled hair flew as her head snapped to stare at Finnian. "Oh, good day Dolus!" She said in a joyful tone.


    "Good day Milly, glad to see you''re up and about already." He grinned, and she grinned back.


    "Oh, so now that the rat''s here you''re all nice and collected, how fantastic." Malorie threw her arms into the air. "Say, should we just collect his arm instead so you can use it as a calming token?"


    "Oy! I''m not the careless one, don''t punish me." Finnian rebuked. He reacted on instinct and ducked the flying knife as it soared above his head and lodged itself right beneath the other one she''d thrown before. "Now that''s not very nice of you." He tuttered.


    "Out of knives now?" Asked Rolan in a firm voice, his arms crossed. Milly looked at him and sneered, but relaxed her stance. "Great, now let''s sit down and talk. Due to some people being unable to keep to a schedule, we''ve a lot to go over."


    Everyone grabbed a stool or chair from corners of the small "kitchen" and sat down. Finnian noticed the rag-blanked covering the spot where Milly''s left arm should''ve been.


    "First of all," Began Finnian when they''d all sat down, speaking before Rolan could lecture them. "How are you already up and about, did the Doc come by?"


    "I had to go out and get a Sealer from the Ribs," Malorie was the one to respond. "I was lucky. Ryl only had one Sealer left and the brews for this month had just finished fermenting."


    Milly snorted, "Not as effective as a new arm, I can still feel an itch. But it''ll do for now."


    Finnian nodded to Rolan, satisfied.


    "Alright," Began Rolan. "I suspect that we all have the same burning question on our minds. Why have they suddenly started chopping people up?"


    Everyone nodded, Rolan continued. "While Malorie was tending to Milly last night, I went to the surface to get some information from my contacts in the Conclave. They were hard to find, most have seemingly left the city, much like Dolus'' good friend Jacob." He pulled out a sheet of paper from his coat. "This here is a news paper page from the Daily Magazine, and while it didn''t tell me much I''ve now got some idea of what''s happening."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "I already read through this weeks magazine, and from what I could tell there''s nothing in it that would be a reason for the Conclave retreating from the city." Malorie interrupted.


    Rolan took on a snide look. "That''s because the one that I have here," He held up the paper. "Is yet to be published."


    "Oh stop teasing me, what''s it say?" Milly asked energetically, contrary to Malorie who sat one leg over the other.


    Rolan sat up straight in a posh fashion and, clearing his throat, began to recite the letters on the torn sheet in a hawty voice. "Breaking News! The Skor City Council have recently ordained that it is time to auction off some of their long held treasures and artifacts. These trinkets and curios have a known history dating back to the choosing of the great Crown! Along with these old items, new ones are being shipped from across the ocean from the Ruins of Oman to be sold off at the largest Auction this century. This event has attracted many known and reputable folk from around the world, and the City looks forward to welcoming their arrival with open arms!"


    "An auction?" Malorie leaned over. "Peculiar."


    Rolan nodded. "I got the paper from my last contact before he took the tram out of the city. He''s headed up to Askelan where the Conclave is establishing a new centre of operations."


    "The bastards used us, scammed us, and left us for dead!" Finnian slapped his knee.


    "Aye. The City has issued a mandate allowing Weavers to use deadly force in defense of city goods. And you remember how there were five Dusters? There''s supposed to be Six."


    "Shit." Milly spoke under her breath.


    "Well then, what do we do now." Finnian threw up his hands. "The big rats up above screwed us so hard we could consider ourselves royally fucked."


    Unsurprisingly, Malorie was the one to respond. She usually always had an idea¡ªa concept stirring in her mind that was usually volatile to some capacity. Many of her ideas were brilliant, most were deadly. "We do the obvious. Rob the auction."


    Milly smiled toothily. Finnian looked to Rolan who shrugged.


    "And how do you suggest we do that? Grow Milly a new limb and maybe a pair of wings and just soar up the tall mansions of the aristocracy to rob them blind?" Rolan asked sarcastically. "I mean, I''d like that a lot, yes. But is it feasible? No."


    "I''d like a pair of wings!" Said Milly who was practically jumping up and down on her stool.


