The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XXXIV: Make New Friends . . .

        Removed from the dungeon, Dabrius Joh seemed much improved. New clothes had replaced the filthy rags he was reduced to wearing, with grime washed away and wounds covered. Though he had not shaved the wild black beard that sprung from his face, Dabrius did not seem half as ill as he once did: color was returning to his skin, and his hollow cheeks had begun to fill out again. In the waning lamplight, amid the bruises and cuts, one could see more clearly than before his small, black eyes, and how they glinted with a firm, melancholic resolve. That same tenacity had let Dabrius survive much so far, and showed no sign of leaving now.

        Coin could admire the stubbornness. Without it, Dabrius might not have lasted through whatever horrors he had seen. At the moment, however, there was little that could be more frustrating.

        “My answer is the same,” Dabrius said. He was lying down in his small bed, propped against a bare wall, and staring towards the other side of the room.

        Standing next to Coin, Lady Violet sighed. “My friend, I understand why you feel this must be done. Were there another option, I would gladly take it. But staying silent now is neither right nor wise, not for the fandom or the Changelings or any other. Or to you.”

        “I’m not in a position to weigh what’s right for me,” Dabrius replied plainly. “I will not have people kill themselves on my behalf.”

        “Oh?” Lady Violet asked pointedly. “And what happens when Halforth drags you to a gibbet and hangs a Brony ambassador as a murderer and a Modslayer? Do you suppose there will be no repercussions for the rest of our friends, if the whole Web believes that the fandom was behind this crime? You’re part of our foreign service, Dabrius, you know how fragile our relations are with the major sites, let alone the Authority. The Six smile upon protecting our friends, but what you’re doing will put them in danger all the more.”

        Dabrius closed his eyes and mulled on those words. Then he hardened himself again. “I won’t be swayed by hypotheticals. I have sworn an oath.”

        “Like Heylen Ott?” Coin asked.

        He could noticed the slightest change in Dabrius’ face. A tightening, as his jaw clenched at the name. He said nothing else.

        Lady Violet frowned, but did not sound angry when she spoke. “I can see that there is nothing more I can say. Whatever it is you choose, know that I am happier than you could know to see you out of the Martes’ hands at last. I will do all that I can to see that you do not fall back into them.” She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “If there is anything you need,” she said, “I will see that it is brought to you.”

        Dabrius did not answer, and Coin followed closely behind Violet as she opened the door and departed. Coin closed it behind them as the lady began speaking to the guards flanking either side of Dabrius’ quarters.

        Lord Halforth had allowed Greenglade to be guarded by the Bronies alone—his innocence seemed far more certain, and until reinforcements arrived from Central there was not room to spare Mods to watch doors. The Lord Moderator had demanded, however, that Dabrius be kept under closer scrutiny, so as to prevent foul play. Lady Violet had in turn insisted that a Brony eye be kept on Dabrius, for precisely the same reason. Both were adamant that the city watch be kept away. The compromise they reached was evident: on the right side of the door, dressed in black-and-white, was Percy Cartwright, and on the other in gold-and-orange was Crispin Peck.

        Crispin waved cheerfully when he saw Lady Violet and Coin exit, though they had only gone in not ten minutes prior. Percy was more talkative. “All finished, m’lady?”

        Lady Violet bowed and smiled. “Indeed, Mister Cartwright. I trust that we did not go past our allotted time?”

        Percy chuckled. “I’m not gonna grudge ya fer a minute outside o’ visitin’ hours. S’least we Mods can do, I think.”

        “My thanks,” replied Lady Violet. “I do appreciate how understanding your order has been in all this, Mister Cartwright. You’ve all been working quite hard to ensure that our friends are provided for, and that is not something I forget.” Percy seemed abashed at the praise, but she quickly pivoted. “I wonder,” she added casually, “how is Miss Ravenry? I’ve not seen her of late.”

        The complement seemed to put Percy somewhat at ease, but Coin could tell that he was having trouble answering. “Ah, well she’s just fine. Busy, y’know.”

        “She did seem rather stretched when I last saw her,” said Lady Violet.

        Percy swallowed. “Yeah, yeah I guess so. She, ah, she’s got a lot to do. She’ll be fine, though.”

        “Of that, I am certain.” Lady Violet bowed to the pair of them. “Well, I must take my leave. Promise you won’t get in trouble, Crispin?”

        Crispin smiled brightly, but shook his head. Lady Violet could only laugh, and then she and Coin departed.

        He waited until they were out of earshot. “Cellia Ravenry, my lady?” he asked.

        “Just a feeling I’ve been nursing,” Lady Violet said. “Our friends in black-and-white have seemed off-kilter, of late. If they are unraveling on us, I would know. Particularly if they are the ones who have helped us.” She shook her head. “As I said, a feeling. But there are greater things to face today, no?” She gave Coin a smile. “Ready for some hunting, sir?”

         Coin nodded, and they set on their way. Noon had long passed, and several of their friends were either on their way or in position already, prepared to investigate on the word of Heylen Ott. That word was one that Coin trusted, strained and ambiguous as it might have been. Before Coin and the lady could join the others, however, there was another member of the party they needed to collect.

            They brought themselves to the door and Lady Violet gave a knock. It took only a moment for him to answer. The door opened to reveal Prim Enproper, fully dressed but yawning.

            “I am happy to serve as always, my lady,” said Prim, looking as morose while serving as always, “but I should tell you that I am not a morning person.”

            “It’s the afternoon, Prim,” pointed out Lady Violet.

            “I’m not an afternoon person either. Morning, afternoon, evening, night of the full moon, or any cosmic limbo in between. All time and space seems to disagree with me.” He yawned again, and rubbed his eyes. “Well, no delay, is there? Let’s find some bugs.”

            So they set off, down through the Palace, and down into the city, to do just that. In a manner of speaking, at least. On their way to High-Hill Way, Coin threw back his head and checked over his shoulder more than once: he could remember what had happened the last time they had ventured into the city as a group, even outside of their colors. No one seemed to follow, as Coin might have expected. Apparently Proximo Hart had garnered some intelligence the other day that suggested the guards had been dissuaded from tailing the Bronies again. Coin did not know all the details, but it made sense: it was only at the sufferance of Lord Halforth that such activity was allowed, and any favor he had given to the Martes was now long gone. After what had happened in the past days and weeks, the Martes would be wise to start calculating more closely exactly what they could get away with. Not that they are often wise, Coin had to admit.

            In time, they reached the street, filled on either side with high-terraced buildings lined with windows on each floor. Many seemed in use by someone or other: people darted in and out the doors, figures could be seen shadowed through glass panes. Others, however, appeared abandoned. The roofs sagged, the walls crumbled, the plants had overgrown their boundaries and spilled out into street and sidewalk. No people were seen about them, nor light within. It was those houses that Coin was concerned with that day.

            The rest of the Bronies were milling about nearby, looking inconspicuous until they saw the lady approach. Even with the news from Hart, Lady Violet had insisted upon precautions, and split the party into groups that would venture down into the belly of the city separately, to hide their numbers. They were not far from the Palace, nor deep into any territory lost entirely to crime and ruin like Nightside, but still there was reason to be cautious. Now that Lady Violet had come, however, they began to surreptitiously gather.

            “Lady-Warden,” said Jorama with a small bow as she walked up. Behind her were Applewood and Appleblossom, walking side by side and embroiled in some light bickering. “I trust the way down was not troublesome?”

            “All without issue,” replied Lady Violet, sounding satisfied. “So far at least. We shall see if our luck holds.”

            “Lucky indeed,” said Prim. “I only stepped in three piles of dog leavings on the way down here, which is a new record for me. Though that doesn’t count the one in my room.” He looked up gloomily at one of the abandoned buildings. “Now that’s a proper hovel. Walls and everything. People don’t know how good they have it, these days.”

            “Speakin’ of which,” said Applewood, “how’re we handlin’ this? ‘Cause I understand we were told ‘go ‘round the abandoned house’ on this street, but I can’t say I recall bein’ told which house.”

