The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XVI: A Beautiful Heart

Chapter XV: A Beautiful Heart

* * * * * *

Under the bay, below the waves,

the blackest depths, the sunken grave,

the Beast has slumbered in the brine,

before the earth, before all time.

In coldest, rotting, crushing deep,

the Beast who dreams will stir from sleep.

Yellow, ancient, clouded sight,

peering dimly in the night.

'Round the sulfurous, spewing vents,

tendrils slither from the rent.

'Neath the conscious mud and slate,

a breach does form, and then the hate

and fate shall curse and blight the shore

around the bay, to heart and core.

— “The Land of Masks,” Stanzas III-IV

* * * * * *

“Now, I will need an honest opinion, Proximo,” Lady Violet said from behind the door.

Proximo looked up from the jewelry box he was fingering through to answer past the closed door. “I can give nothing less, my lady. I had hoped you knew that by now.”

“I never allow my hopes to rise too high, Mister Hart,” she called teasingly from inside. “Otherwise, what do you have? Constant disappointment!”

Proximo had already changed into clean evening-wear, with a white, buttoned suit over a deep violet shirt. A binding cloth, also purple, was wrapped around his waist, and on his right breast was a blue diamond in the appropriate shape for one of the Generous Friends. Lady Violet, however, was still in the midst of finding her own ensemble, and it had fallen to Proximo to determine what accessory would suit her best for the ball. He had been torn between a diamond and a pearl necklace when he heard her call from within. “Alright, here goes nothing,” she said, and opened the door.

He had seen the dress before, but it was a sight to behold nonetheless. With the grime from the dungeon washed off, Lady Violet was as pure and beautiful as she had ever been. Her purple hair hung down in dark curls down her shoulders, and a sash of violet silk ran from her right shoulder to her left side. A cloth band of the same color was wound across her waist, but the rest of her dress was clean white. Her tannish face was paled by powder, her lips crimson red, her eyes dark and lashes long. She spun around a little when she stepped outside. “Well,” she said, leaning on the doorway, “what do you think?”

“My lady,” he said with as low a bow as he could manage without dropping the jewelry box, “you are as becoming as something that has already become, as beautiful as the longest day is long, and a sight for even the sorest of eyes. Your very being makes me unworthy in comparison. You are stunning.” He tried to lace his words with a semblance of sarcasm, if only to save face—every word of it was true, but he would never hear the end of it if she knew that.

Lady Violet laughed. “You always know just what to say. I’ll say again that you’re looking astonishingly handsome as well. I had high hopes, you know, despite every intention to do otherwise, and yet you’ve met every one of them,” she said with a bow of her own. “But enough of our mutual congratulations. What are your thoughts on the jewels?”

Proximo thought carefully. He looked between the diamond necklace, blue like that of the Friend’s herself, and the white pearls. Both somehow seemed lacking, now that he had seen her properly dressed. For a moment he did not know how to answer… until he spied a ruby in the corner. He picked it out, smiled, then handed it to her just as another assistant had done for someone who meant as much to that one as Violet did to Proximo.

Lady Violet wrapped it carefully around her neck and fastened it into place. It was a golden choker that hung firmly in place above her breast, and in the center was a large red jewel shaped like a heart. Proximo could see a dozen of his own reflections in it, it was so polished and alive with light. Lady Violet touched it gently with her fingertips. “An excellent choice, Mister Hart,” she said meaningfully.

“I’d hoped so, my lady,” Proximo replied.

Sadly, they heard several people coming from up the hallway. Not all of the Bronies in the Dreamweave would be attending the ball, nor even most of them. The party approaching was not all of the ones who were to join them either, but each was dressed as well as Proximo—though obviously not as well as Lady Violet.

Theosyrius was clad in white, with touches of grey in his cuffs, tie, and waistcoat. Skylark of the Kind Friends was draped in a long gown of soft yellow, light blue, and rose, with a golden butterfly necklace and an upturned hood. Caleb stood behind them, in a large suit with long tails to match his large size, and Dustario had joined them, clad in an amber-orange coat with a golden shirt underneath.

“I suppose you two are ready are you?” Dustario said with a handsome smile. “Was my lady still hoping to arrive late?”

“Only fashionably so,” she replied. “We can meet the others downstairs, I think. You all look wonderful.”

“Not nearly so wonderful as yourself, my lady,” Caleb said with a bob of the head. “Truly one of surpassing loveliness, I believe. Yes, I do think so, my lady.” He lowered his voice and darted his head behind him, before speaking further. “One other thing, my lady, one other: you may wish to speak with our Lord of Honesty before we proceed to dinner. He is behind us now. Most unsuitable, I believe.”

Sure enough, the Warden was indeed there, with one of his Honest Eyes at his side. The man accompanying him was one that Proximo had seen previously, but he did not know his name; he was clad largely in dusky gold and leather, all of an acceptable though not terribly fashionable quality. A pin showing the golden eye of his master was on his right breast, and his face was a friendly one, with short blond hair.

The Warden, however, was dressed no differently than he normally was, clad in heavy plate armor and a scowl. He is dressed for a battlefield, not a ballroom, Proximo noticed in disbelief. He had suspected that this might be the case, though he had still held out hope that it might not, for some reason.

Lady Violet did not seem quite as concerned. “My honest friend,” she said with a resigned laugh, “you do not appear dressed for the occasion.”

“Group of people in room,” the Warden said bitterly, “not ‘occasion’. Do not require ornaments.”

“And what, if you don’t mind my asking,” she said jokingly while lifting the end of her dress and doing a spin, “is your opinion on my ‘ornaments’?”

“We do not have opinions,” he replied bluntly. He did look over the clothing she was wearing, however. “It is long. Loose. Inefficient. Hampering. Will not serve in emergency. Would advise different choice.”