    Malorie held up a hand. "If we all put our coin together, we should be able to afford Milly a prosthetic. It won''t be cheap, but those things pack a punch. Also, we''d sneak inside of the auction. Disguises would do well. We could easily just do what we did for the triplets and assume positions as guards."


    "Disguises would work but not to that capacity. The guards up there won''t be just ordinary bucket heads, they''ll be Weavers with orders to kill." Rolan countered smoothly. "Not to mention we unfortunately wouldn''t be able to afford it. Remember, we had to pay the Sneakers to keep away from Markus''s place."


    "Shit. True. Alright, we''re screwed." Malorie clapped her thigh. "Rolan, any ideas?"


    Rolan, ever the thinker, put a mischievous smile on his face. "I think it''s time we move out of Skor."


    Malorie scowled but didn''t object. Finnian''s expression turned intrigued, but on the inside, he screamed.


    Milly threw up her arm instantly. "Yes, Let''s do it!" She''d always wanted to leave Skor for as long as Finnian had known her. Her and Malorie had a long past together, and while Malorie wasn''t as enthusiastic about leaving due to a deeper connection with the city through her strife, Milly was the opposite. She wanted out.


    Finnian also wanted to leave, but he couldn''t. He''d never be able to get the tracking machine out of the city without his friends finding out. And if they found out, he''d have to explain. And if he told them, they''d no longer be his friends.


    The news of the auction and the idea of robbing it was taking up the inside of his skull like a dust-trip. Just one of the valued items to be sold would be enough to fund him for years to come. But he couldn''t do it alone. He looked to his crew and friends¡ªMilly would follow whichever idea she found to be most exciting, that''s just how she was by nature. Rolan preferred longterm profitability, and thus safety. But Malorie, she wanted to remain, regardless of risk.


    And Finnian had an idea.


    "How much coin do we have left in the vaults?" He asked, making it clear in his voice that he had an idea. Everyone turned to him with a mix of interest and skepticism.


    Rolan squinted. "I''d say maybe twenty five gold slates, not counting unsold booty. Why?"


    Finnian had to build up his idea. What he had in mind would be expensive, and so he had to slather the idea in mystery first. "Malorie, how much would it cost to get Milly a replacement arm?"


    The dark-haired woman looked to be in thought for a moment before answering. "Seventy five gold slates, not counting taxes or external fees. Eighty counting anything extra, which also means something unexpected taking more than needed."


    Milly looked to be fully engaged now, while Rolan was leaning forward frowning slightly. Thankfully, he didn''t interrupt. Finnian continued.


    "Now, we don''t have anywhere near that kind of money." He presented his hands, empty as they were. "And if we wanted to make a sum like that, we''d need not only a high paying job from the Conclave, who as we now know are no longer even in the city. But we''d also need to ensure transactional safety. Wouldn''t want to get scammed again, would we?"


    When nobody spoke up, he honeyed his voice to a soothing sweet, but also thick whisper. "As such, the only viable solution is to work on our own terms. And I might just have an idea of how we could make some glitter."


    He looked directly at the rapt Malorie. "Mal, how much does it cost to get threaded?"


    He saw Rolan was about to rebuke but Malorie was too fast. "A full-body copper threading costs two platinum, counting mana vials, not counting the weaving license."


    "What about half body threading?"


    Malorie thought for a few seconds before answering. "One platinum twenty five gold. Still counting mana vials."


    "And how much does it cost to get a singular limb threaded, not counting mana vials?"


    "Thirty gold slates."


    "And what if you had the threading done by a certain ethically dubious seamstress that would be willing to do the task without her client owning a license?"


    Malorie''s eyes widened in realization at what he was suggesting. And with that realization came a devilish grin. "Fifteen gold slates."


    Rolan was scowling, already having known where Finnian was heading with the topic, and Milly took only a few more seconds before she yelled out in delight. "Let''s do it!"


    Both Finnian and Malorie looked to Rolan who ran a hand through his bark-colored hair. He sighed before looking to Malorie and asking. "Do you trust them?"