            “You’re right to say so, Applewood,” Lady Violet admitted. “Our source could not be more specific, for reasons a bit complex to explain. Needless to say, he did his best, but there is still work for us—we must search each house we can. There are not many, but it will need to be one-by-one.” She looked over the group, and began assigning accordingly. “Appleblossom,” she said first to the pretty Honest woman, “you, Applewood, and Prim search the house in the corner.”

            Appleblossom shrugged. “Sure.” She waved for the other two to join her.

            Prim stepped over, shoulders slumped as he walked. “One request for you two. If we stumble on Changelings, and it turns out that they’re truly shapeshifters intent on marriage, do a poor man a favor and don’t save me. It’s my only chance.”

            “Alright,” Appleblossom immediately replied.

            Lady Violet turned to Coin and Jorama. “As for us,” she gestured to the closest building, “we have our mission. Shall we?”

        The house was as dilapidated as might be expected. It’s floors and walls were largely intact, but coated with such a layer of dust and dirt that Coin kicked up clouds of it as he walked. Its prior owners had cleared the place out, and the only furniture that remained were pieces not worth taking—ramshackle piles of seats and sticks once in the shapes of chairs and shelves, now falling apart. The house looked as though it had not been lit up for some time, and the only light came in through what windows were not boarded up, sickly beams pouring through grime.

        Lady Violet surveyed the scene with a wrinkled lip. “Urgh, what terrible shape. It is never a happy day when one needs to parse through filth.”

        “I am certain that we can handle the searching, Lady-Warden. You need not trouble yourself,” said Jorama.

        The lady waved a dismissive hand. “No no, I must insist. At any rate, it will be as good an opportunity as any to try out my new work gloves. They’re moleskin, you see, and that’s really the only thing moles are truly useful for,” she said sardonically. “Now,” she said with a clap of her hands, “where shall we start?”

        Coin knelt down and inspected the floor, particles flying about as he did so. “By the dust on the floor, it seems like no one has set foot in here for some time,” he said. “I would have expected footprints, were it used recently.”  Might Ott have been wrong? he worried. It would be a hard turn, for all that effort to have gone to waste.

        “Unless the tunnel we’re searching for had another entrance elsewhere in the city,” Lady Violet pointed out. “This might well just be an alternate way inside. Or, we may simply be in the wrong house—only time and work will tell, I suppose.”

        Coin nodded—it made as much sense as anything. Jorama chimed in next. “Would my Lady-Warden wish us to begin the search?”

        “Yes, let’s hop to it. Jorama, search the second level and see if anything turns up. I would hazard a guess, though, that what we’re looking for will be closer to earth, so to speak. Sir Coin and I will reconnoiter this floor and see what’s what.”

        Jorama saluted and proceeded up a rickety flight of stairs, leaving Coin and the lady below. Lady Violet stroked her chin, musing as she looked over their territory. “Go where you think is best to begin the hunt, Sir Coin. I think I shall have words with the fireplace and see if it's hiding anything. Hopefully that isn’t too cliche.”

        Coin set to work investigating the connected dining room, kneeling down to thumb at the walls and corners. After a few moments of silent work, Lady Violet piped up. “So,” she said nonchalantly, “how is your shoulder, Sir Coin?”

        Mentioning it made Coin move his arm reflexively. The sharp pain was no longer there, though it did ache. “Still stiff,” he replied, “but far better than it might be, my lady.” He had no doubt that, were it not for a good amount of luck, as well as Skylark and the other Kind Friends, it would have been much worse. A broken shoulder, a festered wound, a crippling injury. They were not possibilities that Coin wished to contemplate, past the risk though he might be. Still, a long rest and a heap of healing potions had been enough to fix the worst of it. He flex his fingers, as though making sure the arm itself was intact. “There’s no reason I can’t be up and about, if you were worried.”

        He heard Lady Violet laugh. “Skylark had a few pointed words to say about that, when she found out you’d escaped your bed. Well, I’m pleased to have you back—just don’t hurt yourself on my behalf.”

        The incongruence of it was enough to make Coin smile. “If I remember right, my lady, I’m the one meant to be part of the honor guard. By all rights, I should be the one worried about your safety.”

        In the other room, there came a very lady-like scoff. “Honestly, a lady gets herself cornered by a dozen assassins one time, and then suddenly thinks she cannot take care of herself.” There was a brief pause. “Well, they’re right, of course, but I’ve never been one to let good sense get in the way of raising complaints. I do hope you see, though, why I feel the need to be out here, in the thick of things.”

        Coin thought back to their previous conversation. “It needs to be you negotiating with the Changelings. To make promises that can be kept.” He looked more closely at a spot on the wall—he thought for a moment that it might have been a distinctive mark. Upon closer inspection, it was just a stain, the origins he did not want to speculate on. Shaking his head, he got up and began to investigate some cabinets in the kitchen. “If we find them, that is.”

“If we find them,” she sighed. “Yes, it must be one of us Wardens, and Honesty is—for all his progress—not one for negotiations. Particularly when the lives of friends are in the balance. I have a great deal to speak for, it would seem, and grave consequences for what I might say.” She grew silent for a moment, then spoke up. “What would you say to the Changelings, Sir Coin, if you were to stumble across another, one other than Heylen Ott? One who was not so sympathetic to our cause?”

“Me?” Coin asked, surprised. “My lady, I . . . well I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help. I have few Generous talents.”

“Yes, save for accounting,” she said pointedly. “And negotiating with blood-sorcerers at your own peril. And being willing to sacrifice for others. And being a fine friend.” She gave a light laugh. “You give yourself too little credit. But at any rate, indulge me. I sometimes have fancies like these—best to just answer, or else I’ll latch onto the topic like a lamprey eel.”

Coin tried to think. What would I say? It wasn’t the first time he had tried to imagine just such a situation: him before an unsympathetic audience, tasked to plead a cause that he himself had joined only recently. To ask men to put their own safety on the line for another, to risk all they had. “I . . .” He struggled imagine himself in the Changelings’ place, and drew up blank. “I truly don’t know my lady. What I would say, I mean. I don’t envy the task. Particularly with Dabrius involved.”

“Yes,” he heard her say, “that does complicate things. Dabrius has gotten into the habit of doing that, of late.” Her voice sounded troubled. “It might be easier, were he not so uncommonly stubborn. That stubbornness was partly why I sent him to begin with—a talented and experienced advocate, not likely to budge, and balanced out by Greenglade. Now though, it seems that very quality is arrayed against us. I rarely meet a man so eager to throw away his own life. Yet I will save him, if he likes it or not. The first of that is finding these Changelings—Halforth will accept nothing less as proof. Though now I wonder if even that will sway him.”

Coin frowned. “I doubt that Lord Halforth would ignore something as big as that, my lady.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree. Yet all that has happened seems to have thrown him far off-balance. A betrayal from one’s friends is never an easy thing to weather, even for a man like Lord Halforth. It seems I have responsibility for that, as well.”

“It had to be done, my lady.”

“Of course it did. Don’t mistake any idle musings on my part for regrets—I have none. Yet it seems as though every step of progress we make here just consents to another wrench being thrown at us. I will need all my cunning, to make it through this. Thankfully, I have an abundance of that.”

At that moment, Coin had in his mind a thought he’d been chewing on for some time. At first, he hesitated to say it. In the end, though, he spoke up. “My lady,” he began, “have you considered . . . well, whether it’s all needed?”

“How do you mean? Urgh!”

“What?”

“Dead rat. Bleh, Six save . . . I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“What I mean to say, my lady,” Coin continued, “is maybe we don’t have to continue with all this. The lying, I mean. The Lord Moderator admires truth. Perhaps we should just come clean with it.”

There was a pregnant pause. “No,” Lady Violet said at last, not unkindly. “No, sir, I don’t think that would work.”

“But why?” Coin did not care for deception, and he knew the Lord Moderator did not either.

“Because of all that is at risk,” she insisted. “Sir Coin, I have no doubt that this has been difficult on you, and on all my honest friends. My most honest friend, in particular. I am not unsympathetic to that. But there is good reason to keep this up, and to keep that honest friend from revealing the truth too soon.”