Proximo looked at the Warden, slightly offended, but Lady Violet smiled and put a hand on the giant’s arm. “That’s not untrue, but a little inefficiency is needed in times like this. Bear with me, my honest friend. In fact,” she said coyly, “I have something for you.”

The Warden stood stone-still while Lady Violet went inside her room. After rummaging through the wardrobe, she returned with a colorful bundle in her arms. “I suspected that this exact scenario would happen, if you believe it, and so I bought something for you while we were in Shine.” She folded it, and revealed that it was a very large cloak, colored a deep, dark orange with flaxen trimming that wound around the edges in a swirling pattern. It looked similar to the style used by the traders of the Sajle, and was high-quality at that.

The Warden gave it an uncomfortable stare. Lady Violet, seeing this, looked at him sympathetically and said, “This is a gift, Honesty, and it would please me if you would wear it tonight. After that, you need never touch it again, I swear it.”

He gave it another long look, then took it. Rather than unfasten the cape he was already wearing, like any sane man might, he simply draped the new cloak on top of it and locked it in place with a bronze seal at his neck. Proximo could see the wisdom behind Lady Violet’s choice immediately: the Warden of Honesty might refuse to take off his damnable armor, but at the very least they could cover it. The cloak would not hide it completely, but it would remove the offensive sight for the most part, and the fine material it was made from would not look too out of place at the event.

The Warden of Honesty himself looked even more miserable than usual, if that were possible. “Go?” he asked almost pleadingly.

Violet tried to suppress a smile. “Yes, I think we’re ready now. The ballroom is below us, on the first floor of the Palace. We can head there now.”

They moved as a body, filling the hallways as they moved down. The Warden stomped ahead in the front, while Proximo and Lady Violet stepped lightly in the back. The Giant of Honesty walked sullenly, but Proximo noticed him pull something out while they walked, and hold whatever it was in his hands.

The assistant turned to Lady Violet. “My lady, are you certain that it’s wise to bring the Warden of Honesty to this? He’s hardly suited for the occasion.”

“He’s one of two Wardens here in the Dreamweave,” Lady Violet pointed out, “and if you haven’t noticed, he is not easy to miss. It would be taken as an indirect insult if he didn’t attend, I think.”

“I’m more worried about the direct insults, my lady. Such as the ones the Warden might deliver to the Martes or the Mods.” He leaned his head in, and spoke more quietly. “My lady, why do you bother defending him? I think it’s fairly obvious that he doesn’t know how to act at an event like this. He won’t help us.”

Violet gave him a look. “I defend him,” she remarked, “because he is my friend, and I enjoy having him by my side. I thought I asked you to try and get along with him?”

“I’m only trying to be practical, my lady.”

“Well, thankfully my honest friend is nothing if not pragmatic. Give him a chance, Proximo.”

The assistant did not share his lady’s confidence, but he knew better than to speak further. They proceeded downstairs until they reached a large, connecting corridor furnished with a long carpet. At the right end was a massing of people, all wearing different colorful outfits, a few of which caught Proximo’s eyes. “Down there, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes, that should be it. I think I see some of the others now.”

There was a pair of large doors flung open, and inside Proximo could see a room basked in light and color. It seemed quite full, though a number of guests were still trickling in from the hall outside. Among them were the rest of the Brony guests that would join them tonight: most of them were the remaining Generous Friends, the Kind Friends as well, and a handful of Honest men and women as well. In total, the total number was scarcely more than a dozen—peering in to see the bevy of people inside, Proximo could not help but feel outnumbered.

Prim Enproper approached, clad in purple, white, and blue, and seeming every bit as dejected as usual. “My lady, I’d like to say again how unfortunate it is that you’ve chosen me to accompany you tonight.”

“Prim, I’m certain you will acquit yourself just fine,” she replied.

“You say that, my lady, but you haven’t seen my dancing yet,” Prim said mournfully. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but there have been serious accidents in the past. That’s why I can never go back to Am-Azon. Also, because I can’t afford the ship fare.”

Violet laughed. “Try to chin up, Prim.” She looked around at the party about her, then glanced inside the ballroom. There was music and chatter floating out of the doors, and the smell of food as well. “Well then,” she said, “ready to make an appearance?”

After the chorus of affirmatives, Lady Violet beckoned the Warden of Honesty and Proximo to her sides, and stepped gracefully inside.

On every side was someone chattering or watching as the Bronies made their way into the room. Circular tables covered with bronze-colored cloths were all around, with guests buzzing around like bees. The center of the room had been cleared away, leaving it open to dancers that twirled about with one another. On the floor was a crest displayed on the tiles, showing a winged tiger, while at the head of the room was a raised dais with several seats across a long table.

There were three seats in the center, two of which were occupied by Lord Aureliano and his wife. On their right were another three seats, where three men and women that Proximo did not recognize sat—they were most likely nobles close to the Martes family.

Finally, on the left, were a final three seats filled by Lord Moderator Halforth, Sir Alwin, and Sir Borlund. While the Martes were smiling and laughing with their compatriots, none of the three Mods seemed happy: Sir Borlund seemed to almost be stewing in anger, while Lord Halforth looked impatient and Sir Alwin nervous.

The conversations around them continued as the Bronies passed through, but one could tell that eyes were following them. Lord Aureliano was eyeing them contemptuously, while Borlund scowled and Lord Halforth watched carefully. Some of the talk died down as they walked by, only to start up again in lower voices after they passed them. Most people seemed to either be staring at Lady Violet or the Warden of Honesty, though for what Proximo imagined were very different reasons. There was a multitude of ugly looks, but otherwise nothing was said between the other guests and the Bronies.

They found that a number of tables had been set aside for the Bronies in the far corner of the room, well-removed from the action of the ball but still well within eyesight of the Martes in their seats. The Bronies spread out between them, but made sure to leave at least one chair empty: during a celebration in the Devien Isles, it was customary to leave space for any other party-goer that may wish to sit down and speak. It was a useful way to hide scheming with socializing, Proximo had found, and it had served him and Lady Violet well on past missions.

