“To understand what a thing is, one must understand the cause of a thing. To understand what the Authority is, one must search at the beginning, and the beginning of the Authority is John the Traveller. John Wise, John True, John Just, John the Righteous, John the Revelator, John the Traveller, John Our Founder. Truly we say that no man otherwise has ever been so blessed by the will of the Logos.

“Long ago, the land called “Central” had no Central; not the white-black towers, nor the Engines, nor the Great Wiki, nor the followers of the Logos. It was cursed, and the rulers were the corsairs and the Pirate King, who were strong and preyed upon the weak. The only truth was the one they chose, the only justice the advantage of the powerful. So it was, and would continue to be, until John.

“He was born in his house in Central, in the sixth year of the Pirate King’s reign. His father was a fisherman, his mother a potter, and in time she gave birth to a younger sister, Abigail. John learned his father’s trade and others, for he was exceptional and excelled in all things he put his efforts towards. But few understood him, for he was quiet and contemplative, and many thought the boy strange and spurned him. His sister did not, though, and she was his closest friend.

“At twelve, John’s father died, drowned at sea. So his family was also left adrift, leaving them in the care of their mother. Only three years after, though, his mother also passed away, and John was left alone with his sister. His talents let him work and prevent his sibling from starving, but little else was possible. His neighbors encouraged him to seek a position with the corsairs, as most young orphans did to provide for themselves. John refused, and worked harder.

“At sixteen, John was a man, and found better work that helped his sister, for he kept none of his earnings for himself but gave all to his beloved sibling. He had no other friends, for all others he met were crude or false or in the hand of the corsairs, whom John had grown to despise for their evil. So when at rest, John would climb to the high hills around Central, to weigh and consider himself and the world, and would refuse to see anyone so long as he remained there.

“One day, John returned to his silent place, and remained there for three weeks. His neighbors worried, and many thought he had been lost to the wild or to the corsairs. But when John came down from the hills, he appeared older than he had ever been, and told them all that he had been revealed the truth by Heaven.”

— Excerpt from the “Book of Histories,” in the Books of Black and White. Being a compilation of hundreds of documents declared to be true and canonical by the Knight Enlighteners, the Books contain various accounts of the early Authority—this particular passage is concerned with the youth of the Authority’s founder, called John the Traveler.

Improbability Factor: Authority antipattern; when a problem is present and known, but not dealt with as it is considered ‘unlikely’ to surface. See also: “blind faith”

It had been a long walk to the other side of the Palace, but there was no escaping their mission. The Martes had placed the Bronies in the western wing of the building, each in different rooms that were widely spread out to be as inconvenient as possible, while the Honest Friends were housed in an abandoned barracks nearby. The honored guests of the Dreamweave, however, such as the Lord Moderator and his entourage, were settled in the east wing, in rooms that felt very far away to Proximo. He and Lady Violet trailed through the red hallways and sloped staircases to reach Lord Halforth, seeing that a word would be needed sooner rather than later.

It was still early in the day, but Lady Violet had insisted on departing as soon as possible to plead their case to the Moderators. Truthfully, she was slightly impatient to do so: the Warden of Generosity had a desperate desire to have the imprisoned Bronies in the dungeon properly cared for, and without Lord Halforth’s support it was unlikely to happen. Proximo had not visited the dungeon himself, but from what he understood dwelling there had not been a pleasant experience for Greenglade, and still no one knew what state Dabrius Joh was in. The captain of the guards, Arcadio, had forbidden any contact between the prisoner and his friends—that would also need to change. Proximo had hoped that they would be able to bring up the matter at the dinner the night before, but the Lord Moderator had defied their expectations and not approached them, nor had he been willing to see anyone after the celebration had ended.

Proximo kept pace with Lady Violet as best he could as she sped briskly through the Palace. The girl whom he had danced with, Imelia Kohburn, was foremost in his mind. Proximo could not claim to know her closely, but he still hoped she was well after having left so suddenly. It was only reasonable that she would do so, considering how she had been looked upon by her fellow guests, and Proximo realized how difficult it could be to cope with situations like that. She offered to see me again, Proximo thought, moving to stand at Violet’s side, perhaps I should take her up on that. Just to see if she’s still well.

There were other things on his mind, though. The Bronies had made a strange new “friend” in Withins-Bei, but Proximo seriously doubted the man’s integrity. And for whatever reason, Hart had trouble shaking the thought of the three anonymites from his head. They had not even spoken, nor had he introduced himself, but at the same time Proximo’s instincts had nothing good to say about the trio. It may be nothing, he reasoned, or it may not.