In a moment, Lady Violet appeared in the doorway, beautiful even out of her usual gowns, with a concerned look. “Consider a moment, how much might be lost. We have kept all of this under wraps for so long because of what might happen if we do not—what might be visited upon men and women under our protection, or ones at risk. I do not play dice with lives, particularly not those of my friends. And what you propose,” she continued firmly, “is a gamble, if I ever heard one. Even we are still unsure of the proof we are chasing, with this Society. What if Halforth will not restrain himself? What if he jumps to some conclusion of guilt? And even if he does not, what of Arcadio? If Halforth learns what we know, he will be obliged by law to reveal it to all, including the Martes.”

Lady Violet sighed, and leaned her head against the doorframe. “I have never been one for games of chance, Sir Coin. Cards and dice, I have no interest in. My dear Maddy always told me that the key to war is to win before fighting, before even the first blow. I may not seem to have any overabundance of caution, but I do not move unless I have an assurance of victory. Until the opportune moment. There is a time for everything, sir, including truth. And including . . . well, the opposite. I know which time it is now. That is why it is I that must do all this. There are good actions, and then there are good results. There must be someone willing to take bad actions for good causes, and unfortunately my honest friends—meaning no offense—are not equipped for that.” She looked at him, her expression careful but unyielding. “Do you understand what I say to you, sir? There can be no disagreement on this.”

Coin might have raised a protest. Might have. He still did not feel comfortable with it, was still concerned at the implications, and still unhappy with the role he had to play. But all the same . . .

He tried to firm his resolve. No doubts, he remembered vowing to himself. “I understand. Sorry, my lady.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, my honest friend. As I said, I am not unsympathetic to your position. There is a moment . . . mmm?”  

The lady’s voice trailed off, and Coin immediately heard why. The door to the house had opened. When Coin returned to the foyer, he saw that Appleblossom had joined them.

            Lady Violet turned to face her. “Might I dare to hope,” she said, “that you have found something?”

            Appleblossom gave a small smile. “Yep.”

            They gathered themselves quickly, and left one empty house behind them. The one they travelled to was much the same: dilapidated, dusty, and dreary to say the least. If anything, it was in even worse shape: large holes were punched through the walls, and sections of the floor torn up. Appleblossom led them inside first: Prim and Applewood were nowhere to be seen. But against the back wall was a door—not a hidden one, but rather a usual cellar door, yawning upon like a great black mouth. “Here,” said Appleblossom, leading them down the stairs.

            The basement was as grim as the rest of the building: bare stone, smooth and bleak, with trash collected on the floor and cobwebs in the corner. Standing in the middle were Prim and Applewood, looking pleased with themselves.

            “Now, my lady, I know it ain’t polite to brag,” said Applewood with a cheeky grin, “but I don’t exaggerate to say that I’ve singlehandedly saved this entire operation.”

            Appleblossom snorted. “Right.”

            “If it weren’t for my clumsy feet, we mightn’t have quite literally tripped over this ‘ere thing,” Applewood continued. He pointed to a spot on the floor: a single brick, which had been raised slightly higher on the floor than the others.

            “Experience would have me assume,” said Lady Violet, “that it is more than a mere brick.”

            Prim drew himself up to the spot on the floor. “You know what they say, my lady, about what happens when you assume,” he said. “You’re always right, and never disappointed. Or at least, I think that’s how it goes.” He pressed his foot down on the brick. Beside him, the nearest wall made a slight click.

            Prim waved over Appleblossom, and she approached the wall. Pressing her hands against it, she pushed with all her strength. It began to swing inward, like a door.

            Lady Violet clapped her hands in excitement. “Now that is what I like to see! Applewood, keep tripping over things like that, and I shall have a medal drawn up for your feet posthaste.” She peered into the darkened passage that lay ahead, then motioned to Jorama for a lantern. “We have a busy afternoon ahead of us. You all know the proper protocol, should one of us encounter an erstwhile Changeling, so I shan’t bother reciting any more of it. Let’s get to it.”

Jorama took the lead, illuminating the way forward. There was a small set of stairs, then a familiar tunnel, one which Coin was set to plunge into—already, he could see the line of green stone, where the lantern-light caught it, marking the path forward. It was not the same tunnel that he had explored earlier—impossible, since none of the passages beneath the Moonlight had led to this one—but the similarity was clear. This one, though, might have someone else already inside.

And what to say to him? Coin wondered again. Apparently the basic answer was ‘talk to Lady Violet,’ but Coin assumed that he needed to lead with something better than that. In the quiet that had descended between the six of them, he began to contemplate what a more appropriate greeting would be.

It was not long, though, before that silence was broken. “Now see,” said Applewood as they stepped into the dark, “what I don’t get is why they call themselves a ‘Changeling Society’.”

Appleblossom groaned. “Again?”

            “They are hidden,” Jorama explained. “And in secret places, like tunnels. And hide in plain sight, you see? And . . . they like green?” She thought a moment, as though making sure that was all, then smiled triumphantly. “All of these things are similar.”

            “No, I mean like it’s an evil name,” Applewood clarified. “By the Works, Changelings are an unfriendly lot.”

            “Were,” pointed out Appleblossom.

            “Y’know what I mean. If I had a secret club, I mighta named it something a touch nicer.”

        “There’s a bit of a dearth of secret societies in the Works, you must admit,” said Prim flatly. “Choices for appropriate names are slim. Besides, what club would you be leader of, Applewood? ‘Apple-Lovers Anonymous’?”

        “ ‘Strange Question-Askers Society’?” asked Jorama.

        “ ‘Cutetastically Fantastics’?” Applewood suggested with a cheeky grin.

        “ ‘Idiots’?” added Appleblossom with a giggle.

        “ ‘Ey!” hooted Applewood with a smile, giving his counterpart an affectionate hit on the arm. “Not nice! Yah ain’t joinin’ my club, whatever it is.” The two of them laughed.

“Enough of that, now,” interjected Lady Violet, though with a smile. “There’s work to be done down here, and low voices will make it easier. We might not be alone.”          

 There’s an intimidating thought. At the bottom of the stairs, he could see the tunnels opening. Two stark, emerald lines stretched forth, catching the lantern light and then plunging forward into darkness. Two paths.            

Lady Violet stood in the front, and considered the choices. “Ordinarily, I might have had us all move as one group,” she admitted. “But time is of the essence. There’s no telling when this Changeling might leave. Assuming he was ever truly down here, or has not left already.” She looked back at the rest. “I think it best that we divide into two groups, one for each.”            
“Perhaps, Lady-Warden,” said Jorama sheepishly, “it might be being best if you remained here.”            

There came a very lady-like scoff. “Not a chance. I wish to speak with this man face-to-face, and I will not accomplish that by staying behind. Besides,” she said, observing her surroundings, “I would rather not remain in such a dreary place alone. It is hardly the kind of parlor I am accustomed to.”            

Jorama bowed to the suggestion, and Lady Violet set to work dividing them. “Jorama, take Sir Coin and Prim down the right. I shall take the left with our two resident Apples. Someone needs to make sure you two behave,” she said with a sly look. Applewood had the grace to look abashed, while Appleblossom gave an equally coy smile in return. “Cover your lamps, as well. No sense in giving ourselves away.”

Jorama nodded, and fixed a wax-paper screen over the window of the lamp. The light within was enough to illuminate the green stones and reveal what was close, but not enough to reach far away—such that someone far off in the tunnels wouldn’t see the shine from around a corner.

Lady Violet bowed to them, as Applewood took out a lamp of his own. “Happy hunting. And remember, if you encounter our friend . . .”            

“Bring him to you, without another word,” finished Prim. “I swear, my lady, we won’t give him as much as a ‘howdy-do’ without you seeing him first.”            

With nothing else, they broke off into their respective groups, tracing their way down the tunnels. The cavernous depths were a mite wider than those Coin had encountered before, but clearly of the same make and purpose: maintenance tunnels, as he understood, now repurposed for a more secretive use. The Changelings were resourceful, if nothing else. And well hidden.            

Too well, so far, Coin had to conclude. Fair enough that it kept them out of Arcadio’s hands, but he had hoped they might have at least tried to contact the Collective that others claimed they served. No such effort had ever been made, save for Heylen Ott, and that was as tortured and vague a definition of ‘help’ as there ever was. Not that it is any fault of Ott’s, of course. It would hardly be right to put too much blame upon the Society either, seeing what they had at risk. Still, they might at least let us talk to them. The terror of Arcadio must be strong. Or maybe . . .             