Lady Violet took a seat with her back to the wall after the Warden of Honesty nodded to it approvingly. Proximo, accordingly, took his place at her side, while two of his fellow Generous Friends, Prim and Hadrena, and two of the Kind Friends, Skylark and Rosesoul, sat around as well. He had no doubt that the others would likely be trading places with different Bronies at different tables throughout the night, but they settled for now.

In his seat, Proximo quickly took stock of what was around him. The table was fully set, with cutlery and red napkins at every seat as well as a few others in the middle. Each person had a glass filled with ice water, though he had no doubt that they would be filled with something else before the evening was over. Proximo would not have minded a glass of wine himself, but that could wait until later. Lady Violet was scanning the scene as well, though she was more intent on the people in the room—specifically, her eyes were locked on the dais where the Lord Moderator sat.

“My lady,” Proximo said after seeing her expression, “were you considering speaking with Lord Halforth now? I understand that we intend to complain about the prison situation.”

Lady Violet frowned. “I was considering it, but now I’m not as certain. We need his attention as soon as possible, but part of me wonders whether trying now would hurt our chances more than help.”

“He certainly does not seem in a talking mood, my lady,” Skylark said calmly. She was correct in saying so: even from a distance it was clear that the Lord Moderator was irritated with something. He sat ramrod stiff in his seat, grey eyes holding on the center of the room with a vague curl of displeasure on his lips. “I don’t believe that Lord Halforth is the festive type,” Skylark continued.

“Perhaps it would be prudent to wait for him to come to us, my lady?” Hadrena said. She was gowned in very deep purple, with only a small trimming of white on a few garments. In her ears were over a dozen piercings, all of which were either gold or encrusted with purple gems, and when combined with her tall figure and sharp features, she looked positively regal. “It would be impolite for him not to offer a greeting.”

Lady Violet considered that. “Yes, that might be best for now. Either way, though, we’ll need to venture out from this table at some point, or they might think that we—"

She stopped talking when she noticed that the Warden of Honesty had not sat down. Instead, he merely loomed over the table, looking down at the chair next to his generous friend. Recalling the meeting chamber in the Citadel of the Six, Proximo suddenly realized that the seat was tiny compared to the Warden’s ordinary chair.

Violet seemed to noticed as well, and tried to stifle a laugh. “My honest friend,” she said with a shake of her head, “I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not certain that seat will serve for you.”

“Hrm,” the Warden grunted. He continued to consider the chair, then sharply turned and marched away.

“Honesty?” Lady Violet called.

“Will return. Not long,” the Warden of Honesty said quickly as he walked off. Keeping to the sides of the room to avoid the crowds, he made his way to the main entrance of the ballroom and stomped out, earning some strange looks from the other guests.

Glancing at the dais, Proximo could see that Aureliano and Pilara were looking at the Warden depart, and at the chairs they provided, and were laughing to one another. When the other guests saw that their host was laughing, they did the same. I suppose they couldn’t resist a jab at the Warden’s expense, Proximo thought, realizing that they no doubt understood that he wouldn’t fit their accommodations. At least it wasn’t Lady Violet. Yet.

Violet had a concerned look as she strained to see the Warden departing, one that Proximo readily noticed. “My lady,” he said carefully, “I’m not certain that we can— “

Before he could say more, however, he was surprised to see that someone had approached their table—not a Brony, but someone else had quietly walked over and taken the empty seat closest to Lady Violet while they had been watching the Warden leave. It was a man, clearly a Devien from his features, slightly overweight and likely older than Proximo, by his guess.

Lady Violet turned to see the man, but rather than being startled she merely said, “Good evening.”

“Is it?” the man replied, glancing around the table. “That remains to be seen, I think. It’s been a horrendously boring day for me so far, but perhaps things will brighten from here.” He wiggled his shoulders slightly in his chair, trying to get comfortable, and then began to slouch in a very unseemly way.

Whoever he was, he was dressed more slovenly than most at the party: his clothes were well-made but worn haphazardly, with cuffs and collar unevenly sticking out in some places and smashed flat in others, and his hair was in disarray. Rather than be slicked back or carefully groomed in the normal style, it was choppily strewn all over, with bangs hanging on his forehead and a cowlick in the back, as though he had just woken up, and it had a very messy dyework that looked like someone had simply splashed streaks of brown into his naturally black hair.

Glancing over the man’s sloppy appearance, Lady Violet pressed forward. “I am not certain we have had the honor of meeting previously. My name is Lady Violet Brushshape, the Warden of Generosity of the Brony Collective.” She dipped her head in a bow—seeming amused, the stranger did the same thing while keeping his thin eyes intently on the lady’s face. “These friends of mine have the honor of being Skylark, Hadrena, Rosesoul, Prim, and my dear assistant Proximo.”

Each of them dipped their heads as they were introduced, and waited for the man to give his own name. They were kept waiting for a few long moments, while the stranger simply looked at each of them with an odd half-smile.

Finally, after the awkward pause, he spoke up. “I see. We’ve reached the point in the conversation where introductions are being made, and now the turn has come around to me. So far, this is going swimmingly.” He jerked his head around and began to yell at the other people in the room. “Don’t worry everyone!” he shouted loudly at no one in particular. “I’ve managed to outwit them all thus far, but keep on your toes, this is getting very exciting!”

The Moderators heard him and were looking strangely at the Brony’s table, but the rest of the room apparently either could not hear him or were trying desperately to ignore the man. More than a few glanced over to see who was shouting, but none called back or even looked him in the eye, instead returning to their own conversation and dancing. The man did not acknowledge this lack of reaction, and when he turned back to the Bronies in front of him he acted as though he had not said anything at all, and began unfolding his napkin instead, blissfully unaware of the confused looks he was getting.