“Bright faces, Mister Hart,” Lady Violet said to him as they approached a corner. “The Lord Moderator’s chambers are just beyond.”

Indeed they were, as Proximo could tell from the voices wafting down the hall from a room with an open door. The one talking was gruff, deep, and thoroughly angry, meaning that it was almost certainly Sir Borlund Barr. “...this has gone on long enough. They’re guilty, we all know it.”

Another voice, refined and emotionless, came out. “Your certainty is impressive, Sir Borlund, considering that you have reviewed none of the evidence.”

“What are you accusing me of?” Borlund replied angrily, as Violet and Proximo approached the door. “They’re perverts and profligates, led by a whore and a lunatic, nothing but irritating, simpering fools and— “

“And what’s worse,” Lady Violet said, stepping inside with Proximo close behind, “they have such terrible hearing.”

Lord Halforth and Sir Borlund did not seem surprised, but Sir Alwin Cameron, standing further off in the room and wearing the same too-small black and white uniform that Proximo had seen earlier, appeared startled as they stepped inside.

The room, he could not help but notice, was huge when compared with those of Lady Violet and Proximo: the main portion they had entered was three times the size of their own chambers, and there were three other doors leading off to separate areas on the sides. At the same time, though, it was incredibly bare, as for whatever reason almost all of the decorations and furniture had been removed. The only things in the room were a plain wood table, six chairs, and an ornate bed that did not look as though it had been slept in.

Lady Violet bowed to the Lord Moderator, but Sir Borlund’s mustache twitched when he saw them. “Were you listening to our conversation? Don’t you know what privacy is?”

“Something one forfeits if they speak loudly enough, sir,” Lady Violet replied innocently.

Careful, my lady, Proximo thought as he looked warily at Sir Borlund’s angry face. Quips would not get them very far here, and Barr seemed to be the temperamental type. Still, he did call her ‘whore.’ Unsurprisingly, Lady Violet had a particular dislike for being called that.

Sir Borlund started to shout a response when the Lord Moderator raised his hand. “That is quite enough of that, from both of you.” He folded his black gloved hands in front of him, and stared closely with his grey eyes. “I was expecting you, Brony. There was something you wished to speak of?”

“Yes indeed, my lord.” She made a motion to the table. “Could we, perhaps, sit?”

Lord Halforth nodded, and proceeded over to take a seat. Sir Borlund gave a loathing look to Violet, then did the same, while Sir Alwin followed meekly behind. The lanky knight did an awkward bow of sorts to the lady, and shuffled over to another chair. Lady Violet and Proximo followed suit.

Lord Halforth reached over to a silver tray, with a set of cups, a teapot, and a metal cylinder sitting on it. “There is tea, if you would care for some,” he said formally. Lady Violet politely accepted, and filled a cup with tea. The Lord Moderator, however, reached past the pot and took the cylinder instead, unscrewing the top and pouring a steaming drink into a small cup. Proximo was not certain what it was, but it did not smell like tea or coffee.

The old Lord Moderator sipped carefully, and examined the two people in front of him. “I see your Warden of Honesty did not care to join you,” he stated after a moment of consideration.

“There was a matter concerning our guards that required his attention, unfortunately,” she replied.

And you did not want him to embarrass us again, her assistant thought. Lady Violet would never have said as much, but Proximo thought it was clear that, after the previous night, the Warden should be kept at a fair distance from high society.

“A shame. But at any rate,” he said in a leveled tone after another sip, “what was it that you wished to bring to me? Something concerning the accused, I believe?”

Lady Violet nodded. “My lord,” she said with sincere concern, “there are two prisoners from our fandom currently in the dungeon. The conditions of one were so deplorable that I’m loath to even speak of it, and the other we were not allowed to even see.”

“I ask that the two be kept in a manner that allows them some degree of decency and humanity, and that we be allowed to speak with both of the accused so we might understand their testimony.”

“They’re prisoners,” Borlund huffed. “Do you expect them to be in first-class apartments? Criminals belong in cells, get used to it.”

“I’m not asking for them to be boarded in a tavern, my lord,” Lady Violet explained calmly, “just that conditions be improved in their holding area. They’re dark, filthy, filled with vermin, and I’ve good reason to believe that my friends have been hideously mistreated there.”

Lord Halforth raised his eyebrows slightly. “Do you have any proof of this abuse?”

“The word of a confessed criminal,” Sir Borlund interjected, “obviously trying to slander his accusers so blame is passed on.”