    Malorie nodded. "With weaver numbers inflating, she''ll be even more likely to do it. Nobody will give a second glance to just another Weaver"


    Everyone watched Rolan with anticipation.


    "Meet back here tomorrow at dawn. We''ll do our usual split method while dressing as miners." He finally said. Then he stood up and walked through another archway, almost bumping his head on the top rim while grumbling. "I need something to drink."


    Malorie looked at Finnian and nodded thankfully. Finnian grinned back.


    And then Milly grabbed him in a chokehold disguised as a one-armed hug.

 Chapter 4: Unarmed and Dangerous

    He tightened the ropes tied around his wrists and spied both left and right. The alleyway was tight, but not enough for his liking.


    He turned around and hissed into the slim open window. "What''s taking so long? I said take whatever you can, not whatever you want."


    His words beckoned the darkness within and it moved. In between boxes and crates that he could only barely see, a shadow shifted. It turned and stared at him with two vexed jungle colored eyes.


    "Oh I''m sorry mister ''I''m so good at telling people how to do their jobs'', would you like to come inside and take my place? Maybe you''d accelerate our chances of getting caught!" Malorie hissed back.


    Finnian rolled his eyes. "Rolan and Milly are probably already at the knitting factory, and you know how Rolan gets when things aren''t on time."


    "Do I have to remind you that this was your idea?" She said as she ducked back into the shadows in search of something with an extra shine to it.


    He sneered and twisted his head in both directions. Workers walked by but nobody had the time to stop and shift their gazes. The morning traffic was relentless and it moved like a beast with its tail on fire and a hunter not far behind¡ªto stop and consider was to die.


    As he scanned, his eyes caught something¡ªa glimmer. His stare transfixed on a small fire. Just as it was rare, it was beautiful. It bellowed up and then died back down, the red velvety edges snapping into the air with golden cracks and sparks. ''Who in the blazes is stupid enough to light a fire down here?'' The thought crossed his mind. But he remained trained on the firelight. He felt something wet trickle down his face. Was it sweat? His mind began to race as his gaze began to waver. All of the sounds around quieted into the din. His heart thumped above the rhythm of the traffic and the roars of people.


    A sound began to echo louder than the infernal cracking. It boomed, but it didn''t make any sense. Boom, Boom, Boom. And then. "DOLUS!"


    Finnian snapped out of the trance. He shook his head and looked back into the building. "Sorry, thought I saw something. What is it?"


    Malorie raced through the crates, holding something in her left hand. "Someone''s coming down the stairs, come on help me out!" She said as she jumped for the window ledge. Finnian grasped her wrist firmly and by putting his foot on the wall dragged her out. Quick as dust in the wind they were out of the alley and in the traffic before the door had opened. He wasted one last glance to eye the blood red fire before they were around the corner.


    They both wore their worker garbs so fitting in with the crowd was no challenge. Finnian kept close to Malorie and asked in a mouse-like voice. "What you got? Anything worth selling?"


    Malorie held up something wrapped in swampy cloth. Carefully she lifted the cloth to reveal a rectangular box.


    "Looks like we found ourselves a criminal." He grinned as he stared at the container. Malorie snickered.


    "Bugger seems to be into old stuff. I found a whole stash in there dedicated to elder items and things before the collapse and the new laws." She opened the box and produced a small stick. Closeup it smelled of soil and bark, but it was quickly drowned out by the stench of sulfur. She put the small stick in her mouth and smiled. "How do I look?"


    "Like you''re one drink away from causing a scene."


    They walked with the crowd for a while until it diverged into three different paths. Aiming to get to the factories, they took the leftmost one and went into the walled off area of the Bowels where machines burned and churned.


    As the swamp walls turned to blackened red stone and coal dust he grabbed a soot covered cap from around his belt and pulled it over his head and ears. The noise of feet and muted voices turned to metal clanks and screeches. And along with the metal came the feint cracks of fire. He spied a glance at Malorie who seemed unafraid in comparison, though she plucked the stick from her lips and pocketed it carefully.


    They went deeper and downward. Rock cracking mechanisms were fed by conveyor belts carrying gem-rich geodes into their maws. In a less noisy part of the metal tunnels were the sifters¡ªspiraling vents and tubes where glowing gemdust flowed like the sun-lit quartz on a beach.