Proximo was completely lost, but Lady Violet managed to retain her composure. “I’m afraid,” she said in a measured tone, “that you have us all at a loss, sir. I hope you won’t mind if I ask for a name?”

That seemed to delight the man to no end. "A name? Yes! Yes, indeed I can give you that, but only a name, mind you, no more. Oh! Everyone!” he cried to the rest of the room again. “I’ve successfully parried her remarks, don’t fear, and I’m beginning to press the ‘name’ issue with due haste!” Once again he was ignored by almost everyone, though now Lord Halforth seemed to be watching him with hawkish interest.

The man again acted as though nothing had happened, and instead turned back to Lady Violet. “I shall tell you my name now, if you’re ready. You must understand that I, like everyone else here, have several names to make use of. You only asked for one of them, however, so I’ll tell you that the family name is the only one anyone cares about, and that is the one I use. So,” he said while leaning forward as though telling a secret, “it so happened that when I came here I used the name ‘Withins-Bei,’ and that I’ve come to be called ‘Withins-Bei,’ and that you may now refer to me as… Withins-Bei.”

“Withins-Bei?” Lady Violet said, considering the name. “You mean the Withins-Bei family of Kursedos? I must admit, I was hardly expecting to meet a member of your house here, of all places. Do you, by any chance, know Olivia Withins-Bei? She’s an old friend of mine.”

The odd guest waved his hand absently. “One of my innumerable cousins, no doubt. Our cups ran over with sisters and cousins and aunts back at Withinswyle Hall, what with all the Withins on one side and all the Bei’s on the other, and us in the middle with the worst of both sorts.”

He reached out and snatched a glass of water, slurped some of it, then swished it loudly in his mouth as though he were at a wine-tasting. “Now, I seem to vaguely recall being the child of someone—my mother, most likely—and that her and my father had the name ‘Withins-Bei’ as well, but the details escape me. For some time now, I have been more of a member of the Dreamweave Withins-Bei’s, which is to say that I have been the only member of the Dreamweave Withins-Bei’s.”

“You have no kin here in the city?” Skylark asked.

“Not unless those sweet girls in the red-zone are telling the truth,” he said with a yawn. “They aren’t of course, but I don’t hold it against them. There aren’t many people alive as honest as I, and I can hardly expect that standard of virtue to apply to everyone.”

Violet and Prim exchanged a look. Hadrena seemed amused. “And what do you do here, Mister Withins-Bei?”

He shook his head sharply. “No, no, you’re saying it all wrong. It’s not ‘Mister Withins-Bei,’ it is simply ‘Withins-Bei.’ The title is purely silent.” He yawned again, and rolled his eyes around the table. “But what does this Withins-Bei do? Why, I amuse myself. My life is hideous in its simplicity. When I feel hungry, I eat fine meals, and when I am thirsty I drink cheap wine. When I have a feeling of boredom I go to the theater, and when I have the pang of loneliness I go to the red-zone. My life is sensation followed by response, but I don’t stop at that. I am an appraiser of amusements, and I am always finding some new inconsolable way to continue my art.”

“Sounds lively,” Prim said flatly.

“Live-ly?” the strange man repeated. “Yes, I suppose living is the chief concern. My existence is merely existing, you must understand, and so I have come to the Dreamweave to pursue this craft until that horrible seizing of my life finally arrives. I am in a comfortable position, to be sure. Every month, my family sends me a few rolls of paper, and then I take the paper, and then I spend the paper. It makes no sense to me at all, but so far it has suited me fabulously. My limbs have been in motion all my life, and yet not once—not even for a moment—have they ever moved me towards work.”

“Fascinating,” Hadrena said with a smirk.

“It is! But it can cause me no end of trouble, all the same. I should warn you right now that every person in this hall—present company excluded, of course—despises me. It is jealousy, really.”

“They despise you?” Rosesoul asked, seeming both concerned and curious.

“Yes, well, one doesn’t like to brag,” he said coyly, “but they do indeed. It embarrasses me to no end. This may surprise you all, but I have a habit of irritating people.” As Withins-Bei said this, he picked his feet off the ground, lifted his legs up, and propped them up on the tabletop, his boots going right next to Prim’s face.

“That is surprising,” Lady Violet said, betraying no emotion on the matter.

Looking at the dirty boots only a short distance away from his face, Prim sighed and seemed as resigned to the circumstances as he was to practically everything, but Proximo was now fairly certain that this Withins-Bei man was either drunk or drugged or both.

“Yes indeed. All I do is talk to them, and yet they become so angry with me. I can hardly help it, really: I was born smirking. And yet my natural proclivities are no end of offense to them all, and thus I am cast out like a leper might be.”

“But you still come to parties like this?” Rosesoul inquired.

“Oh, but of course. I was invited, you see. Lord Aureliano himself passed along an invitation.”

“But don’t they hate you?”

“Yes, but they love money. And money I have,” Withins-Bei said with a wistful smile. “And in return for what I allow them, they allow me to continue my quest for distraction at my own leisure, without any of the uncomfortable restraints offered by the Mods or the city watch or anyone else. It’s very convenient that Arcadio is so accommodating to men of my caliber. Indeed, that is why I chose the Dreamweave, of all places, to settle myself down.”

Rosesoul frowned, not seeming to like the implications of what Withins-Bei said. Proximo could not help but agree. Is what he saying true? Cash for immunity? I’m not certain we can trust what this man says… but at the same time, I’m not certain I’d put it past the Martes.

Lady Violet caught on immediately. “You are in the Martes family’s good graces, then?” she said. She rested her chin on her hand and smiled at Withins-Bei. “Would you care to tell us more about them, perhaps?”

Withins-Bei laughed and wagged a finger. “Now, now, if one were more suspicious, one would guess you were trying to use me as some kind of source for information to help your cause.”

“Perish the thought,” Lady Violet said coyly.

