Chapter XXIII: Sight Unseen

“Crouching at the shore of the Bay of Masks is black Baysmouth. Within it, on the only high hill, a strange and shattered building stands, looming over the spiraling streets and plainly seen by the pale, covered faces of every man in the city. In a settlement where homes and markets and streets are in a constant flux, changing hands and names as swiftly as their inhabitants grow bored or are burned out, this vast and solitary palace is one of the few comfortable constants, but nevertheless it appears an alien impossibility to foreigners.

“The Slouch-hall was never built, not truly, but rather grew, expanding and contracting over countless generations on the whims of the man who presided within, for it is inside these shaded vaults and towers that the Mootkings of the Chan have lived and ruled and ofttimes died wearing the Baymaster’s Mask, as their forebears did, until their final moments.

“It is a massed maze of adjoining rooms and corridors, with the endless improvements and renovations added or destroyed over the ages amounting to a structure that more resembles a hundred different buildings smashed together than one entire. Sloped and sagging gambrel roofs hang and collide into parapets, held up by walls of a hundred different materials: oak and teague, granite and marble and oily stones dredged from the ocean, or glass and concrete walls looming bare and high beside ancient, crumbling bricks that seem ready to collapse at any moment. Rooms and windows jut out at odd places and angles, while a half-dozen towers sink and sway in the soft earth below, making them appear tilted next to their newer counterparts, which stand straight as a Channic knife. Rusted metal spikes twist like thorns from one wall, while another is topped by hideous, crumbling gargoyles. Yet another has gems of amethyst, beryl, opal and chrysolite set haphazardly in the stained alabaster and rotting wood.

“One receives the impression from its silhouette of something that was never planned or mapped by its builders, but simply erupted slowly or suddenly and now, after being tortured into a thousand different shapes, is perpetually loosening from its bonds and falling in on itself.

“The interior is something between a labyrinth and an Etsian puzzlebox: it is said that a man could live within its walls for a lifetime and never see every room. Dark and narrow staircases rise and descend in on one another, with some sharply changing in direction or leading up to nothing at all—either bare walls or open sky, without a railing or barrier to protect one from falling out. Hallways might stretch on endlessly without linking anything, or might be filled from wall to wall with doors. The doors pose similar problems: many might open to new rooms, but others might have been blocked by new walls or connected to areas that were blasted or crumbled away years ago, making them open to empty air a hundred feet up or to a long fall downward. Some sections of the Slouch-hall are simply impossible to reach and have long been forgotten about, only for builders generations later to find their way inside after demolishing an ancient wall…”

— “The Chan, the Beast, and Their People,” by Allek Yellowtail

Unfolding the note, Coin Counter passed it across the table, allowing Lady Violet Brushshape to pluck it out with her delicate fingers. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, then looked at it again. “Look for me — from C.S.” she read off the card, “along with a green heart.” She cast her tired eyes to the nervous knight of the Honest Friends sitting across from her. “This was on your person, you say?”

“Yes, my lady,” Coin replied quickly. “But I didn’t put it there, I swear. It isn’t mine and I’d never seen it before—someone placed it on me.”

“Someone,” she repeated, a bit woozy-sounding as she did so. Coin had meant to approach her about the note the night prior, but by the time he had shown the note to his fellow investigators and resolved to do so, some drama had ensued that required the Warden’s attention for the whole night. Jorama, the dark Sajlic guard that had been standing watch outside her room, had told him that it was best to save it until morning, and judging by the shouting Coin had briefly heard it seemed like a good plan in his books. He still had no idea what it had all been about, and thought better than to ask, but whatever it was it had apparently kept Lady Violet from sleeping—she had seemed ready to collapse when she had opened the door to see him earlier.

Lady Violet passed the note over to the Warden of Honesty, who had been standing silently by her side since Coin began telling her what had happened. Coin Counter had been surprised to see that the Warden of Honesty had also been there in the lady’s room when he had arrived earlier, but hadn’t questioned it out of fear of accidentally suggesting something truly appalling. Seeing that the giant wasn’t tired in the slightest, Coin guessed that the Warden had just arrived earlier than him. “What do you make of that?” Lady Brushshape asked seriously.

The Warden of Honesty stared at the little piece of paper as though he were trying to set it on fire with his gaze. “Uncertain,” he replied. “Secretive method of contact. Invitation? Or hint.” He frowned. “Why not say so openly? Hrm.”

“Er, they called it the ‘Changeling Society,’ my lady,” Coin answered, afraid that it sounded silly.

“Well, if it’s this Changeling Society, then its members would be concerned about being snuffed out, I’m certain,” she continued. “Nobles and merchants and well-to-dos supporting the Brony Collective would be prime targets for the Martes and their goons.” She eyed Coin, thin eyes lined with bags regarding him carefully. “Did you have contact with any other people of interest that day, or was it just whom you mentioned?”