“That ‘confession’ that you mentioned is false, sir,” Lady Violet said firmly. “It was written under duress, signed under threat of torture, and has not a single ink drop of truth.”

“The man signed his own name to it, and now you deny it?” Sir Borlund asked angrily. “The truth only serves when it’s convenient to you, eh? Despicable. Even if you’re right, that only proves that he is a liar that cannot be trusted.”

Lady Violet looked at Sir Borlund in disbelief. “Pardon me sir, but what sort of logic is that?”

“Enough,” Lord Halforth said, irritated. He held the bridge of his nose in his hand, then took another sip of the drink in front of him. “If we’re to continue this, both of you are to stand down. You are a knight, Barr, and you claim to be a lady, horse-lover. Act like it.” He steepled his fingers and looked carefully at Lady Violet. “As to the confession, I have seen many of its kind in my career. Some false, many true. In some cases, the accused is simply overcome with guilt, or believes he can escape with a lighter sentence should he confess. And at times, once he has reconsidered his position, he recants the confession with hopes that he can get away from even that. It is not unusual.”

“That may be, my lord,” Lady Violet said, “but from my understanding of procedure involving confessions, there are warning signs that one might be untrue. Isolation from peers, mistreatment, promises of safety, use of pressuring tactics are all among them. This so-called confession raises many of these concerns.”

“My lord,” Violet replied, remaining composed, “a blind man could see how poorly our friends are being kept. Surely you see how they would lead to Greenglade confessing falsely?”

“I am not an idiot, horse-lover,” Lord Halforth said with curtly. “Ensuring that the prisoners were kept in a proper station was among my first acts upon arriving here. I was assured that there was no cause for concern, and I trust the word of my subordinates.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Lady Violet insisted, “but exactly who were these subordinates?”

“The leader of my staff, Sir Do-Not-Lead-Our-Family-Into-Depravity Blair, who has never failed to serve faithfully in the past. And Sir Alwin as well.” He glanced over to the knight he just mentioned. “Sir Alwin, I realize that you have already reported to me on the matter, but did you find the prison to be satisfactory, or objectionable?”

The gawkish knight’s eyes bulged out oddly when the question was asked of him, and he began stammering. “I— I did not… they…” Suddenly, he caught sight of Sir Borlund, who was glaring murderously at the skinny youth, and Sir Alwin resigned himself to an answer. “They were satisfactory, your honor.”

“Good,” Lord Halforth replied, though he did not seem entirely satisfied. “Still, accusations as serious as your own deserve investigation. I will promise nothing on the matter, but it will be looked into.”

What’s the point, if they’ll just return false reports again? Proximo thought glumly. He tried to not appear angry when he looked over at Sir Alwin. The young knight had sunk into his chair, his head jerked down and his expression dejected. He seemed miserable, but it was difficult to feel sorry for him after he had just condemned Greenglade and Dabrius to yet more horrors in the dungeon.

“You are in no position to ‘insist’ upon anything, Brony, and I suggest you remember that,” Lord Halforth said coolly. “I have no reason to doubt the testimony of either of these men, and every reason to believe that your own is self-serving. You will forgive me if I side with the former.”

“My apologies, my lord,” Violet replied, slightly angry, “but with the safety of my friends at stake, I must ask. What reason I have given to be unworthy of trust?”

The Moderator scoffed. “Sir Depravity and Sir Alwin have sworn vows of honesty and loyalty to the Authority and their superiors. You have given no such oath to me. Frankly, it is I that should ask you what possible reason I have to trust a word you say. Your fandom has never lacked for miscreant behaviors, and your catering to any manner of prurient, subnormal interests is well-known. Lying, I can only imagine, is hardly alien.”

Sir Borlund nodded. “That’s the right of it. The horse-lovers have no honor, and deserve none.”

Halforth shot him a sideways glare. “I would not speak so harshly on the matter of honor, Barr. Considering your record.” He took a final sip of his drink as Sir Borlund’s face went red, then carefully placed the cup down. “Do not mistake me, I have no intention of dismissing any evidence you bring before me. It is a poor Moderator that allows personal animosities to cloud his judgement. But do not ask me to make exceptions for your people. Either all criminals—and yes, accused criminals — are treated the same, or there is no basis to call them ‘criminals’ at all. That is fairness, and the Authority expects each man to adhere to this.”

Proximo could see the frustration in the eyes of the lady, but she did not allow it to creep into her expression. “I understand, my lord. And yet my friends will still suffer in their prison, and I’m afraid I cannot accept that easily.”