As his group walked along, making as little noise as they could manage, Coin recalled what Lady Violet had said earlier. Maybe that has something to do with it. Concern with the Warden of Honesty revealing all. Coin was not certain how far the Warden’s reputation reached—he himself had heard only rumors, prior to converting, and most were about how the Warden was statue brought to life or a disguised demon or other such nonsense. But then, he was only a recent convert—there was no telling how much these Changelings might know. Maybe they are afraid that any contact at all will expose them, seeing that some among us might feel obliged to reveal them. If that were the case, it would be all the more reason for Lady Violet, a very different Warden, to be the first to meet with them.            

That conversation with the lady still weighed somewhat on his mind. Truthfully, he did not know what to think, regarding her words about her role. Coin understood the need, of course. Revealing their knowledge now, showing their hand too early, could well prove a fatal mistake, and not just for Dabrius Joh either. There was good reason to keep it all hidden. Yet he could still feel a lingering sense of wrongness about the whole thing, as well. Wrong to lie to the Lord Moderator—both his Mod-trained side and his new calling as an Honest Friend agreed on that, perjury being what it was. Yet also wrong in concealing it all from other men and women in the Collective, those outside of Lady Violet’s small circle. Part of him thought very much that they deserved to know as much as he did—he certainly didn’t feel special enough to have that knowledge apart from them. But still, he knew the necessity was there. It was strange, how reason and feeling seemed to joust at one another.            

He pushed the feeling away. What happened to ‘no more doubts,’ hmm? It was not his place to second-guess orders, not right now at least. Concerns could come later—the game was afoot now.            

At that moment, though, ‘the game’ came to an abrupt halt. There was another fork in the path. On the right, a passage continued straight but then curved off slightly. On the left, there was a tunnel that abruptly stopped and seemed to open to a new path at the end. Holding up the lantern, Jorama looked down each, then turned back.            

“Well,” she said in a low voice, “what shall it be?”            

“We shouldn’t split up any further,” Prim said, equally quiet. “I’m lonely enough as it is, without making it worse. I say we take one and see where it leads.”            

Coin nodded in agreement. He hadn’t been certain exactly why Lady Violet had chosen Prim of all people to accompany them, but Prim did seem to have a good head, even amid all his complaints and oddities.

Jorama took the lead, and ventured down the left side, Coin and Prim in tow. The dim light of the covered lantern only barely painted the walls, giving the green line a faint glow. Soon, the path turned, and they began to snake past corners, more and more as they went. The tunnels became shorter, as they started folding over again and again. Still, no new ways opened up.

Coin was about to take another step, when he felt Jorama’s hand press on his chest. She turned to him and Coin, and pressed a finger to her lips. Silently, with bated breath, Coin looked over her.

Another corner lay ahead. There was a faint light coming from around it.

Coin sucked in a breath. Jorama made a hand signal to say ‘Stay,’ then handed the lantern off to Prim in the back, who set it on the ground. Silently, she began to sidle towards the light. Coin followed, though not too closely.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, but Coin tried to focus on the light ahead. It was hard to tell from just how far away it was coming, but it did not appear to be moving—perhaps a lit lamp on a wall, or else one set down while its owner worked. Or in the hand of someone waiting. All he could tell is that it was not the light of the other group, having been turned around and set to collision by the twisting passages. That light did not come from a covered lantern, like that which Lady Violet’s team carried. It was someone else.

Jorama reached the corner, her back flat against the wall. Without a sound, she peeked her head just barely around the side for half a second. Then, she signalled Coin to move up, before stepping  ahead herself.

Coin caught his breathing as he did so. The connected hallway they entered was shorter still, but the light coming from around the next corner glowed stronger, burned closer. They were near, whoever they were. Very, very near.

‘What would you say to the Changelings, Sir Coin, if you were to stumble across another,’ he recalled Lady Violet asking. He still had no answer. Yet, he was about to find out. Jorama took a single step closer.

“Is someone there?” a voice cried out, in a panic. The entire group froze. A man’s voice, but not one Coin recognized. The accent did not sound Devien. “Pen? You’re not here too, no? Who is there?”

Jorama looked back to Coin and Prim, eyes wide, as though asking what to do now. She pointed towards the lit corner. Coin picked up on the meaning immediately. He’s close. Close as we’re likely to get, now that he’s spooked. We can make contact now, or hold back. Hold back long enough for him to escape. He released a quiet breath. No real choice, then. Coin nodded to Jorama, and Prim did the same.

Jorama acknowledged it, but hesitated. For a half second, she stood. Then, drawing herself up, she spoke. “Hello?” Jorama ventured, still quiet. “We . . . we are wishing to speak w—”

Suddenly, the light vanished, and they heard the sounds of a man running in the dark.

Jorama’s eyes widened, then she flew off. “We are friends, friends from the Collective! Stop! Damnations, go, go go!”

Coin ran without thinking, following behind Jorama as she darted beyond the corner. From behind him, Coin could hear Prim curse and snatch up the lantern, but he did not stop to look: they were in a mad dash now.

The room the Changeling had once haunted was before them now, the light of Prim’s lantern only barely illuminating it. He wrestled off the wax sheet, filling the place with the glow: it was a tiny place, empty save for a table and the entrances to two tunnels. And a Changeling in only one, Coin thought in a flash, his attention switching hastily between the two. How do we know which—

“This way!” Jorama said, peeling down the nearer hallway without a second’s hesitation. “Footsteps down the way, follow!” she cried as she ran, leaving Coin and Prim to follow as best they could.

They ran. Ran and ran, as the halls grew ever shorter and the truncated passages melted away behind them, the three of them coursing through in a frenzy. In was hard, moving fast in a confined space, but Jorama led the pack with long strides, practically leaving Coin and Prim in the dust behind her.

“Follow!” she called behind her, disappearing behind the next corner. “I’ve prey on the mind, and he will not escape. Follow!”

Coin did as well as he could, lurching down the same way she took, tracing the walls with his hand as he ran. The exertion was hard on his shoulder, though he could still keep pace well enough. Behind him, he could hear Prim following behind, shaking the lantern as his breath shortened.

Still, they followed, and Coin began to catch up. The way seemed endless: he could not tell how long they had truly been running, only that the twisted tunnels seemed to go on endlessly. Or not. Coin, in his haste, tripped as he hit his foot against something raised on the floor. Stairs, stairs leading upward, and Jorama taking them two at a time as she moved further and further into a great, dark above. But over the sound of her running and of Prim lagging behind, Coin thought he could make out something else. The distant, frantic motion of someone ahead, fleeing in a panic.

Coin sprang up and pushed himself as hard as he could. He was almost at pace with Jorama—Six save me, but she runs fast! —and was nearly at her side when she shouted into the darkness ahead. “Come back! The Lady Violet wishes only to speak, no harm is meant! Halt yourself, by the Honest!”

The man did not answer, whoever he was. Instead, his panicked footsteps only seemed to quicken, leading Jorama and Coin further and further. Light was growing slightly dimmer—Prim was falling behind, his breath growing shorter, but Jorama and Coin could not let up for even a second.

Suddenly, ahead of them, there came a great noise, and light poured in before them. The stairs ended just ahead, and as Coin and Jorama cleared the top, they saw a new hallway, one that ended with an half-opened door. And from the crack in that door, light. The Changeling had gone straight through.

Throwing herself against the door, Jorama burst into the room ahead, Coin at her heels. But the door must have moved more easily than thought: with all her weight into shoving it aside, Jorama stumbled, and Coin—a hair’s width away—crashed into her. They both staggered slightly into the room . . . and Coin, for a moment, paused.

It was the ballroom. The eastern ballroom, the one where Heylen Ott and Byrios Amberten and all the others had been. Where they had suddenly disappeared and reappeared without a trace. One more mystery solved, Coin thought.