Coin tried to recall anyone else, and came up with nothing. “It was really just the guards, the three Martes, and the Moderators. Oh, and the cybramancer Heylen Ott I spoke of, and his friend Byrios Amberten.” He supposed that there was the witness he had spoken to as well, but they had never been close enough for the note to pass between them, no matter how secretly.

Lady Violet considered that. “Keeping what you told us in mind,” she said, “which do you imagine was most likely to give this message to you?”

Coin had his answer ready, after a night of mulling it over. “It must have been the cybramancer, my lady. No one else would make sense—the Martes certainly wouldn’t be part of this Society, nor the Moderators. I suppose it could have been one of the guards, but Heylen Ott had the best opportunity to give it to me, after we bumped into one another. I can’t be certain, but that’s my best guess.”

“I would agree,” Lady Violet said with a partially exhausted smile. “We shall have to investigate this ‘Heylen Ott’ closely… but subtly. This so-called Changeling Society as well—if they have some knowledge of what happened that night, we cannot risk scaring them off.”

Coin nodded in agreement, and glanced down at the paper now lying on the table. When he was in the Knight Regulators, standard procedure might have been to compare the handwriting with other available samples, in order to find a match. No such resources were available to the Bronies however, making guesswork a necessity, as uncomfortable as that might be. The penmanship in the note did not jump out at Coin as familiar, at any rate.

One thing that did seem familiar, however, was the illustration—the green heart. It was only a subtle nagging in his mind, but he could have sworn that he’d seen such a symbol previously, and recently as well. Where and when it was that he had noticed it before, Coin could not be sure, but he had been racking his brains trying to recall these past hours.

A knock came at the door, and Proximo Hart walked in briskly, carrying a tray over. A teapot and some cups were balanced on the article, which he then set down in front of Lady Violet. “Tea, my lady?” he asked.

“Oh, Six save us, yes,” she said with exhausted enthusiasm. She took a long sip the moment that Hart finished pouring the drink, and seemed to perk up immediately. “A good brew. I owe you my life once again, Mister Hart.”

“You might not need it so badly if you would only sleep,” Hart replied in a mild scold. “It is hardly healthy, my lady. Were you up all night waiting for…”

“Yes,” Lady Brushshape said quickly, before he could continue, “but not a soul came. I cannot make heads or tails of it.”

“Perhaps they were waiting until morning, my lady?” Proximo said with concern, and a glance to the Warden of Honesty. For whatever reason, the giant seemed oddly ill-at-ease with whatever it was the two were discussing, opting to keep his eye on the floor.

“I don’t know why they would wait, but that is the only thing of which I can think. Without a doubt they might have had me at quite the disadvantage, seeing my lack of rest. Thankfully,” he said with a coy look, “I have my faithful assistant here to rescue me. Very sweet.” She took a sip and lit up a bit more. “Mm, not unlike this tea—just the way I like it.”

“You’re always too flattering when you’re tired out of your mind, my lady,” Proximo responded dryly. “But it was my pleasure.”

Coin considered asking just who exactly Lady Violet had been expecting so intently, but thought better than to pry. “My lady,” he asked instead, “what should I do? If this Society is trying to get in contact with me, how should I go forward with it?”

Lady Violet closed her eyes and took another sip of tea. “First,” she said firmly, “I must ask that you not burden anyone else with this information yet. Not until we better understand it ourselves, and particularly not to anyone outside the fandom. It wouldn’t do to have the Moderators suddenly convinced of there being some vast conspiracy at play when we’ve barely a notion of it ourselves. Understood?”

“I’ll set people on observing the Grandmance more carefully, and see what can be found. I do wonder, though,” she mused, “whether this note is meant to tell us all we need.”

“ ‘Look for us’ is the only message that it gives,” she replied, pulling a purple bang from her eyes, “and the only one they believed Sir Coin would require. If they’re aim was to remain unnoticed by us, they wouldn’t have contacted him at all. Clearly, whoever gave this to Sir Coin wants to be found, and believes this to be enough to make it happen.”

“Seems a bit cryptic for that, doesn’t it?” Proximo pointed out. “If they wanted to arrange a meeting, why not just say when and where?”

“Fear of being intercepted, perhaps?” Lady Violet guessed. “Or they’re not entirely sure whether they can trust the recipient yet. Whatever the reason, this is still a clue, and a big one as well—provided one can piece together to where it points.”

Despite Coin having been the one to find the note, he still could not help but be skeptical. “I, ah, I was worried about one thing, my lady. What if this is a trap? A way for the Martes to bait us, I mean. Or someone else, for that matter, making things up to fool us? We have no proof that this Society really sent this.”