“I consider myself an expert on beauty, and you are indeed beautiful, but I’m afraid I cannot sell myself off in such a way,” Withins-Bei said with a sigh. “My coming here was for another avenue of amusement, my lady, nothing more. I fear that if— oh, hullo!”

Proximo looked at the entrance to the ballroom, where Withins-Bei’s eyes were fixed, and gasped in horror. The Warden of Honesty was walking into the party again, clad in his new cloak and marching forward with his ordinary grim determination. On his shoulders, however, was a very large chair that he must have pilfered from one of the other rooms.

Behind him was a servant of some kind, seeming panicked and trying to keep up with the Warden’s stride, his mouth moving quickly as he did so. He was doing his best to step in front of the Warden or grab his arm, but could do nothing to stop a man two feet taller than him from going forward, stolen chair or not. When the servant looked up and realized that he was already in the middle of the ballroom, he froze in place and then walked out as quickly as he could.

The volume of chatter in the room dropped considerably as people gaped at the Warden walking by. He did not seem to notice, and instead marched directly back to the table, eye locked forward. When he approached, he looked down and saw that the place he originally picked next to Lady Violet was taken — specifically, it was filled by Withins-Bei, who looked as though he were about to explode with laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. The Warden frowned, placed his boot against Withins-Bei’s seat and pushed him slowly in the opposite direction, letting it make a horrid screeching sound that filled the entire room as he did so. Then, he unceremoniously dropped his own huge seat with a crash next to Lady Violet, and sat down.

Most of the room was staring at the Warden of Honesty. Lord Aureliano and Lady Pilara were looking in disbelief, as were all of their hanger-ons. Sir Borlund mouth was drooped slightly, and Sir Alwin Cameron was bug-eyed. Lord Halforth’s expression had changed upon seeing the Warden, but only slightly, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth flat. Aureliano was giving looks to the Lord Moderator, as though he expected him to do something about it, but Halforth merely turned back to a dish of food that was in front of him and said nothing. The room began to go back to their business, albeit all still keeping one eye on the Brony table as they did so.

The Warden of Honesty did not react to any of this, and even ignored the looks his fellow Bronies were giving. Most of the Generous Friends were shocked, aside from Prim who merely raised an eyebrow before sadly looking at Withins-Bei’s boots again. Dustario was trying to stifle his laughter, while the Honest Eye that had accompanied the Warden was whispering some kind of chant under his breath. Lady Violet had a hand over her mouth, and was looking in a very keen way at her fellow Warden.

“My honest friend?” she said slowly, once the ball began to start again.

“Yes?” he replied tersely.

“I see you found yourself a chair.”

“Yes. We apologize we were not quicker.”

“Honesty,” Violet continued in as firm a voice as he had ever heard her speak to the Warden, “there are a number of reasons why one should not steal chairs at parties.”

The Warden seemed offended, but did not break his gaze forward. “Not ‘steal’. We are guests. This one needed seat. Seat was not here. We found it.”

“May I ask where?”

“Two corridors down. Last on left. Sitting room.” His eye flickered down to Lady Violet and saw her expression. “We will return it after.”

Proximo was fighting the urge to tell Lady Violet that he had warned her about this sort of thing happening, and she seemed to be angry herself when she began to speak again. “Honesty…”

She was interrupted by Withins-Bei finally bursting out into hysterical laughter. “I take it all back,” he said, wiping his eyes with the napkin he had been playing with. “I was so, so hoping that I’d be able to meet you tonight, sir,” he said to the Warden of Honesty, “but I never even imagined that I would enjoy it this much. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that.” The Warden of Honesty was not acknowledging the thanks, but Withins-Bei had already turned his attention elsewhere. “My lady,” he said, “I told you that I was here for the sake of novelty, and you have not disappointed. I knew this evening would brighten up, and see how it did! It was poetry in motion, seeing all of them gawking at him, and for giving me that one moment, I’m certain that I know how to repay you.”

Lady Violet blinked in surprise. “I had thought you couldn’t… what was it? ‘Sell yourself off in that way’?”

Withins-Bei, still grinning wildly, shooed the thought away with his hand. “Forget that nonsense, I’ve sold myself for far less than that moment before, and I’ll certainly do it again. Do you still have questions? I’ll happily be your little informant or traitor or whatever it is you need for now.”

“Just for now?” Lady Violet asked, not missing a beat.

Withins-Bei considered that. “For now it is only for now. But ask me again in a day or so, and perhaps I’ll wish to make this partnership more permanent, so long as you can continue to distract me. Now,” he said, “what is it that you want to know?”

Lady Violet leaned backed gracefully in her chair, and daintily took a nearby water. “There are a number of nobles who call this city home. Tell me about them, first and foremost.”

“I’m surprised you need such information,” Withins-Bei said innocently. “I was under the impression that fandoms like yours had spies and sources under every stone — same with the Martes, same with the Mods.”

“Humor me, then.”

Good move, Proximo thought. They did indeed have some sources on the Dreamweave before they travelled there, but at the same time the word of a noble who lived there himself might drag up something more.

Withins-Bei shrugged. “The Martes, I suppose, are the most important—granted, that’s ‘important’ when compared with the rest of this hole of a city. Our great benefactor Aureliano rules the city, as his father did and his father before him, but everyone knows that he’s torn between his wife and his brother. Pilara whispers in one ear, Arcadio whispers in another, and Aureliano moves about accordingly. It is very convenient.”

“Lady Pilara, then,” Lady Violet said casually. “What can you tell us about her?”

“She has only graced the court with her presence for some two years now. Before that, she was the daughter of some Blurrite merchant. He enjoyed the idea of his daughter being in charge of an island and Aureliano enjoyed the idea of her, so the match was made swimmingly.”