But there was no time for thinking. Coin and Jorama collected themselves immediately, and the Sajlic woman wasted no time. She scanned left and right, both places where open doors welcomed them. “Which?” she muttered. “Where did he—”

        Then, they heard the sounds of steps. Ones coming closer, this time. There were voices along with them. “. . .  running about? Did you hear that? S’from the ballroom.”

        Jorama and Coin looked at each for half a second, then darted to the open passageway. Prim was unlucky enough to appear just that moment, gasping and wheezing. “I’m here, I’m here. Wha— where’d—” he struggled to ask.

“Back!” Jorama hissed, not above a whisper. “Six save us, back back back!”

“I just got here, now y— oof!” Prim grunted as Jorama shoved him back inside. Coin jumped in, and she wrenched the hidden door shut.

It was not a moment too soon. They were barely back inside when they heard someone on the other side of the door. “. . . someone here.”

“It was prob’ly nuthin’,” said another, deeper voice.

“You always say it was nothin’! Cripes, why would people even hire guards if they won’t check on strange noises and such. C’mon, we’re searching ‘round ‘ere.”

The second voice groaned, but both began to trail off. The trio held their silence for a few, long minutes. Then, when the threat had passed, Jorama let out a groan of her own.

“Balefire and damnations!” Jorama swore. “Until I was ten-and-six, I ran in the Mines of Moaria, yet now I cannot even catch some skinny nobleman in his silks! Our quarry is long fled now.” She banged the back of her head against the stone wall in frustration.

“Damn my mortal legs, if you’ll damn anything,” said Prim, seeming as much disappointed. He was still half out of breath, panting while he spoke. “The human body was not meant to run that much. Especially one as flabby as mine.”

        Coin sighed, and tried to let his frustrations out with them. That had been their closest chance to meeting one of the Society aside from Ott yet, and they’d come up with nothing. It made him want to grit his teeth, yet there was nothing to be done now. The Changeling was long gone, fled into the balance, and they had little to use in identifying him. A voice, perhaps, though he barely said three sentences before he fled without another word. “Did you see what he looked like at all?” Coin asked.

        Jorama shook her head. “The man is fleet, whoever he is being. And vanished, now.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “We must return. The Lady-Warden will be wanting to hear this.”

        They walked back, now in silence and with the weight of failure on their shoulders. It took some time, but eventually they reached the entrance of the tunnels again, and found Lady Violet waiting for them, Applewood and Appleblossom in the corner arguing playfully about something.

        “A-ha! And now the intrepid explorers return,” Lady Violet said cheerfully. “Our half is mapped out, but we had little of note happen. No Changelings, unfortunately.” She tilted her head at them. “What’s wrong? Was your adventure more . . . lively?”

        Jorama, Coin, and Prim exchanged glances. Then, Jorama sighed and began to explain.

        Coin had expected Lady Violet to be more upset. Instead, she listened carefully, hanging on every word. More than once, she asked Jorama to repeat a detail, or had Prim and Coin verify if it was correct. By the end of it, she was silent, putting together pieces in her mind.

        “At least we know where the tunnel is ending,” Jorama said sheepishly, as she reached the end. “A way to the Palace might be of some usefulness. Might.”

        Lady Violet was still in contemplation. “Pen,” she said.

        “Shoot, didn’t bring one,” said Applewood.

        “No, I mean that the Changeling said that name, and in an accent that was not Devien, so far as one can tell. ‘Pen.’ He asked after that one before he ran, did he not?”

        Coin nodded. “He did. Though I’ve never heard a name like that.”

        An inspired look crept onto Lady Violet’s features. “I may have. May have, mind you. I shall need to check with someone more intimately familiar with the Palace and its people to be sure. Thankfully,” she said with a smile, “I have just such a man.”

        “It would have been being better, if I had not let him escape,” Jorama grumbled.

        “Catching him would have been a fine thing,” Lady Violet admitted, “but it was no fault of yours. I know the three of you well enough to know you did your best, and I thank you for that.” The three of them looked around, abashed. Coin hardly felt right, getting thanks for failing. “At any rate,” the lady continued, “you should not underestimate what we have caught. The name, yes, but another benefit as well. It occurs to me that every one of these tunnels we find is one more that the Changelings can no longer use, if they wish to be secret. One fewer place to hide, and how many can remain? Do not berate yourselves—we have made certain progress, at least.”

        Jorama still grumbled under her breath, enough to show that she was not wholly convinced. Still, at least they could take some comfort in what had happened. If only a little.

        “We should finish exploring the rest of this complex, before we leave,” continued the lady. “No sense in leaving a job half-done. Although, I think that Sir Coin has other business to attend to.” She turned to him next. “I think it is time for you to debrief with Lord Halforth again—any silence on our part will seem suspicious. Just avoid breathing a word of this to him, for now. Remember what we spoke of.”

Coin nodded. “You’re certain you don’t need me here, my lady?”

“Your position as liaison is as unique as mine, Sir Coin. Best to make use of our talents as duty demands, I think. At any rate, we shall speak once both our duties are done.” She gave a bow. “Best of luck, Sir Coin. Check in with me once you’re finished, won’t you?”

        With that, Coin took his leave. Leaving the house, he was surprised to see that night had already fallen across the city: his time in the vaults below had been longer than he expected, apparently. As he went on the short journey back to the high hill, however, his thoughts were fixed solely on what had happened. He was disappointed, though Lady Violet had assuaged that, at least a little. He was curious, though, about the entrance they had found to the Palace, the one hidden in the ballroom. Coin had combed that room to find an opening, and turned up nothing. Might it only open from one side? he considered. Perhaps, though that raised its own questions. Maybe someone was already inside the tunnel, to open it for them? The Changelings are coordinated, if nothing else. Eventually, there was no time left for idle thoughts: he had reached Lord Halforth’s chambers. Oddly, there was no one outside, but the door had been left open. Coin let himself in, and surveyed the scene for the Lord Moderator.

        The room was entirely empty, filled only with what bare furniture Halforth had allowed to remain. Only one other thing stood out—a metal cylinder resting on the table. Coin recognized it at once: it was the same container from which Lord Halforth would pour himself that brown, steaming drink that Coin was certain was not tea or coffee, whatever it was.

The Lord Moderator must be out, Coin surmised. He resolved himself to wait until Halforth returned, and sat down at the table. After a moment passed, his attention turned back to the cylinder. Just then, a certain, familiar curiosity rose in Coin.

He looked left, then right, then leaned to peer into the other rooms. No one was present, so far as he could tell. Hesitantly, he reached out to Halforth’s drink and gently took it. After one last scan around him, Coin unscrewed the top. What is it that even Halforth would like? Coin gingerly sniffed at it, and recognized the smell. Incredulous, he tried once more. It couldn’t be…

Hot chocolate? Coin realized in disbelief.

“It’s the only luxury he allows himself, you see. Very pious.”

Coin was so startled that he almost dropped the container—recovering quickly, he turned to see the source of an unfamiliar voice behind him. A woman that Coin did not know, in a Moderator’s uniform.

She was taller than Coin, and very slim, with long legs and arms that were covered by a white habit. Her face was pale, graced with pretty features: a small nose, full lips, blue eyes that seemed to shine, and an unblemished, almost ageless complexion—Coin found it hard to guess at how old she might have been. Her head was covered with a hat, but poking out from beneath were sleek bangs of blond hair, sun-gold and shining. But her smile was what caught Coin’s attention the most: a happy look broad and brilliant enough to set dimples in her cheeks. Coin thought it the kind of smile that filled an entire room, and every inch of it sincere.

She laughed upon seeing Coin’s panic—a bright, well-meaning laugh. “Forgive me, sir,” the Moderator said with a mischievous look, “I truly couldn’t help myself. Here, I had best take that.”

Coin handed over the cylinder dumbly, his mind just catching up. “Ah,” he began hesitantly, face going red. “Ah, my apologies, but I don’t believe that we’ve met bef—”

He stopped, and his eyes widened, as he looked more closely at the uniform the woman wore. At first, Coin had thought it might have been Peacekeeper: certainly the white color would suggest as much to a layman. But Coin knew the Authority, and knew well enough that she was not gowned in a mere Peacekeeper’s clothes. A PK might wear white, but even that uniform would carry some black upon it: on the trim, the fringe, the gloves, and the hat. This Moderator had none of those: it was pure white, stark white, free of any impurity upon it. Even the hammer at her belt was made of ivory, not ebony. And the hat resting on her head . . .