Lady Violet gave a knowing smile. “On the contrary,” she said with a glance to Proximo Hart, “we just might. There just so happens to be one that received a message not unlike yours’—a woman by the name of Lady Imelia Kohburn. Tell him, Mister Hart.”

Proximo nodded, and proceeded to recount a story concerning Lady Kohburn, the same shy girl that Coin had been introduced to just a day prior. “...and when she returned,” the assistant continued, “she found a note attached to her door. One written in the same style, addressed from the same C.S.”

“No, she chose not to follow up on their offer of meeting—too much potential trouble. But she stakes her life on it being the Changeling Society.”

“Proximo trusts her word,” Lady Violet said, “and I personally doubt that she would lie.”

Hart looked at the Warden with an angry expression. “You’ll stay away from her,” Proximo said with a surprising bitterness. “I thinked you’ve ‘helped’ enough as it is.”

“Enough,” Lady Violet cut in. “Stop it, both of you. Honesty, you will remain here in the Palace until further notice, and you will not leave my sight. Understood?” She shot him a harsh look of her own, one that Coin had never seen her give before.

Coin thought that the Warden might argue the point, and for a moment it seemed he would. Instead, though, he bowed his head. “We obey,” the giant replied simply, looking to the floor again.

“At any rate,” the lady continued, “this might just give us more to work from, if we’re to find these people.”

Coin was still unsure. “If someone else was contacted by them months before we were even here, that might go to show it being genuine,” he admitted. “Neither note tells who we’re meant to look for, if we want to find them.” Coin Counter agreed that there was likely some hint in the note, provided it was real, but it was just out of his reach. The odd, latent familiarity of the symbol on the message made him wonder, though. I’m certain I’ve seen that heart before, Coin puzzled, was it on some art? A piece of clothing? A sign? It was only barely evading him, whatever place it was.

“Perhaps,” Proximo suggested, “it is less of a ‘who,’ and more of a ‘where.’” He pulled out another folded paper and handed it to Coin. “Imelia allowed me to take it, for now. Look at that.”

Coin did just that, and immediately saw the same green heart emblazoned in the center of the page. The text around it was precisely the same handwriting as in his note, or at least close enough that Coin’s eyes couldn’t see a difference. And indeed, there was the same ‘C.S.’ printed in the letter’s closing. But what Coin fixed on the most was a single phrase: ‘Midnight out, Moonlight Inn, at the docks.’

“Six save me!” he exclaimed in surprise, the memory flooding back suddenly. “I need to get down to the docks right away,” Coin said as he flung himself towards the door, forgetting his courtesy in the excitement. “I think I—"

He swung the door open, only knock himself directly into a person standing closely on the other side, sending both he and them tumbling to the ground in a crash. Picking himself off the floor and cursing his clumsiness, Coin saw that beside him was a very surprised, slightly dazed-looking Cellia Ravenry, sitting on the floor in her white uniform and bit wide-eyed.

“Light of life, Cellia, I’m so sorry!” Coin said immediately as he came over to help her. “I really need to… oh, here let me…”

Cellia shook her head at the apologies as he helped her up. “Oh, please, please, it’s really all right, Sir Coin,” she said with a bit of embarrassment as she tried to straighten herself out. “I was just about to knock on the door you see and, ah…” She coughed into her hand, seeming flustered. “Well, serves me right for standing so close to the door, I suppose. Er, are you well, then?”

She waved a hand. “None worse for wear, really. I suppose I need to work on my center-of-gravity exercises more, though, so I’m not being knocked over this way and that. I cannot do all my work lying on my back,” she remarked while brushing off her clothes. She stopped for a moment and thought about what she had just said. “Ah, anyway,” she continued while suddenly becoming very focused on a nonexistent piece of dirt on her shirt, “I’m, er, I am here on official business, along with Sir Alwin.”

Coin had been so distracted by making a fool of himself that he hadn’t noticed the lanky, anxious knight standing a short ways behind her, wringing his hands together and mainly looking lost. His eyes were darting around the hall, at one moment settling on Coin, then at another moment on the open door, wringing his hands all the while. “Sir, ah, Sir Coin?” he stuttered. “We haven’t met, I think. Well, perhaps we’ve heard of… no, it doesn’t matter.” He tried to straighten himself out, alleviating his ordinary stooped shoulders.” I… I have needs to speak with your War—"

Lady Violet appeared in the doorway in a flash, whatever exhaustion from earlier having vanished in a moment. “Sir Alwin?” she said quickly, before scanning around the room. She seemed puzzled when she did, as though she were expecting someone or something else—no one but Cellia and Sir Alwin had come. “I had hoped to see you, sir. Perhaps we might speak in private?” The look she gave him was equal parts contrite and pleading.