He sipped from his water glass, then made a pronounced gagging noise. “Urgh. A terrible vintage.” He waved his hand around in the air to motion for some drinks to be brought to the table. “At any rate, Pilara is the light our own little paradise here, and you see how she shines up there at the top of the dais, speaking so softly at her husband’s side! He adores her, really—it’s almost sickening. However,” he said, “while I have no desire to be disloyal, it might interest you to know that not everyone feels the same.”

“And why is that?” Skylark asked.

“She’s a foreigner. And overproud, and fickle. And she doesn’t keep well to one bed, if all the fanciful rumors I hear around my head have a wrinkle of truth.” He gave a rather odious smile. “Or perhaps not. I hear so many voices, and so few have my kind of integrity. Others in court are far less wholesome than I.”

Proximo glanced up at Lady Pilara in her seat. She was gowned just as finely as she was when the Bronies first arrived, dressed in silk and gold lace, but the expression she wore had not changed either. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth curled slightly into a smile, looking down at the scene like someone observing a mildly amusing diversion. He still did not like the look of her one bit, no matter how beautiful she was.

“These others you’re talking about,” Hadrena said, “who are they?”

“Why, my peers and colleagues, of course.” He closed his eyes, and smiled softly before a brief sigh. “Look behind me—not for too long, mind you, or they’ll notice—and you’ll see a gentleman with silver-dyed hair and violet highlights, wearing both colors in his suit. That would be Lord Wireton, sitting at the table closest to the door. The lady chatting with him is Lady Hallhave, and the gentleman with long hair in red and burgundy at the table across is Amberten.”

Still continuing to not look behind him, he rattled off several other names. “Amberten has four brothers, two of which are here and likely sitting with him now, if they aren’t dancing. The other two are probably in Nightside for a good time. The done old man whom I imagine is falling asleep in his soup at the table directly in front of the dais is Pendros Haxtoll, the last of his noble line. The dusky man wearing black and brown at the same table is Johastoff—a trader from the Sajle cities, with connections to Pilara’s father, and poor Pendros' only friend. And the man who almost certainly staggering drunk at his point, wearing gold and… green, I think, near the back curtains is Willburm, while his wife is hopefully off speaking with someone else.”

Just as he finished, a servant approached with a bottle of wine, which Withins-Bei happily accepted and poured into a glass for himself and one for Lady Violet.

Proximo’s eyes darted quickly around the room: every one of the people that Withins-Bei mentioned was indeed in the room, and precisely where he placed them. Hadrena seemed almost impressed.

Lady Violet took the wine and sipped. “And these noble friends of yours,” Lady Violet said meaningfully, “do any of them have cause to be… agreeable?”

Withins-Bei smiled deviously. “Would you like me to provide a list?”

“Oh, please do.”

“Very well then, I shall. But first,” he said before gulping down a mouthful of his wine, “I believe it may be best that you dance, my assorted new compatriots.”

“Dance?” Rosesoul repeated, confused.

“This is a ball, isn’t it? It would be remiss of you all to stay huddled here at your own little island,” he said matter-of-factly, “and I doubt any of you have a desire to be less than courteous. Or suspicious-looking, considering that you’ve done nothing but plot with me since you arrived.”

Proximo saw the wisdom of that, as he looked over to see the crowd of people twirling and spinning around each other in the center of the room. Ordinarily one would wait for another’s invitation before dancing… but since no such offer was likely forthcoming from the nobles of the Dreamweave, it seemed they had to move first.

“Very well,” Lady Violet said. “Proximo, would you care to join me for a moment?”

“Have I any choice at all, my lady?” he replied with a smile.

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Hadrena extended her hand to Theosyrius, who was sitting behind her… though Proximo was certain she would have rather danced with Skylark, if she thought the other would accept. Rosesoul looked across from her. “Would my lord care to dance?” she asked the Warden of Honesty.

“No,” he said immediately.

“I would love to dance, if you’ll have me,” Dustario said courteously. Rosesoul was happy to accept, but obviously disappointed — though what she had expected from asking the Warden was beyond Proximo.

“For the sake of public safety, I think I’ll stay here,” Prim said before reaching for the wine. Violet nodded in response, and with that they proceeded to the floor.

Working their way past the tables, Proximo knew that the rest of the room was watching them, but he tried not to notice as he locked fingers with Lady Violet and began to dance. There were musicians in the corner of the room, playing some soft, upbeat song, so Violet and Proximo stepped lightly as they spun in tandem. Proximo Hart did not consider himself an extremely accomplished dancer, at least when compared to his partner, and so he made sure to look as natural as possible while counting off steps in his head. Right, two three, step, two three, turn one two…

Lady Violet’s hand was on his shoulder, and both looked carefully to the other, if only so they would not have to acknowledge the stares they were getting. As Proximo glanced around to make sure that their path on the dance floor wasn’t crowded, however, he could not help but glimpse a few faces. A majority were unfriendly, sadly enough; darting his eyes up to the dais, he noticed that Aureliano and Pilara were looking down at them, curling their lips and laughing with one another. Lord Halforth was looking in another direction, as though trying to ignore the scene. The other dancing pairs were giving the Bronies a wide berth, though Proximo saw that the dancing Bronies themselves seemed to be enjoying themselves—Dustario was laughing with Rosesoul, and even Hadrena had a slight half-smile.

As they turned another time in tune with the music, Lady Violet spoke softly under her breath. “I should warn you, Mister Hart, that part of the reason we’re dancing is so we can discuss our table-guest out of his hearing.”

“He does seem prone to cause discussion, my lady.” Truthfully, Proximo wasn’t sure what to think of this Withins-Bei character—he did not seem as though he were lying when he spoke, but at the same time he hardly appeared trustworthy. The man was one that flitted through life, going from pleasure to pleasure, not caring where they came from or who was involved in getting them… or who got hurt in the process. Proximo knew the sort—he had been one, once. The scar across his chest tingled slightly as he thought about it, but he tried to push it out of his mind. “He appears to be very familiar with the Dreamweave court.”