Breath caught in Coin’s throat as he realized what he was looking at. Oh no, he could only think.

The Moderator did not seem to notice the fear in his eyes. “Oh, how rude of me!” she exclaimed, keeping the smile. “Apologies, I haven’t made a proper introduction.” She doffed her white hat daintily, and bowed her head. “I am Lord Repay-the-Sinner-with-Death Albright, of the Knight Prefects. Honestly, I prefer Aly, but Dyren is quite fussy with formalities, so you should probably just call me ‘Lord Albright.’ It’s very nice to meet you.”

Reflexively, Coin sprang to his feet and offered as low a bow as he could. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice as he found the words to respond. “Likewise,” he could only stammer out. “I… ah, I had not expected to see a Prefect in the city.”

She winked at him. “Well, we aim to surprise. I imagine you’re waiting for Dyren, though. He’s on his way up at this moment, actually—I’ll fetch him.”

Without another word, Lord Albright gave a whistle, and Coin was shocked to see two others appear out of the shadows of the other rooms. Coin had sworn there had been no one there—he had not seen anyone in the cursory check he’d done before embarrassing himself—and yet two figures stepped out. Neither spoke, and both wore grim expressions as they moved out at Lord Albright’s call, but what Coin noticed most were their white uniforms.

More Prefects. Coin’s mind was racing from the implications. There were six branches of the Authority, six Holy Orders that policed the Web. Each had their own task, and each was trained to serve with the highest level of devotion. The white hats, though, were something else entirely. No other branch had so few operatives, and yet so much power behind them, for they spoke with the same voice as the High Administration and answered solely to them. Only the most grave and dangerous of crimes demanded their attention: fleshtrappers, rogue cybramancers, pirate kings and apostate warlords and all other threats that none other could handle. And the methods to deal with such threats . . .

Coin swallowed, and found his throat dry. To even see one Prefect was a sign that something, somewhere, had gone hideously wrong.

And there are at least three here, right at this moment, Coin thought. He tried and count the reasons why a Prefect would appear in the Dreamweave, and did not like a single one of them. Six save me, what is going on?

Lord Albright looked over her two subordinates warmly. “Cotton, Marcus, could you both please leave us a moment and tell Lord Halforth I’m in his office? He should be down the hall, after a left turn, coming from the main entrance staircase.”

The Knight Prefects did not speak nor nod in acknowledgment, but simply walked out, their expressions as hard as before. Coin thought, just for a single frightening moment, that one of them had looked at him accusatorily. Coin again swallowed hard, just as Lord Albright spoke up.

“I certainly hope that you weren’t kept waiting long,” said Lord Albright, tracing her gloved finger absently around the rim of the metal container. “These are busy times, of course, and the Logos’ work is never quite done. But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about how busy things have been here, hmm?” The laugh she gave seemed perfectly sincere. “I must say, I was hoping we would meet. Your work has been most impressive thus far, Sir Coin.”

Coin’s mouth dropped just slightly. “You . . . know my name?”

Lord Albright beamed. “Oh yes! I know everything.” She continued to trace her finger along the edge, and hummed a little tune to herself. “Three, two,” she said, then pointed to the door. “One.”

Lord Halforth entered silently, with the two Knight Prefects following behind. The Lord Moderator did not seem at all surprised his counterpart’s presence, nor ill-at-ease. “Sister Albright,” he said curtly as he crossed into the room

“Brother Halforth!” she answered cheerfully, the dimpled smile spread on her face. “I was just introducing myself to Sir Coin here. He seems very able.”

“How fascinating. I would thank you to put down my drink.”

        “Of course, of course, no need to fuss, Brother.” Lord Albright set down the cylinder and stepped lightly over to a seat, plopping down into it. She offered a knowing look to Coin, before leaning back in the chair blissfully.            

“You seem to have already met Sister Albright,” Halforth said to Coin offhandedly. He settled himself slowly into the remaining chair, and studied the man across from him. “The panicked look tells me,” he continued as he snatched his drink away from Lord Albright, “that you had not expected a Prefect to grace us with her presence.”            

Coin cast a nervous look to Lord Albright. She was looking idly around the room, as though not paying attention. Coin knew better—Prefects always had a reason for what they did, though they answered to no one but the High Administration itself. “I hope there is nothing amiss. My lord.”            

Lord Halforth rolled his eyes. “If you think there is nothing amiss in this city, you must have been sleepwalking through the last month and more. Or else you are as talented at feigning ignorance as your lady.”            

Coin did not like the implications of that. He suspects, just as they said. He suspects, and now there’s a Prefect afoot. “I, ah, I have come for the debriefing, my lord. About the progress thus far, I mean.” He glanced back toward the door—no one else was coming. “Will Cellia be joining us?” She had always been present, whenever Coin had been tasked to speak with the Lord Moderator before. It was her responsibility, as he understood.            

“She will not,” Lord Halforth answered curtly. “Having subordinates work on my behalf and report to me has proven to be a waste of time, and I will not have her waste mine. Nor will I allow that from you, so get to the point. I expect you will tell me that you have found nothing of interest—am I wrong?”            

Coin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, preparing to dole out the usual half-truths. “We have continued interviewing members of the court.” Like Heylen Ott. “And have been chasing down leads.” Like the Changeling in the tunnels. “But we have no culprits or new witnesses for your consideration.” Because he got away. “Although,” Coin said, hoping to change the subject, “my lady did wish to extend her gratitude again for Greenglade and Dabrius Joh’s new accommodations. Their health is already improving.”            

Lord Halforth regarded him coolly. “I did not have them removed for the sake of anyone’s approval,” he snapped. “Save for the Logos, that is.”            

Lord Albright gave him a pointed look. “The lad is expressing thanks, Brother. Must you be so ornery? It’s only a simple kindness.”            

He returned the look with a hard stare of his own. “I do not care about thanks or curses, and I do not care what anyone thinks of my actions. Neither do you, as it happens.”            

Lord Albright sighed and shook her head. Lord Halforth ignored her. “I would have thought that you might offer something better than that,” Halforth said to Coin. “Your party requested documents, and I provided them. You requested more time, and I indulged it. Now we sit here, and you bring nothing.”            

“It is not an easy process, my lord,” said Coin defensively. “We are making progress. My friends are working on inroads among the Palace guards, garnering new testimony—”            

“And where is this testimony?”            

Coin hesitated. “Forthcoming.” He could see that it wasn’t good enough for the Lord Moderator. “If I may, my lord, we’ve already provided more than the opposition. The Martes have not produced new evidence in weeks.”            

“No, it seems the brothers Martes are too busy trying to cover up their latest enormities,” the Lord Moderator replied, voice flat. “And so, it seems, are you.”            

Taken aback, Coin tried to argue. “We have done nothing of the sort.”            

“I had truly hoped that your knightly training would have taught you not to lie. Your kind has proven to be a constant disappointment, it would seem.” The Lord Moderator’s eyes had gone dangerously cold.            

Coin paled, but had some unexpected aid. “You are growing too suspicious by half, Brother,” interjected Lord Albright, looking at Coin with sympathy.

Lord Halforth’s eyes narrowed. “I do what is necessary, Sister. You of all people should understand that.”

She sighed again. “Yes, that I do.” Lord Albright glanced toward the door, and saw that one of her silent Prefects had returned. “News, Cotton? Has our guest arrived?”

“Guest?” Lord Halforth’s lip curled. “Do not presume, Sister. I will not have time left in my day if you continue inviting random louts up here for tea and cakes.”

“Oh, you know I cannot help myself,” she replied, stretching out in her chair. “Can you blame me for wanting to hear a few interesting stories? A Prefect’s business is curiosity, after all. Besides,” she added in a murmur, “meeting new people might help you become a little more friendly, Dyren.”

“Do not call me that,” Lord Halforth snapped. “Who is this ‘guest’? If you have dragged another debutante up here to cloy at me, then I shall—”

Lord Halforth stopped, then stared silently at the door, expression blank. Coin turned, and was surprised to see the ‘guest’ that Albright had brought.