The knight opened his mouth as though to spoke, closed it, then opened it again, then shut it tight, turned, and fled, his face flustered. He sped off down the hall at an alarming pace, leaving a bewildered Lady Violet behind.

She got no reply—he was already gone. Proximo Hart had appeared out of the room as well, and exchanged a look of disbelief with his lady.

“Miss Ravenry,” Lady Violet said carefully, “did Sir Alwin make any mention of why he wanted to speak with me?”

“Nothing of which I would know, Lady Violet. Sir Alwin merely said that it was important to speak with you, or at least that is what he told Sir Borlund and I.”

“Yes, he…” Cellia bit her lip, not appearing sure if she should continue. “Well, it would not be my place to presume on what would be best practice, but Sir Borlund did not seem to want Sir Alwin to speak with you.”

“And yet he came,” Lady Violet mused. There was uncertainty in her expression, doubt but relief as well, as though this were something she had not planned upon, though what 'this’ was Coin could only guess.

Cellia cleared her throat. “Regardless,” she said, “I had some business of my own to address. I was going to proceed down into the city in order to reexamine some relevant locations. Since Sir Coin is in my charge,” she continued with formal stiffness, “I had thought he would join me.”

“Oh!” Coin replied in surprise. It was a tempting offer, but he remembered that he had urgent business of his own. “I’m afraid I need to go to the docks, Cellia, but if you’re willing—"

“Wonderful!” she said with no undue enthusiasm. “I had hoped to revisit a tavern in that area anyway, to create a better diagram of the scene. I had forgotten to bring my ruler when I drew up the last one, so a more accurate copy is in order. We can proceed there, examine the scene, and you can embark on whatever concern you have, sir.”

“The invitation is accepted, Miss Ravenry,” Lady Violet responded, before Coin could. “But would you mind if I have a word with Sir Coin before you depart? I had hoped to mention it before he ran off.”

Cellia gave a nod, and walked aside to wait for them to finish. Lady Violet took Coin by the arm and pulled him back into the room. Proximo Hart accompanied her, a look of shock on his face. “My lady,” he whispered, “if she truly does not know, then…”

“...Then Sir Alwin told no one of what happened,” Lady Violet finished, “though why I cannot say. But we can discuss that later.” She turned her attention to Coin instead. “Remember what I said, Sir Coin,” she said in a lull voice, “this talk of Changelings is not to reach anyone else. Especially not the Mods—do not let her or any other know a word of it.”

“My lady,” he replied, feeling uncomfortable at the prospect, “is that honest?”

“No,” she admitted, “but it is necessary. Do not disappoint us now, Sir Coin—our friends depend on it.”

Coin walked down the hallway, Cellia leading in the front, and thought carefully about what he was just told. It was the Peacekeeper that interrupted his ruminating. “So, Sir Coin,” Ravenry said as they proceeded to the front of the Palace, “have you ever been involved in a case quite like this? Having been a knight, I mean.”

A murdered Moderator, two framed men, three unsympathetic judges, Coin thought, not to mention a madman in the front and a conspiracy at our backs. “I cannot say that I have.”

“It is all very interesting, is it not?” she said cheerfully. She immediately backtracked her words after. "Just because I've never encountered such an assignment, I mean to say," she added hastily. "I hope that we can serve justice soon enough, but... well, it's a puzzle, is what I mean."

"I know," Coin reassured her. "How about you? I'm sure you've been a Peacekeeper long enough to have seen interesting work."

She smiled at the memory of it. "I suppose so. Lord Halforth's service is rarely dull, after all. But I admit that I have never been involved with something quite like this. It is not so often that the Devien Isles are involved in dark crimes, you understand, and there are few things so hateful as slaying a Knight of the Holy Orders." As Coin descended down a staircase with her, he saw her eyes widen slightly in excitement. "Have you ever investigated a case of murder against one of our order before?"

"Err, no," Coin admitted. Being in the Knight Regulators meant that most of one's time was spent calculating and auditing finances, the greatest danger being straining one's eyes on time-worn ledgers—murder was far away from that. He saw her deflate a little when she heard, however, so he thought for a moment about something to add, so as not to disappoint. "I, ah, I did once look into a case where I had to arrest a Moderator, though."

She was so eager to hear some tale of knightly prestige that he had no real choice to continue. "This was about two years ago," he explained while she listened intently, "while I was working in the Financial Records Repository in Central for the term."

Coin considered that, trying to think of the most arresting qualities of work in Central. There were buildings so large and tall in Central that it was said clouds formed inside them, and such a mass of people that some claimed that there were more people in that one city than the whole of the Eastern Internet. Yet the only thing that Coin was truly familiar with were the lines of accounting books that he had immersed himself in for those short months. “I loved it,” he replied truthfully.