Lady Violet stepped around, and Proximo followed suit. “If he had been directly lying in what he said, I imagine the Warden of Honesty would have told us so. The information he has could be very useful, as could his cooperation… but at the same time, a man as inconstant as he appears to be is one I’m not inclined to easily trust.”

Proximo tried to keep an ear on the music as he thought. “We had best keep him close enough to be useful, but far enough that any disloyalty won’t damage us, then. Finding out what he wants will be the first step to getting any kind of partnership, I think.”

“Well, we already know what that is—distraction. He said it himself, Mister Hart.” She smiled at her partner. “I suppose we can manage to continue being ‘amusing’ if it means keeping his trust, don’t you?”

“Of course, my lady. I should tell you now, though, that I’ve been feeling unnaturally serious as of late—I fear I can’t keep up this present air of carefree cheerfulness for too long.”

“We all suffer for fandom and friends, Mister Hart. Keep your chin up, now.”

The dance continued for a time, but once the music slowed down and the musicians played their last notes, the dancing partners on the floor broke about, bowed to one another, and turned to another partner. Proximo saw that Caleb had lumbered over to the dancefloor in the meantime, and was approaching Lady Violet. “I am hardly worthy to ask, my lady,” he said while extending a fat hand, “but may I have the honor?”

She bowed to her new partner and began to dance with him as the music started again, but Proximo saw little reason to continue, and headed back to his seat instead. There he found himself with Prim and Withins-Bei sharing wine, while the Warden of Honesty sat quietly. As Proximo worked his way back into his seat, Withins-Bei managed to detach himself from the wine bottle long enough to pay a compliment. “Your lady is an excellent dancer, sir. It is always so refreshing to see young love on the floor—it almost warms my poor, shriveled heart.”

Proximo smiled courteously. “I think you may be misreading the situation, my lord.”

“I’m not a lord. But perhaps you’re right after all.” He shrugged, and began to help himself to yet more wine. “Still, I pride myself on my intuition. I can almost always tell what other people want—that way I can get it first.”

Proximo was about to give a witty response to that, when he eyes became fixed on something across the room. It was a man that must have just walked in—there was no way he could have been in the ballroom all along, or Proximo would have noticed sooner—and was seated alone at a table close to the dais.

He was the strangest-looking man that Proximo had ever seen in his life. He was very thin, and wore long robes, colored a deep-sea blue, as he delicately sipped from a water glass. The bizarre thing, however, was his skin: it looked naturally black, definitely northern in origin, but large patches of it were spotted white as milk. A huge blotch of pale flesh curled up from his neck to his chin, while another covered almost his whole left hand and much of the space around his right eye. They might have been hideous burn-scars of some kind, but Proximo couldn’t figure how they had managed to cover such random parts of his person.

Withins-Bei must have noticed him staring. “Ah, I see you’ve taken notice of the local grotesque. That would be Heylen Ott, our friendly neighborhood freak.”

A cybrahakar name, Proximo thought as he looked at the man, very thin, and blue robes. That might explain it.

Withins-Bei seemed to read his thoughts. “You’re wondering about his skin, but you’re too polite to ask.” He laughed dryly at his hesitation. “You must learn to not take account of such petty things as courtesy, or you’ll never learn anything interesting in the world. Heylen Ott is a cybramancer—Grandmance of the Dreamweave, in fact, as appointed by the Guild. The cursed blood is known to warp the body, and Ott is no different: he was born with dark skin, like his mother from the Sajle, but when he dies he shall be completely white, like those disgusting patches of skin you see on him. It’s quite sad, really.”

Proximo could not help but be annoyed at the careless way Withins-Bei was talking about others, but at the same time he had trouble looking away from Heylen Ott. It made him ashamed to be gawking at a perfect stranger, so he distracted himself by searching for Lady Violet on the dancefloor. She was performing every bit as well there as she had earlier, and Proximo was surprised to see that Caleb was as well. Large as he was, he was amazingly light on his feet, as he stepped gracefully through a happy dance with Lady Violet.

At the same time, though, he looked up to see Lord Halforth in his seat. The Lord Moderator was listening to something that Aureliano had said, and looking down at a table far to the left of him with a certain amount of displeasure. It was hard to see who was sitting at said table, but Proximo was more concerned with Mod himself. “What do you know about Lord Halforth?” he asked Withins-Bei. It would pay to know more about the man who would decide the fate of his friends.

He raised an eyebrow. “More than some, not as much as others. Truthfully, I have had little time to know him, considering that he has only been here a short while. I know what they say about him, though. I’ve heard he’s dutiful and effective, why else would the Authority shower him with such praise and honors? I’ve heard that he’s hard and cold, or else all the ne’er-do-wells of this island would not fear his presence so much. And I’ve heard he’s merciless to the guilty. You know he condemned his own son to hang?”

“That’s only a rumor,” Prim interjected.

“Rumor or not, it makes for an interesting character, doesn’t it?” Withins-Bei smiled smugly. “It must be strange, knowing that the lives of your friends lie in the hands of that man.”

Rumors are only rumors, Proximo thought, there may be no truth to it at all. And yet…

His train of thought was interrupted when Lady Violet return to the table, along with a smiling Caleb. “Honestly, Caleb,” she said cheerfully, “it never ceases to amaze me how talented you are on the floor. I would never have guessed it.”

Caleb responded with a buttery smile. “One always aims to surprise and please, my lady, one certainly does.”

Skylark returned with her partner as well, and both she and the others sat down to their original seats. As Lady Violet took her seat, however, Proximo saw that some newcomers were entering the room. Three of them were guards, but the other was someone that Proximo hadn’t seen before. He was lean, but strong looking, with a beard and black hair that had a single strand of red through it, and was wearing yellow, gold, bronze, and a crimson-red cape across his shoulders. Proximo looked between the man and Lord Aureliano, and noted a certain similarity—then he realized who he must have been.