Vaath.

The Channic stood silently in the doorframe, hands behind his back, the black eyes of his mask fixed on Lord Halforth. The Lord Moderator returned the look, examining the anonymite carefully.

“What do you think, Brother? May I keep him?” Lord Albright joked. “I trust you disarmed our friend, Cotton?”

Without a word, the Prefect tossed something over to Lord Albright, which she deftly caught without even looking. She examined the object carefully, then slide her thumb along its length. Suddenly, a long, twisted blade sprang out. “Ooo, fierce!” she cooed.

Both the anonymite and the Lord Moderator ignored her, continuing to regard one another silently. Coin sat awkwardly between them, his eyes flicking between the two men. Uh oh.

“I came across Vaath here earlier today,” Lord Albright explained, seemingly oblivious. She put her feet up on the table, and started dancing Vaath’s knife on her fingers. “I have always found Channic to be a fascinating people, always with interesting things to say. This Channic, in particular. I believe he is interested in petitioning you.”

Lord Halforth’s face was unreadable. “So I have heard. I recall inviting you to make an appointment.”

“A fool’s errand,” spat Vaath. “To keep my words away. Your smiling slave-maker friend thought little of your ‘appointment’ as well, it seems.”

“I have always preferred an ‘open-door policy,’ as it were,” Lord Albright said, still fiddling absently with the blade.

“And I have always preferred my doors locked and bolted, for this exact reason,” Lord Halforth shot back. He turned back to the anonymite. “It seems that I cannot be rid of you, so state your case and leave.”

Vaath drew up, snatched a chair, and sat himself opposite Halforth. Coin, now sitting too close to the Channic for comfort, started to inch away.

“I did not give you leave to sit,” said Lord Halforth.

“No, you did not,” Vaath replied, unmoving.

“Ah,” stammered Coin, “perhaps I should take my leave, my lord. I would not want to—”

“This will not take long,” said Lord Halforth, not taking his eyes off of Vaath. “Remain.”

“You wish to keep more of your slaves close, hmm?” Vaath remarked, tilting his head. “Do you fear the free people so, Central-sent? Perhaps you should have left your tyranny elsewhere.”

“If your goal was to make a positive first impression,” Lord Halforth remarked, “you have not succeeded. What is your goal here, Channic? Or is it ‘Vaath’?”

“It is,” Vaath replied. “Not that you are worthy to know it. I do not seek ‘impressions,’ Lord. I have other business.”

“It never ceases to amaze me that you Channic can have such ego even when seeking aid. I ask again: what is that business you are after? Aside from harassing my staff and charges, that is.”

“You have harmed greatly the free people,” snarled Vaath. “Your actions have forced my exile, and now they put much else at risk. I demand you reverse them now. Remove your troops from the Chan, slavemaker.”

“I would prefer not to,” Lord Halforth said casually.

Vaath grimaced. “If you would listen to my reasons—”

“What reasons?” Lord Halforth cut in. “Have you really come here to plead some degenerate folklore to me, anonymite? Like a boy at a campfire? Yes, I have had others tell me of your claims, to the extent they were even intelligible. Beasts and doom and fairy tales, by all accounts.” He steepled his hands, and look down his hawkish nose at the Channic. “I hope you have not really been trying to seize my attention just to spout nonsense. Did you truly think I would let you waste my time lightly?”

Coin could see Vaath’s temper flare. “Listen to me a moment, fool! There is much at work, things you cannot even see that act beneath you, if you would just listen.”

“Oh, things unseen? Unseen, unheard, without traces, without proof. Have you anything to actually support your claims? Anything to show me that I do not know?” The two men glared at one another silently for a moment. Halforth shook his head contemptuously. “As I thought. You have nothing, profligate, nothing at all.”

Vaath sprang up in a fury, and knocked his chair down with a fist, letting it crash to the floor. “Bastard! I know it is true!” Vaath spat out gutteral words, curses in a croaking tongue that Coin could not even recognize, though he could only imagine how foul they were. “You will heed, fool, or the consequences will be beyond anything you imagine.”

Lord Halforth’s face darkened. “Was that a threat, profligate? Never mind—any answer you can give will be just as worthless. Your time is up. Leave my chambers. Unless,” he suggested with a hard look, “you wish to learn what consequences truly are.”

Vaath seemed ready to try just that. For a long, unbearable moment, the two men continued to lock eyes. Vaath flexed his empty hand, as though searching for a knife that was not there.

Without another word, Vaath turned to leave, storming out in a dark fury. Only then did Coin breath again.

“Well, that was rather rude of you,” Lord Albright chimed in.

“He was rude enough for both of us,” Lord Halforth replied. “Perhaps next time you will not bring degenerate filth to my chambers, where they can ‘demand’ things of me. Was there a reason you felt the need for that?”

“Honestly, you are just impossible sometimes, Brother.” Lord Albright shook her head, then signalled to one of her subordinates. “Take this back to the Vaath, won’t you?” She tossed over the knife, letting one of her silent guards catch it. “Do be careful: Channic are known to do interesting things with knives like that.”

        “My lord,” Coin spoke up again. “If there is nothing else, I am certain that Lady Violet will be expecting me back.” She had to be told about this news, this Prefect—it was exactly the kind of trouble she had to know.

Lord Halforth waved his hand. “Go then. I cannot claim to care much, if you scuttle off to concoct some new excuse together.”

“Actually,” Lord Albright said, “I wouldn’t mind a word.” She smiled amiably, her eyes seeming to apologize for keeping Coin.

With little choice, Coin remained. Lord Albright stretched out in her chair, shifting such that she lounged between the arms, her legs and head sprawled over the sides. When she looked at him, her head was upside down, white hat left on her chest and golden hair tumbling down. “I hope you’ll indulge me a moment, sir. I have these feelings, every now and then. Hunches, some would say, though I’ve always suspected divine inspiration. It makes me want to ask questions. You are Centrellian by birth, no?”

Coin nodded, and she continued. “Then perhaps you are familiar with some of our more traditional stories. Tell me if you can, sir,” she said with a smile, “have you ever heard of a golem?”

Coin blinked. “Uh, I think I’ve heard the name. A myth, I think. Some kind of fantasy.”

“What are you doing, Sister?” asked Lord Halforth. He seemed almost as uncomfortable as Coin.

“A moment, Brother, just allow me this one mood. To address your answer, sir, yes. One could easily call them myths and fantasies. But then, everything in this world is a fantasy, one way or the other. Did you know, Sir Coin, that we are living inside a dream? It’s oddly liberating, coming to terms with that.”

Halforth rolled his eyes. “You sound like some rarefied mystic, albeit without much sense. Or like that Channic who just stalked in. What business have you, chasing after nonsense?”

Lord Albright raised a pointed finger. “Just spare me the moment, Brother. You will know, Sir Coin, that we Moderators are much concerned with emptying ourselves—of emotion and opinion and bias and so forth. We are to be avatars of law and justice, and little else. Personally, I think I’ve done a pretty bang-up job of accomplishing that, if you don’t mind the bravado.” She looked at him, face placid and locked with the static smile. “A golem, if one listens to legends, is much the same: it is an empty vessel. Made of stone, or wood sometimes. Or a man, in some of the stories. But it is empty, that much is always clear. It exists to be filled, like glass awaiting water, by some other intelligence. By something outside the dream. Do you see?”

Coin opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to think. “I don’t think so, my lord.”

“Oh, well don’t you mind. It’s just prattle on my part.” She starting kicking her feet, and smiled so cheerfully that Coin almost believed it. “I remember hearing those stories, and I’ve always had a fascination with what people call myths. I can recall, when I was very young, I thought about how much I wanted to meet a golem. The shape of a man, but instead an instrument.” Her blue eyes shot up, cold as ice, her tone suddenly serious. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone like that, would you?”

        Despite himself, Coin began to sweat. She couldn’t mean him. Could that be why . . . no, why would . . .

        He tried not to show the questions on his face. “I don’t believe so. My lord.”

        “Oh.” And just like that, as though a switch was flipped, she sprang up, and all seriousness was gone. “Ah well! I think we’d both best be off, then. I’ve important business to attend to: roads to walk and apostates to process and all that.”