With Cellia giving him leave to go on, Coin continued. “Anyways, I was investigating expenditure reports from one of the local Peacekeeper teams when I noticed an irregularity. Too much funding and not enough spending. They had tried to cover it up with dummy accounts and necessary expense lines, but I dug further and found out that the knight in charge had been pocketing the funds for himself.”

Cellia frowned and nodded. “An apostate. You took the necessary actions, then?”

“He was banned from his position and expelled from the Authority. You should never be afraid to search more closely, even into simple things—there is no telling what you could find,” Coin said casually.

He glanced over at Cellia and saw that she had been scribbling down what he said on a pad of paper.

She looked up, slightly sheepish. “If I’m to be a knight,” she explained, “it is best that I record such lessons. For future reference.”

Coin felt an odd mix of being flattered and uncomfortable. “You truly do want to be a knight,” he said, impressed with her dedication.

Ambitious, Coin thought, and very determined. People like Cellia tended to rise high in the Authority. Am I looking at a future Lord Moderator?

“It is not about wanting. The Ravenrys have been Moderators for generations,” she said matter-of-factly. “What would I be if I turned away from our tradition?” She straightened out her back and folded her hands behind her as she walked, in a manner very reminiscent of Lord Halforth. “To serve the Authority is to serve family and community and the Code of the Web. Living for my own sake would be shameful. Profligate, even. It is my duty.” She looked forward contemplatively as they walked. “The Logos is Greater,” she said solemnly.

“The Logos is Greater,” Coin echoed reflexively. He knew the quotation immediately. A Focusing Phrase, he remembered. Whilst in training, he had repeated such lines dozens, hundreds, thousands of times—they were meant to snap a mind to attention, a constant reminder of one’s life, direction, and purpose. His reply to it came as naturally as breathing, without thought.

They made their way through to the main entrance of the Palace, and down the stairs to the square. It was strange to see the difference between when Coin walked through the city with his Brony friends and when he did so with a Moderator Peacekeeper: there was no jeering, nor threatening. When Cellia moved forward, and the people caught sight of the uniform she wore, they would part in front of her like water before a prow.

Did people act this way when I was a knight? Coin wondered as they went on their way. He felt as though he would have remembered that, but perhaps it was just as natural and unremarkable to him then as it seemed to be for Cellia now.

They made it to the docks in good time, walking along the grimy harbor. Before long, Coin once again stood in front of a familiar place—The Moonlight Inn.

As Cellia pushed open the front door, he saw that little had changed inside. Coin was thankful to see that there were not too many drunkards slumped around the place so early in the day, though a few were still clinging to their seats after their prior evening of imbibing. Several looked warily at Cellia as she passed by. She and Coin went to the counter at the front and waited for the bartender to return.

He stopped when he saw Coin, eyes flaring up in recognition. "You again. No way, get out of here.”

“Horse-lovers aren’t allowed here,” the owner replied, folding his arms and glaring at the Brony in front of him.

“Oh, we are not here for drinks,” Cellia explained. “Official business.”

“He,” Cellia said with authoritative firmness, “by which I mean Sir Coin Counter, is acting within the power of the Moderator Authority.” She pulled out her badge and flashed it open to the bartender. “And not only that, he is working with me. I must insist.”

The owner’s droopy eyes looked down at the badge, then up to Coin. He twisted his mouth. “Fine. But be done with it quickly, whatever you’re trying to find.”

“Thank you. We appreciate the help,” Cellia said courteously with a bow. The owner rolled his eyes and turned away.

Reached into her coat pocket, Cellia pulled out a piece of metal the size of a card deck. Grabbing on side of it, she gave a mechanically precise twist back with her arm, causing the thing to unfold out into a straight, paper thin line. “Well,” she said with the ruler in her hand, “we had best get to work. I know that these rooms will not measure themselves, after all. You had something to reexamine yourself, correct?”

“Yes,” Coin replied, his eyes already shooting to the door that led to the alley outside.

“We’d best hop to it, then. I shall begin upstairs—see you in a moment!” She marched up to the second floor, looking blissful with her measuring stick at her side while she went.

Coin took a moment, then craned his neck to see if she had gone upstairs. When he saw she had left, he shot off towards the alleyway behind the Moonlight. He went immediately to the farthest wall and started to examine it, eyes pouring over every brick, every detail. He found it right away, exactly where he had remembered it.

I was right! Coin thought triumphantly. But that was only part of the puzzle. This proves the Society was here, he mused, and it confirms that message the girl received. But how does it fit with Dabrius? The ambassador had disappeared from this bar the night of the murder, seemingly into thin air. Now Coin knew that it was a place with which the Changeling Society was somehow connected. There must be a link. He considered going back in, so that he could question the bartender, but he was struck with a certain inspiration first.