    When they neared their cut-off tunnel Malorie tugged at his cloak. He nodded and, in a practiced motion they both diverged from their train of people into a compressed stairway. The air grew from stinging coal to cold and dense with wet stone. Their feet echoed in and soon became the only noise as they descended.


    "Why''d you do it?" Malorie asked to his side, breaking the silence.


    "What do mean, what did I do this time?" Finnian played off the question.


    She snorted in derision. "You could easily have forked my desires and agreed with Rolan to leave. Hell, even Milly would''ve gone with it. So," She looked at him with cursory intent. "Why didn''t you?"


    He couldn''t lie to her, he knew as much. She''d know the moment the words left his mouth whether they were what he believed in or not. So he chose carefully.


    "I believe that there is more to be found in this crown-forsaken city now more than ever. With the conclave gone and rich rats coming from all over, it''s the perfect time to aim for something above average." He spoke the half-truth.


    Malorie squinted. Finnian swallowed.


    "And of course, if we make enough from the following hauls, we''ll just be able to put those funds towards a move regardless. Besides, it''s about time our little group grew some muscle." He smirked.


    His interrogator studied him but soon sighed and looked straight again. "Thank you."


    Before too long they reached the bottom which opened up into a large dark blue chamber. It wasn''t empty, rather there were people walking around with baskets of cotton and gleaming silks. He stared at a large casket wherein laid shimmering silversilk that pulsed with a natural subterranean light. Man-operated wooden machines spun the copper gemsilks into fine copper threading which were then spun around small discs and placed in crates to be taken to stores and city officials.


    They approached a man with olive skin and who sat on spinner absorbed in his work, one hand cranking a lever and the other adjusting the oncoming threads into five different columns.


    His eyes which were a faded rouge broke from his trade to look up at them approaching but his hands continued working. He flicked to and fro, judging them.


    "What is your purpose here." He asked with the begrudged disinterest of a middleman expecting the same answer from all but having to ask regardless.


    "We are here to see the Lady Seamstress. I believe our companions are already here and waiting for us."


    "And your names?"


    "Malorie and Dolus."


    A quiet moment passed before the man groaned and pulled a brake, causing the apparatus to seize. He stepped off and waved for them to follow.


    They looked to eachother. Malorie tilted her head in a "whatever" expression and they followed.


    They soon found themselves in a chamber rimmed with colorful drapes all over the walls and ceiling.


    The man whose name they still didn''t know walked up to an otherwise inconspicous piece of cloth and pulled it aside to reveal yet another clausterphobic stairway. He motioned with his hand and smiled at their obvious discomfort.


    Malorie went first and Finnian quickly in toe. The drape fell back in place, leaving them in mostly dark tunnel except the weak mana lights in the ceiling that would likely be put out of service within a year.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "I never really liked the factories." He sparked the coal of conversation. "I mean obviously nobody really likes spending their days working metal gears and levers for a living. But these tunnels, they just go on forever in a purposeless maze of stone."


    "I''m forced to agree." She replied dourly. "I never worked in the factories but folk told stories of what it were like before the commitee forced a repurposing. You used to work here before the collapse too, right? I remember you mentioning it during the nights out."


    "After. We were forced to make use of many unconventional passages while the main ones underwent service. Not a fun experience I''ll tell you that."


    He looked down at Malorie''s hands, specifically her fingers. "How about you? What were you like before the band. You don''t talk about it very much."


    Her index and middle finger twitched. The gamble hadn''t paid off.


    "Not much really." She answered dully. "Milly and I spent most of our days making our wage by selling fish jerky from the hauls everyone thought was rotten. I''ve told you about it at some point, back in our first year together." She glanced over her shoulder at him with a suspicious face. "Why do you want to know?"


    "Well you just don''t seem to talk about it a lot and we''ve been together for quite some time," He deflected. "So just curiosity I suppose."


    Malorie made no outward expression but something behind her eyes suggested she didn''t believe him. Without saying a word she turned back to concentrating on the descent.