        “Apostates?” Sir Coin stammered.

        “Obviously,” Lord Halforth snapped. “Why do you think she is here? It is not for her penchant for saying vague and disturbing things, I can assure you.”

        “The apostate Do-Not-Lead-Our-Family-Into-Depravity Blair, to be precise,” Lord Albright explained, bowing her head mournfully. “The man betrayed his vows, and sadly that warrants certain punishments. I happened to be in the area, and thought to help deliver that verdict—it is within Prefect purview, after all. Unless,” she offered a look, “you know anyone else around here that is perjuring themselves?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

        Coin shook his head, conscious of what the punishment for such a crime was. Lord Albright shrugged. “Well then! I’ll be off. Thanks for letting me share this little apartment here, Brother. Don’t worry, I promise to keep to my side.”

        Lord Halforth merely groaned, and walked away into his own separate chambers. Lord Albright clapped Coin on the shoulder and bid him to stand. “I suppose you’ve business of your own to do now, sir. I must say, it was a pleasure to meet you at last. Do say hello to Lady Violet and Proximo Hart for me, won’t you?”

        “Ah, likewise,” Coin struggled to say.

“I do apologize, if Brother Halforth seemed a touch short with you, sir,” Lord Albright said. “He does tend to get rather grumpy, in stressful times like these. I swear, he’s only gotten worse, since Ellen died.” She laid a soft hand on his arm, and smiled. “I hope you understand. I imagine you’re under some pressure, as well.”            

Coin tensed, very aware of the grip she had on him. “I understand entirely, my lord.”            

“Of course you do. Well, you must excuse me now—there is other business to attend to. Cotton? Marcus?” She snapped her fingers, and suddenly the two silent Prefects appeared on either side, moving from behind corners and converging on them. Lord Albright regarded them warmly. “Well, we’re off. Have a wonderful evening, Sir Coin. Oh, and sir?”            

Coin looked at her warily. “Yes, my lord?”            

Lord Albright smiled, and leaned in close. Her lips were only an inch from Coin’s ear. “I know,” she whispered.
           
Without another word, she snapped her fingers and pointed down the hallway—she set off at a brisk pace down that way, her two fellow Prefects following silently. As she walked, Lord Albright began to sing to herself, in a voice sharp and clear.

Coin ran.  

        Moving quickly, he darted through the Palace. Damn, damn, damn! he thought hastily, as he picked up his pace. She knows. What she knows, I cannot say, but she knows. He ran through possibilities, and liked none of them. The Changelings, the truth, and all that about ‘golems.’ The Warden? What is she after? Prefects were inscrutable: one could never tell their motives, but the results were always clear enough. That was what Coin feared most.

        He directed himself towards Lady Violet’s chambers: it seemed unlikely that she had already returned, but he wouldn’t risk running back to the city only to find she was no longer there. The path would take him by Dabrius’ chambers—perhaps Crispin will have seen the lady pass by. Still, he kept few thoughts on that. Light of life, what does she know? He started to think more clearly, trying be rational.

Maybe nothing. Maybe she said that just to throw us off. She hadn’t been in the Dreamweave long, after all. Or has she? Coin considered with a chill. Prefects were not seen unless they wanted to be—he recalled how Albright's aides had appeared from nowhere. There might have been white hats in the city for weeks, hiding in shadows, watching from afar. He would have never known. What might she have seen? Or heard? Or found? He continued at his pace, about to pass by Dabrius’ room. But if she knew, why not tell Halforth? That much made little sense. What is she trying to do? What—

        Mid-thought, Coin stopped. He had turned the corner, expecting to see Crispin Peck and Percy standing at attention by the door, guarding their charge. It was where they were, and what they were doing, when Coin saw them last.

        Instead, he saw them slumped in a heap on the ground. They were not moving.

        Coin rushed over immediately, trying to remain as silent as he could in his panic. He thought first to check their pulses, but he could breath a sigh of relief before having to do so—both men were still breathing. Neither appeared injured, though they were knocked out cold. The answer to why was on the floor next to them: clothes, abandoned behind, stained wet with some unknown liquid. Coin did not need to examine them closely to know what they were.

        Sleeping draught, he thought, mind racing. A common tactic to remove an obstacle without killing them: a cloth dipped in the substance forced around the mouth and nose, a punch to the side, a sharp breath, and the victim would not wake for some time. Whomever had come past had wanted to get past the guards. And the door they had stood before was now ajar.

        Dabrius.

        Carefully, Coin pushed his way inside. The room looked as though a hurricane had gone through it: chair broken, desk overturned, lamp smashed. Dabrius was nowhere within.

Thinking quickly, Coin darted back out into the hall and tried to think. The nearest exit, he struggled to recall as he scanned quickly to both sides. There was no other way out of Dabrius’ room. We aren’t on the ground floor. Which staircases are nearby? Dammit all! He instinctively moved towards the nearest he could think of, shouting all the while. “Guards! Guards! Come quickly, they’ve taken Joh! Come qui—”

As he called out and ran for the stairs, Coin passed by a door wrenched ajar. On the other side of the room was a window gaping open. The night wind blew through softly. There, on the sill, tied down, was a rope.

        Coin rushed to the window, peering out. Below him was a rooftop, far enough down that a man couldn’t risk to jump, but the rope dangled down to its surface. Across the roof, barely visible, he could see them: human figures, dark clothed but still in view as they ran across the top of the Palace. One of them, not so far away, had something slung over his shoulder: a black sack, roughly shaped and very large. Large enough to fit someone inside.

        There was only a moment to calculate. Coin could see that there were at least three figures below, not yet too far away. One against three, and possibly more. Whether they had weapons, he could not know, but he doubted that two guards would be overpowered and a room ransacked by men with nothing in hand. Coin was unarmed. He was still injured, and never had much skill at arms. But there they were, fleeing across the night, with Dabrius Joh on their backs.

        Coin jumped.

        Gripping the rope as best he could, Coin slid down quickly and tried to collect himself as he slammed down on the rooftop. A lightning bolt of pain went through his shoulder, but it was the least of his worries. The noise had been enough to alert one of the figures: the one with Dabrius Joh on his back turned to face him.

        So much for surprise, Coin thought. “Stop!” he cried after them. “Put him down and—”

Before he could say anything more, one of the assailants sprang from the dark and rushed at him, club in hand.

The figure closed the distance faster than Coin could believe: within a moment, they were upon him. They were slender, of middling height, but with no other features to distinguish them: dark cloth and cloak masked every other part of them. But in their hand was a club, swung right for Coin’s head.

He dodged, just barely. Stumbling back, Coin struggled to remember his empty palm techniques, just as he saw that his opponent was raising their arm to swing again. Coin rushed forward, grabbing the club’s shaft in one hand and the assailant's arm with the other, grappling and turning as both tried to shift their weight and throw the other down. Straining with all his strength, Coin pushed and pulled and then struck with his elbow, catching them across the jaw and giving hope of an opening. But, only too late, he heard the soft whistle of something cutting through the air behind him.

The pain exploding in Coin’s shoulder was more than he could have believed. Sheer, blinding pain, such that Coin could not help but scream and weaken, while the one he had grappled with threw him down. Bracing himself with his arm, Coin tried to rise, only for a club to rain down a second time and hit him right on his wound again for good measure. All Coin could do was fall again and scream in agony.

Clenching his fist and gritting his teeth against the pain, Coin breathed heavily. He could barely see, with dark edges clouding his vision, but he managed to turn his head enough to see a much larger figure looming over him. The cloak did little to hide the bulky muscle, and in his hand was a club. It was raised in the air, about to strike a third—and last—time.

“Leave him!” a voice cried out.

The two standing above Coin seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then broke away. They ran, and left Coin behind.

Coin could not tell how long it was before he could stir himself. He gave a heaving, suffering cough as he tried to rise up and fell back down. He thought to cry out again, for aid or help or anything else, but found it hard to raise his voice, and harder still to remain awake. All that he could do was watch as the dark figures—with Dabrius Joh unconscious on their shoulders—ran further and further, until Coin could see them no longer, and they slipped away into the night.