Running his hand over the wall, he felt the corners of the brickwork. The green-painted heart was resting on one stone it particular—Coin worked his fingers around it, moving them across the seams. It was weak—poorly set it place. He dug his hands in more, and then gave just the slightest tug.

The brick fell out, revealing a hollow behind it. Incredulous, Coin looked at the brick he pulled out, then to the hole.

He stuck his hand into the hollow space, and was surprised to find his whole arm able to vanish inside. Feeling around, Coin’s hand touched nothing… until his fingers brushed past something. It was an alcove — a grip, built into the other side of the wall. Coin pulled upon it, while pushing his weight against the wall.

Coin almost cried out in excitement, but he managed to contain himself and glance behind him instead. The door to the bar was closed, and there was no one looking out from a window on the other floors. Cellia was no doubt still inside, fiddling with a ruler.

Coin turned his attention back to the wall. He pushed and pulled and shifted his weight, and more and more he felt the bricks giving way. A tiny portion of the wall, at the very corner, was turning open like a door, the bricks on the bottom scraping the dirt floor. Eventually, it was enough ajar that Coin could crawl inside.

He did so carefully. Light streamed into the narrow passage from the door Coin had just opened, but he could not risk leaving it ajar for long—someone might notice. It was pitch black inside besides that though, so Coin pulled out a small pocket lighter and flicked at it, holding it out into the darkness.

A tiny flame sputtered to life, but to Coin’s surprise another light suddenly appeared. Along the now visible walls, a thin line of pale green stone snaked down across the room, glowing distinctly.

The stone must catch the light somehow, Coin decided, trying to ignite the lighter another time. When it did so, he looked carefully at the now visible green marker. The sliver of verdant crystal roped around the top of the wall in front of them, and then shot off to the side. Squinting his eyes into the dark, Coin could very faintly see the slightest hint of the same stone much farther down—it was a trail.

Dabrius disappearing out of nowhere. Re-appearing halfway across the city the same night. A secret society able to operate and move without anyone knowing. A great many mysteries suddenly started to make sense, though how in the Web such a system as these tunnels could have been made, Coin could not say.

Curiosity began to gnaw at him. He glanced back out again to the Moonlight. Still no one watching. Yet.

How much time do I have before they start looking? An hour? Half-hour? Minutes? He looked out at the outside, then back to the darkness of this mysterious tunnel. To the light again, then into the tunnel.

Coin shut the door just slightly, hoping that it would not be open enough to arouse suspicion at a glance. Nothing ventured, indeed.

Holding out the lighter in front of him, Coin made his way down. The path was cramped: the walls closed on either side of him tightly, and the ceiling was low enough that he had to duck his head down as he tread through. He quietly gave thanks that he wasn’t afraid of close spaces, and pressed on.

The green line of light guided him as he went. It was straight at first, straight on for what felt like a long time in the dark, but then it turned sharply once, then again. He lost track of time—Coin felt as though only a few minutes had passed, but how could he know? Eventually, the green line broke off.

Coin stepped forward gingerly into what he thought was the end of the tunnel. Waving his little light around, he saw brief flashes of things around him—objects half obscured by shadows, more tiny pricks of green in the blackness, the faintest outlines of a door. His eyes rested on something as soon as the flame did. On the wall was a copper cage, hanging on a hook. A lantern.

Coin looked into the lamp, and saw it filled with oil. Carefully, he lit the thing, and allowed light to fill up the space around him.

It was a room. Small by most standards, but practically spacious compared with what he’d just passed through. A table stood in the center, flanked by chairs. Shelves lined one wall, and small barrels were stacked up against another. All around him, green paths now bright from the lamplight, were five other tunnels, branching out in every direction.

Coin gaped at the complex. How far does this go? he wondered, stupefied. Approaching each of the tunnels, he realized that he had no idea where to start, or where to go. Through one of them, he caught the smell of something foul, and a sound of water that suggested it led to a sewer. He made a mental note to definitely leave that one for later.

Turning back to the room itself, Coin began to look around. He looked at the table and chairs first. Everything in the room was covered with a layer of dust… except one spot. On the wooden tabletop, he noticed a spot where something had been resting not so long ago — there was little dust left on it. Someone has been here recently.

Coin crouched down in front of one of the small barrels against the wall, and put his ear to it while shaking it just slightly. Nothing. He opened it to be sure, and found it empty. He tried a few others, and saw they were the same. On the outsides of the barrels, however, he noticed something distinct—lines in the dust covering. Fingers pressed and scraped against the lids, he thought analytically as he examined it, his knightly training coming back all at once. Fumbling to get them open swiftly. Whatever was inside, they wanted it gone in a hurry. He looked down a stack of barrels in front of him. But they didn’t want to move these.