    The walk down took 5 minutes total. Too long in Finnian''s opinion. There was no door, rather they just entered a rectangular room with stone benches. And it just so happened that Rolan sat on one of those. He had probably heard their echoing steps, because he stared at them with a face suggesting he''d expected disappointment, and had been correct.


    "Milly and the Seamstress are waiting inside. Give Mal your pouch, Dolus. The old lady won''t let me past this great chamber of damp sewage sweat." He stretched his arms out.


    Finnian dug out the pouch and tossed it to Mal who caught it effortlessly. Not speaking a word, she disappeared around a corner. After a few seconds the sounds of her walking disappeared.


    Finnian sat down beside Rolan who still looked somewhere between disappointed and pleased at his proven expectations.


    "What jolly adventures did the two of you go on this time I wonder." He said in a voice that couldn''t have been more sarcastic if he''d tried.


    "We nicked a few things from a shop basement on the way here. Sorry mate, the unattended open window just looked too alluring to pass on."


    "And what were the finds?"


    "A box of smokes."


    Rolan''s eyebrows rose and he whistled. "Nevermind me, good find. Where''s the box if I might ask?"


    "Malorie has it. Don''t think I could pry it out of her hands while keeping mine attached."


    "Good point."


    Rolan stretched his arms behind his back and groaned.


    "So then, what''ll be our first target?"


    Finnian blinked. "What do you mean?"


    "Well," Rolan put his left leg on-top of his right. "Since this entire thing was your idea, you are the one who''ll be deciding what exactly we''ll be hitting first. So I just thought I''d ask, what''s the target."


    "The truth is that I''d not really come that far." Finnian began, "It just seemed like a waste to pack up and leave the city."


    Rolan glared unblinkingly.


    "But I might have some ideas." Finnian put up his hands in defense. "When''s that newspaper issue being publizised."


    "Tonight."


    Finnian leaned forward, quickly plunged into thought. While the power-up milly was about to receive would allow them to pick a more risky target, they still had little actual grasp of what a threading entailed. So the best choice of action would be to just target something they could already do, but make it easier and quicker with the upgrade.


    "What does the printery hold in store for us? Anything useful we can pawn off there?"


    "With the Conclave out of the city there''ll be nobody buying mechanical parts at market value." Rolan shook his head. "Not worth it unless you plan to use Milly to drag a whole machine out of there and sell it for scraps at a pawn shop."


    "What about a Gemdust Distillery?"


    "Too many guards now."


    Finnian snapped his finger and with a grin proposed. "Do you remember that one business woman''s home above the Market district Silk shops? Name''s Tamyra I think, Lady Tamyra. We sold that dust to her husband."


    Rolan nodded. "Works in the trading and transport business. Owns a great many shares in the Skor Metalware company, I know of her."


    "With patrols and weavers relocated to guard expensive supplies and wealthy tourists and visitors, I think that her home might be a geode of opportunity."


    Finnian watched Rolan looking down into his empty palms. A sign that ideas were filling and leaving his head as quickly as a drunkards mug.


    "...Since her house is connected to the Silk shop, if we could gain access to that building we should be able to circumvent any traps laid on the roof or windows."


    "And with the guards moved down below to protect the actual storage instead of the shop, the last people to check inside of the shop itself will be the ones who close it." Finnian continued Rolan''s train of thought.


    "All we would need to do is get through the front door and anything inside of her home will be easy grabs!" Rolan''s face burst into a joyous smile. "I never doubted you for a second Dolus!" He threw his arms around Finnian and they both laughed.


    Their jubilations were cut short by a pair of firm clapping hands. They both looked to the corner where Malorie had now reappeared and clapped her hands sardonically. "Bravo you two. Come along, Milly''s excited to show you her new arm."


    They followed Malorie through two different corridors before they reached what looked to be an operating room except far more unsanitary. Milly sat straight on a cushioned bed and smiled when they entered. "Finally, check out my new arm!"


    She wasted no time and shook off the cover to reveal shining lengthy strands of bronze-like shining wires running throughout her arm up to her shoulder.


    "Wicked!" Rolan beamed. And in the corner of his eye, Finnian saw Malorie''s deadpanned face curl into a smile.