A pair of flinty grey eyes stared back at her intensely, devoid of emotion but with a dull, icy shine. Lord Halforth steepled his fingers, and spoke in a measured tone. “Your acceptance,” he said, “is irrelevant. It has begun without your acceptance, and it will continue regardless of it. Perhaps, horse-lover, you should consider for a moment how little the affairs of you and the rest of this wretched island matter in the larger picture. The Authority, myself included, has greater concerns than the interests of spoiled fandoms or spoiled nobles. I suppose you know of the recent gamer conflict?”

“Indeed. ‘The Great Gamer War’, they call it now. We may have brokered a peace, but the wounds will last years, and now they’ve reopened once again. Half of the gamers cry ‘Oppression!’ and the other half yell ‘Corruption!’, and all the others are left in the middle. The Channic blame the Oppressed, the Oppressed hate the Channic, and both are more than willing to kill the other if we are not between them. Not since the days of Lord Ira the Apostate has that region seen such turmoil. Even the Knight Enlighteners were taking sides, hard to believe as it is. Dozens of BLP violations, knights demoted or reprimanded, to the point that the High Enlightener himself was forced to step in.”

He waved a hand absently. “Meanwhile, we have a new offensive underway in the Chan to bring them under heel again, while fanatics run roughshod over the Blurr and pirates nurse their latest wounds. The Web is all ablaze, as it always has been, with thousands and thousands living and fighting and killing and dying.” He stared again at Lady Violet. “Yes, I have greater concerns on my mind than whether your ‘friends’ are comfortable in their cells. You are free to accept that fact or not, but I will hear no more of it.”

Lady Violet looked as though she wanted to protest further, but instead she glanced quickly to Proximo. It’s no use, he tried to say in his expression, and when Violet saw this she sighed. “I see. Then there is one other thing I need to ask: that we be allowed to speak with Dabrius Joh.”

“That was mentioned by the Martes. Arcadio claims that your Dabrius had to be placed in solitary confinement, due to misbehavior.” Lord Halforth tilted his head just slightly. “Engaging in another of your inhuman vices, perhaps?”

Lady Violet’s firm tone made it clear what she thought of that. “I think very little of what Arcadio claims, my lord. And regardless, we need our friend’s testimony if we’re to make our case.”

The Lord Moderator’s mouth twitched slightly, as though he was halfway into a smile before he decided otherwise. “I am inclined to agree, my lady. I will see that it is done.” He stood up, and moved towards a different room. “You are excused,” he said, folding his arms behind his back and walking out.

The two Bronies bowed to the remaining Mods, but got no response, with Borlund ignoring them and Alwin looking too ashamed to speak. Following behind Violet once again, Proximo made his way back to their rooms.

The lady was walking more briskly than before, and her face was clenched tighter as well. Proximo put his hand on her shoulder. “There was nothing else we could do, my lady.”

She shook her head. “Was there? I doubt it will be of any comfort to Greenglade or Dabrius.” Her eyebrows furrowed in anger. “I’m the Warden of Generosity. My purpose is to help people, but what good can I do for my friends? I feel useless.”

Proximo stopped her lightly with his hand. “Don’t say that, my lady. We will rescue them, in time. Blaming yourself for the Martes or the Mods won’t help us, or our friends.”

“That is kind of you to say, Proximo, but don’t expect that I will let this go easily.” She began to walk forward again, with more purpose than before. “After we return to our wing, call the rest of the diplomatic team, and the Warden of Honesty. Time to get serious.”

After they returned to their side of the Palace, the assistant did as he was bid, and before long there were thirteen Bronies all trying to cram into one room. When it was obvious that such a plan wouldn’t work, they commandeered the hallway instead, posting guards at either end to prevent eavesdropping. When she was ready, Lady Violet stood in the center of them, raised a hand to silence their chatter, and then began to speak. “I have had a word with the Lord Moderator,” she said solemnly, “and sadly, it seems our worst fears are true. Our friends will remain in Arcadio’s custody.”

A chorus of groans and sighs went up, and a sea of angry or sad expressions swept through the group. “I told you Halforth wouldn’t side with us,” Mattieu Winely said fiercely. “The man’s infamous, and he has no reason to do us any kindness. We’ll have to work around it.”