Realizing that he had limited time, Coin started to head back the way he came. Then he stopped, a thought suddenly coming to him.

The only entrance I know of is at the Moonlight. We need to bring a team down here to check all of this, but how will we be able to get a whole group past the owner and down here without being seen or noticed? Coin ran through possible solutions in his head—he couldn’t think of any, aside from breaking and entering. That certainly wasn’t an option.

I need to find another way in and out, Coin resolved. He would have to work quickly.

He scanned over each of the possible paths. Aside from the way he’d come and sewage-smelling one he’d rather avoid, there were four choices. Not having a better way of deciding, and being a man that lacked creativity, Coin chose the closest one and pressed on as quickly as he could.

His pace was as fast as was possible, given the cramped quarters, and as he moved by the viridescent light, Coin began to wonder. How in the Web could such a place be built here? Surely someone would have noticed, if this Changeling Society had made it recently. The more likely answer was that this was something much older than the secret order—built long enough ago that it was forgotten, and then re-purposed. Coin smiled, despite himself. ‘Caves beneath Canterlot…”

They can move without being seen, meet without risk of discovery, Coin thought, impressed at the ingenuity. It’s no wonder that no one saw Dabrius moving from the docks to Nightside—he was beneath them the whole time.

The only logical conclusion Coin could come to now was that Dabrius Joh was in close contact with the Changeling Society. How else could he have known of this place? The ambassador had been seen entering Nightside the night of Sir Harald’s murder, and now it was clear how he managed to appear there. There really is a conspiracy between the Society and Dabrius, Coin was forced to admit. But there was no way it could have involved the murder. Coin would not start believing that.

He peered ahead in the tunnel—black and green intermingled in front of him, and no end was in sight. He bit his lip, unsure if he should continue in this direction or turn back to try another. A sound he heard answered that question immediately.

A soft, dampened buzz was coming from somewhere ahead. Murmuring, the tapping of feet. Coin’s eyes widened as he moved closer, panicking only slightly. Changelings? He hadn’t expected to actually see anyone in the tunnels, nor did have even the semblance of a plan for such a thing happening.

He saw, though, that his fears were unwarranted. The sound wasn’t coming from someone in the tunnel—it was coming from above. As he cautiously pushed forward, he found a room that branched out from the main path—bare, save for a green heart illuminating it slightly on the wall. And a ladder.

The noises were coming from the city over Coin’s head. He was not certain how, but the chamber was built in such a way that one could hear more distinctly the things outside. Perhaps a way to monitor others? Coin mused as he looked up the ladder. Or to make sure an entrance is secure before opening it?

Coin climbed upward. The sounds of the city grew more distinct as he grew closer, some noises more clear than others. The ladder did not go up far, and before long Coin stood before another green heart on the wall. He went to work right away, feeling along the surface, probing it for the regular irregularity. Coin’s hand caught on the grip soon enough, and carefully—while keeping an ear to the sounds outside—he nudged the hidden doorway open.

He kept it open only just enough to peer out. As best as Coin could tell, the door opened into an alleyway, shadowed and secluded. He saw the faintest hints of people moving on the connected street, but there were few of them, and they were not paying the darkened spot Coin crouched in any mind. Knowing that he need more information to be able to find this spot again, Coin edged the door open just slightly, then a little more when he saw no one outside, until he was fully out in the alley.

Keeping himself hidden, Coin tentatively stepped out to get a better bearing of where he was.He only gave a furtive glance out into the street, to try and conceal himself, but thankfully he did not need to look for long—he glimpsed a street sign before long. ‘Saffrongem Street’ was the name, apparently.

Coin was taking note of the look of the nearby buildings, committing them to memory, when he heard someone approaching.

Voices and footsteps, coming from behind him. Panicking, Coin twisted around—there was no one there yet, but the noises were growing closer. He rushed back to the hidden doorway, still ajar, and began to slip inside. The voices were so close that Coin was sure they were almost upon him. He shut the door immediately, and leaned against the wall, afraid to breath.

The footsteps stopped for a moment. Coin could just hear a voice through the wall, just barely.

“No, should I have?” said another, muffled but familiar. “Don’t dodge my questions, fool. You need my help.”

“We both want them gone,” the first continued, talking over his companion. “But you don’t have the means to do it. Slinking in the shadows won’t solve the problem. The guards are mine. I’ll make good use of them.”

“We are grateful for the help, beyond reckoning. Your city will only be the first step, my lord, but what can be done without you?”