    Finnian smiled back then noticed in the corner of his eye a small hunched over figure at a desk. The Lady Seamstress was almost a corpse, maybe she was dead and didn''t know it yet.


    "This is Matila!" Milly threw her arm out to her. "And she is the most wonderful old lady you''ll ever meet."


    Matila strained to smile but smile she did. "I''ll need to borrow your companions for a moment dear Milly." She said, waving for the three standing to follow.


    Into another room they went. The door slammed shut behind them on its own. Matila let out a long restrained breath of air in the musky yellow-lit cavern.


    "Is everything alright?" Malorie asked in a soothing and concerned voice unlike her. She kneeled before the older woman.


    "Yes, yes. I''m fine dear. Don''t worry." She said unconvincingly. "Now I hate to ask you, but I do need what you promised me."


    Malorie reached into her inner cloak and pulled out a small bag and handed it to Matila. The seamstress opened it, look inside, jumbled the bag slightly, then tightened the straps again, seemingly satisfied. She walked over to a drawer and pulled out five vials.


    "Here." She handed them to Malorie. "These are heavily diluted tin serums based on opal."


    "We didn''t pay¡ª"


    "I don''t care." Matila cut her off, clearly tired."I''ve already told Milly what a threading entails. But since you three seem to care about her a great lot, I need you to keep an eye on her and ensure she does nothing stupid."


    None of them spoke, so the seamstress walked over to a chair and sat down. "Now listen up."


    Malore stood back up.


    What I have given her is an imperfect right arm copper threading. Without drinking a vial, this will already ensure that her arm will almost never get tired again. Along with that it''ll drastically increase her base strength and reflexes."


    They all nodded


    "This is something that you will need to practice with her. With lack of experience in wielding her newfound strength, she will undoubtedly break many things in her excitement. There''s a good spot in the sewer funnels down in the Bowels where she''ll be able to practice undisturbed. Just take the excrement pipes until you reach the abandoned drainage. The Collapse caused the tunnels to collapse on themselves, and the city''s not seen them fit enough to repair since. Abandoned save for when teens want to host their hidden dust parties with friends."


    "I know of the place." Rolan said.


    "Good. Now, this is important." Matila leaned forward. "Do not let her carry the vials on her own. To an undiciplined person, Mana is just as addicting as regular Dust. As a threaded, it''s practically what''ll make her feel alive. When she drinks it she''ll go from being able to crush a small pipe in her hand to tear someones head off without thinking. This stuff is for special occassions when it''s needed. It''ll last in her veins for about an hour if she drinks a full vial, make sure to practice with it as well. If she drinks anything copper graded or above, any weaver within a two mile range will be able to sense it. Even with diluted ones you can''t be sure."


    She padded her forehead with her sleeve. "That is all."


    "Thank you Miss." Malorie kneeled before her again and kissed her hand. The old lady smiled with aged warmth.


    When they returned to the main chamber Milly was ecstatic. There was nothing more to do for Milly, so the Seamstress took them to yet another corridor which lead to a set of ladders.


    "This will take you to the harbor. Make sure to check before for anyone before you exit."


    Milly walked up to the lady and captured her in a wordless hug. After it ended, Matila made to retreat back into her burrow, but before she disappeared said. ¡°I advise against going to the drain site tonight. High chance there¡¯ll be heavy rain.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell? Skies were clear yesterday, not a cloud in sight.¡± Finnian blurted before thinking, earning him a side-eye glare from Malorie.


    Matila turned unbothered and answered. ¡°How can you tell when a plant is ripe or the sick is about to claim another victim? Some things we think impossible to predict become surprisingly trivial with time and experience.¡±


    Her somewhat ominous words left them in thought as she disappeared into her sanctuary.


    "Milly, you go first." Rolan gestured to the ladder.


    Milly scoffed.


    "Just because I lost an arm don''t mean I forgot how to climb ladders." She said as she begrudgingly took hold of the rung.


    She tightened her grip around the bar, and with her first attempted heave tore the rusty rung right off the wall. Concrete included.


    "But that''s new."