“Is there no way of persuading him?” Rosesoul asked as she knelt on the floor. “Surely if he knows what state Greenglade is in…”

“Lord Halforth has inquired about the prison conditions, but he trusted two of his subordinates to report to him on the matter,” Proximo said. “Both lied, from the looks of things, and the Lord Moderator has no reason to distrust their word. I doubt we can persuade him otherwise,” he said sadly.

“I’m useless enough every day as it is,” Prim Enproper interjected, “so I hope you don’t mean to say there’s nothing we can do about them. I’m not leaving those two down there, not after what I saw.”

There were several supportive cries at that, including a “Hear, hear!” from Caleb. The Warden of Honesty, standing statue-still in the back, nodded and bluntly said, “Demand they be moved. No other answer.”

“My lord,” Proximo said with equal bluntness, “we have already been refused as it is. Simply asking again won’t help us now.”

“Then ask better,” the Warden said curtly. There were a few laughs at that, but Proximo seriously doubted that it was meant as a joke.

“What we need,” Theosyrius said, “is leverage. Something to make him see our side of things, so to speak.” He smiled and leaned against the wall.

Jayson Joyfelt, wearing his loose pink robes and sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughed. “I hope you’re not seriously considering bribery are you?”

Theosyrius gave a smug shrug. “My dear friends, we are generous, are we not? Certainly those are the colors I wear. Is it at all moral to allow others to suffer as mere minions to a salary? I’m simply suggesting that some small persuasion would help our case.”

Caleb and Rosesoul looked scandalized at the prospect, but Lady Violet simply shook her head. “I’ll have nothing strictly illegal, we’re in a large enough hole as it is. Besides, it would be incredibly foolish, meaning no offense.”

“That’s true enough, no doubt ‘bout it,” chimed in Donnet, another man from the Generous Friends. Proximo hadn’t seen Donnet since they arrived in the Dreamweave, as he had not attended last night’s ball for whatever reason. He was clad mostly in purple, with a bald head and a strange pair of spectacles, with each lense a different color. The one in the right eye was red, and the one in the left was blue, and each had a little handle on the side that Donnet would occasionally flick to change the colors inside. “I heard ‘o a man tried to bribe Halforth once. Ended wit’ more hangin’ than the guy mighta preferred.”

“It’s a Rule of Three, we only need two of the Mods to side with us,” Theosyrius pointed out. “Perhaps Sir Borlund or Sir Alwin could be more reasonable.”

“Borlund would never consider it. He hates us too much,” Prim insisted. “I think trying the currency route will end with one of us having a longer neck than before. Probably me.”

“I agree,” Lady Violet said, “and I won’t hear any more of it. Not with the Moderators, at least. Still,” she said while lightly rubbing her chin, “I have a feeling that we may be able to bring Sir Alwin around. He seems quite different from Halforth or Borlund.”

“I think ‘spineless’ is the word my lady wishes to use,” Hadrena said, dark lips half-smiling. “In all likelihood, this is his first real assignment out in the world. Poor thing.”

“You believe we can bring him around with charm alone?” Theosyrius asked Violet.

“I believe that Sir Borlund is a lost cause, and we need at least one of the knights on our side. We have to try.” She put her hands behind her back and looked over the assembled friends. “In the meantime, we need to get to work if we’re to convince anyone of our innocence, and that means evidence. I need testimony, I need witnesses, I need rumors and gossip and slander, any and all. We need eyes and ears on every street, in every bar, anywhere that someone might find something of use.”

“We should start with the tavern that Dabrius and Greenglade were in, the night before the murder,” Prim said. “The last place they were seen would be the best place to pick up, I think.”

“Agreed,” Lady Violet said with a nod. “My honest friend, have your team start themselves at The Moonlight Inn, not far from the docks. Search after any leads you can find, and sweep through Nightside as well. If there is anyone alive that can shed light on who was where and when, see that they are found.”

“If it ain’t too much askin’, m’lady,” Donnet said, “I might be one t’ help with that. Not a man ‘ere knows filthy sinks as much better as me.”

“True enough.” The lady smiled mischievously. “Still know your old tricks, Donnet?”

“Ain’t like to forget ‘em, m’lady,” he replied with a smile of his own.

“I would not doubt it. Theo, you go as well. And keep your eyes open—you know what for.”

“What about the rest of us?” Mattieu asked earnestly. He seemed eager to get to work—considering that Greenglade was a close friend to him, that was not unexpected.

“You will all be doing an investigation of your own,” Lady Violet said. “The Martes are doing everything they can to get Lord Halforth’s ear and twist him to their side. If we’re to stop them, we’ll need to outmaneuver them, and that means friends in their court. More eyes and ears, like I said. It will help us keep watch on Arcadio and his like, at the very least.”