The first man laughed. “Nothing, as always. Meanwhile, the search continues.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” the other man said calmly. “I did not mean to cast any doubt on you. Clearly it is your subordinates at fault.”

“Hmm. Yes, that’s right. The idiots are combing this city, every possible place, but there’s still no sign of the Society. I’ll have them found, and when I do…”

“Perhaps,” the other man ventured cautiously, “it would be best to let them be, for now. How much longer can you delay things at the Palace? There is no need—"

"No," shouted the first. “I will find them, and you’ll know your place. They’re here, I know it.” At that moment, Coin felt a thump at the wall behind him, jolting him out of his place. “I don’t care about your doubts, they exist, and they can’t hide forever.”

“Don’t concern yourself. I have a warm welcome in mind for the lot of them.”

“As my lord commands…” Coin heard the voices grow more distant—they were walking away. “Our partnership will change the… freedom… soon be lord… Sir Harald’s death.”

“...all worth it, in the end… horse-lovers dead… masks… speak to Barr about…”

Curiosity had gotten the best of him again, but now he was running severely short on time. He sped back the way he came as quickly as he could manage, down the corridor, past the central room, back up the path he’d come from. He came as close as he could to running, moving past black and green into darkness, with only the stones and the tiny speck of his lighter to guide him. Once he thought himself lost, until he reached the door at last, out of breath. He wrenched it open, and found himself back at the Moonlight once again, the sun higher in the sky than it was when he left.

It was not a second too soon, nor could he have been a second closer to being too late. Coin had his hand upon the handle of the bar’s door when it was wrenched open in front of him, causing him to stagger backward.

Cellia looked out at him apologetically from the doorway. “Oh! My apologies again, Sir Coin! I just finished, but I didn’t find you upstairs. Are you—"

“I’m fine,” Coin said with a wave of his hand, trying not to pant in front of her. Explaining why he was out of breath would be difficult, to say the least. “And finished, as well.”

“Ah, good to hear, sir. I am proud to say,” Cellia remarked proudly, “that my measurements are far better now than they were before — now the whole scene is truly mapped out.”

Coin was still trying to figure out why anyone would need a diagram of the bar when Cellia ventured a question of her own. “So,” she said, “what did you find?”

He opened his mouth, instinctively ready to give the truthful account of everything, when he stopped himself. “Ah,” he stammered instead.

It was only proper for an Honest Friend to hate a lie, and natural for him to tell the truth to his fellow Moderators. They aren’t your fellow Moderators anymore, a voice in Coin’s head corrected him. He recalled what Lady Violet had said: ‘this talk of Changelings is not to reach anyone else… especially Moderators.’ What had he found?

Coin swallowed, and went against every instinct he had. “Nothing that I wasn’t expecting,” he said quickly. “More or less.”

Coin Counter was an Honest Friend, and an appalling liar, but thankfully Cellia had no reason to believe he was deceiving her. “Well, at least we have verified what we initially thought. Lord Halforth has always stressed the importance of being certain.” She turned herself slightly, to leave. “At any rate, we had best be going, if there is nothing else. There are other places of interest to investigate.”

They both walked out, crossing past the counter. Cellia bowed to the owner as they departed. “Thank you for your patience,” she said to him.

The bartender just rolled his eyes and went back to work. They left without another word.

They walked on through the docks, seeing them every bit as run-down as before. A listless crowd wandered around Cellia and him, aimless. One person did stand out, however.

Leaning against a pole outside of some trade house, Coin glimpsed a man in mismatched clothing, with spiky hair dyed a light blue—an Animan. A familiar Animan as well: the same one that had accosted Coin and Donnet and the others a few days prior, all in the same docks. The Animan was surrounded by the same gaggle of troublemakers, if Coin’s memory served, and he seemed to notice that Coin was there as well.

The two locked eyes as Coin walked by. The man stared at him hatefully. Coin did his best to ignore him.

“So,” Cellia said as they went back through the Winged Gate, “our next locale will be a little further across town. Not so far, but hopefully what we find will help.”

Coin merely nodded, not feeling up to talking right now. The lie was still sitting like a rock in his stomach. He had been telling himself that it was all for the greater good and for the fandom, but somehow it still felt wrong. In the Authority, he had been trained to suppress individual feelings for the sake of the common good of all, but now he wondered if the Honest Friend would approve of his actions. Or is this just because I’m lying to a Moderator? Coin thought, conflicted. The Logos is Greater, he mused, but is it greater than Her?

“I am not my true self. I am weakness from dependence on the world. My true self is virtue through the Logos and the Way. Leave the world, and find virtue. It is only through self-death that I may find my death-self, and it is only in my death-self that good can be done.”

— Recitation from The Books of Black and White, as said by the Moderators

The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XXIII: Sight Unseen