“It would seem so. Hopefully this kind of ‘friend’ is cheap in the Dreamweave.”

“I thought we weren’t bribing people?” Hadrena remarked innocently, cold smile growing wider.

“We aren’t,” Lady Violet replied. “There are no laws against paying fellow citizens to tell you what they know. ‘Bribery’ implies that we are manipulating public officials to suit our needs.”

“I can assure you all,” she continued, “that we will not be doing anything illegal or immoral in doing so. A few coins for a few words seems a fair bargain to me.”

There were murmurs of agreement across the board, though Caleb, Rosesoul, and the Warden of Honesty still seemed somewhat uncomfortable. In the back of the hall, the representative from the Magic Friends, Caymen Diallep, had been chatting quietly with Skylark of the Kind, but then raised his voice. “My lady,” the lavender-clad scholar said, “do we plan to make use of the friend we have already made?”

“The Dreamweave lordling from last night?” Hadrena laughed. “That wine-sodden fool? You can’t mean to trust that one.”

“Trust is a very strong word,” Lady Violet replied, “but he has offered his help. I am not one to turn that down at the drop of the hat.”

“I get the feeling that Withins-Bei could drop a lot more than hats, my lady,” Prim said. “He could drop our case, if he used our own information against us, which might end with Greenglade and Dabrius dropping from a gibbet.”

“Agreed,” Mattieu added. “He has no cause for loyalty, and we can’t put our own at risk. Better to cut him loose.”

“I would rather not jump ahead on this, friends,” the lady insisted. “He has offered not just information from himself, but the names of people in the city that might help us. If that’s true, he may be invaluable.”

“I am not suggesting that we clap him on the back and dress him in our colors, just that we not dismiss the possibility outright. I believe that it is an avenue worth pursuing.”

“To merely speak and seem strange is not cause for condemnation on its own,” Caymen said to the others, “nor should we turn our backs on those that we might find good after all. The Six themselves taught us this—Season of Discovery, ninth Episode.”

Theosyrius stepped forward. “I agree that we should not be quick to turn away Withins-Bei, my lady. But, at the same time, we have heard nothing of another friend we may have made yesterday evening.”

Proximo tried to think of whom Theo was referring to, and only one person came to mind. He was sincerely hoping that his guess was wrong, when Skylark spoke up. “I hope you don’t mean the girl, Imelia Kohburn.”

“I do indeed, friends,” Theosyrius said enthusiastically. “I believe that, after the show that Mister Hart put on last night, she could be a great asset.”

There were varying shades of discomfort spread across the room. “I would rather not, Theo,” Proximo said as firmly as he could. Truthfully, the thought of her having to be used for some political game made him extremely uncomfortable, even if it were for a good cause. We have no business putting her through that, he thought.

“We shouldn’t be passing up opportunities like this, friend,” Theosyrius said sympathetically. “If she can help us free Greenglade or Dabrius…”

“I think Proximo is right on this, Theo,” Lady Violet said, stepping in. “She’s been through quite enough as it is.”

Theosyrius could see that he was outnumbered, and so he backed down. “As you say, my lady. I’m only thinking of our success.”

“I know.” With nothing else to discuss, the lady looked over her fellows. “It seems to me that if Greenglade and Dabrius are to be freed, it won’t be the Martes or the Mods or anyone else that can do it. It is on our heads, and ours alone. You all have your orders. Six and One.”

"Six and One,” they replied. Gradually, they dispersed, going to their own task. Proximo and Lady Violet were left alone.

She smiled. “As always, Mister Hart, I intend to have you at my side. I think I know where to start.” She gave him her arm, and he looped his through hers. “Ready to make some friends?”

“I have often heard it said among some that individual achievement is what is most important. I encountered a man that bragged that he, and he alone, had built the home he lived in, failing to mention that the tools he used and the materials he built it from were all procured by other people. ‘I did this on my own’ (they say) ‘and that makes me great’ (they think). ‘On my own...’

“I disagree with the notion that anything can be on one’s own. We each have our skills, and we each have our limits, and it is only when working in harmony that anything great can be done. A single person can only go so far before he requires the work and aid of someone else, so why pretend otherwise? Recall a lesson of the Honest Friend: ‘While friendship is about giving of ourselves, it’s also about accepting what our friends have to offer.’

“It is a terrible thing for a man to be alone.”

— “Lecture on Labor,” by Lord Feylen Mars

The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XVII: Everything's Staged