“My lady,” Proximo said, “is that Arcadio over there?”

“Yes indeed,” Violet replied, her voice emotionless but her eyes angry. The Warden of Honesty was staring as well, and scowling at the man that sauntered across the room.

Arcadio made his way through, his guards trailing behind, and received a warm greeting from his brother Aureliano. The two embraced, and Arcadio took his place at his brother’s side, smiling and laughing with him as he helped himself to a glass of wine.

Withins-Bei noticed the Bronies’ expressions. “I take it that you’ve already had the honor of meeting the wise Lord Arcadio? I imagine that was exciting.”

“That is one word for it,” Lady Violet replied.

“He’s the one you spoke of, my lady?” Skylark said with concern. She frowned, appraising Arcadio’s character from afar. “I don’t like the way he moves. The way he walks, that look in his eyes when he speaks and sees… there is a corruption in that one, my lady.”

Prim was casting Skylark a strange look, but Withins-Bei chuckled. “You’re being so harsh on him, all of you. He is such an interesting fellow, after all. Time spent abroad, a few years in the Chan, a few years in the Deep Web if you believe that talk. And when he returned he was given command of the city watch to preoccupy him: a pack of gutter-rats with spears at first, but now they’re better trained and better equipped than ever, and they’re loyal only to him.” He looked knowingly to Lady Violet. “That’s one thing you should learn quickly: Aureliano may claim to rule from the Palace, but it is Arcadio that controls the streets, and everything in them. There are no businesses that run in the Dreamweave without his say-so, or without paying protection to the watch—at reasonable terms, of course, for such stalwart defenders as Arcadio.”

“And our friends are under his custody,” Prim said with no shortage of resentment.

“Is that the case?” Withins-Bei said. “Then please forgive me, because I’m afraid I must be serious for a moment.” He looked at Lady Violet, unblinking and for the first time not smiling. “If you wish for your friends to remain alive and whole before this is over, you must get them out of Arcadio’s hands as soon as you can. Him and I are much alike, in our own depraved little ways, but he is fond of things far beyond me. Your friends will not last long in his company, I’m afraid.”

The Warden of Honesty clenched his fist, and gave a look that could have cracked stone to the table where Arcadio sat. The people on the dais did not seem to notice or care, but instead continued to laugh among themselves. While they were doing so, however, Aureliano pointed out the same table he had brought to Halforth’s attention earlier, and after doing so Arcadio smiled, picked himself up, and proceeded across the room. Aureliano looked slightly concerned when he did so, and seemed to try and coax his brother away from whatever his plan was, but Arcadio was already on the move.

Proximo strained to glimpse the person seated at the table, and saw an extremely defeated-looking girl sitting by herself. Her eyes were downcast, and only occasionally looked up to see other guests walking by and chuckling to themselves, after which she seemed to sink further and further into her chair. She had short hair, black and undyed, and the kind of mouth that parted slightly to show her front-most teeth. Though not extraordinarily beautiful, she nevertheless had a kind of delicate prettiness to her, but for some reason she was being either completely ignored or subtly mocked by everyone around her.

No one had made any attempt to sit with her, and whenever she looked up hopefully at someone they passed by without a care, aside from the few that seemed embarrassed to be refusing her. Even the ones uncomfortable doing so still walked by, however, and every time it seemed to break her down a little more. She could not have been older than twenty, and was perhaps younger.

Proximo was about to ask Withins-Bei who she was, when Lady Violet beat him to it. “Who is that girl over there, sitting on her own?” she asked with sincere concern.

Withins-Bei glanced over, then laughed. “Oh, her? Imelia Kohburn. Her family is one of the oldest in the Dreamweave, but they’re second-rate nowadays. It’s just her and her grandmother left, I think, and the latter can’t leave the house anymore. I imagine the Martes invited her out of some kind of courtesy,” he said. “Or perhaps they just enjoy having a fun little target.”

“Won’t anyone dance with her?” Skylark asked.

“I wouldn’t think so, much as she would appreciate it. Likely they think something will rub off on them, or they’ll catch the Martes’ ire. She’s been very popular in all the best court discussions as of late. I imagine they’d hate for someone to ruin their fun.”

“Why?” Lady Violet said with a deep frown.

“She’s pregnant.” Lady Violet cast Withins-Bei an alarmed look, so he continued. “With an unknown father, mind you. She’s refused to tell Pilara or anyone else who it was that got her with child, and she’s been a pariah ever since.” Withins-Bei said this with a smile, but Proximo could hear a bitterness underlying his words. “Just another harmless game by us noble men and women, you see.”

Lady Violet looked at Withins-Bei with equal parts anger and disgust before saying something in protest, but Proximo was not listening as he watched Arcadio cross the room to Imelia’s table. People parted out of his way when he came close, and Aureliano was wearing an uncomfortable look as he watched his brother go.

Grabbing a bottle of wine from another table, Arcadio came up upon Imelia, took her glass, and began pouring a drink for himself while she looked up at him, wide-eyed. After resting the bottle in front of her, he knelt down and began to whisper something in her ear. Then he extended an open hand to her, and she reached out to take it… but as soon as she did, he pulled away with a smile, turning around sharply and leaving her alone with the bottle.

People began to laugh, though there was a certain discomfort with some of them, and a few, like the old Pendros Haxtell that Withins-Bei had pointed out earlier, turned away from the scene. Aureliano smiled, but was shifting in his seat and did not look at Imelia after his brother walked away. The two knights seats at the high table were trying to ignore what had happened, but Lord Halforth stared with an icy cold expression at Arcadio as he proudly marched back to his place of honor at the front of the room.

Lady Violet looked as though she were about to be sick. “Six save us. I’m going over there right now, you all… Proximo?”

Proximo could barely hear the others as he walked quickly across the room, trying to force the red anger out of his face as he crossed the floor. There were a few strange looks, but he was past caring, and it was all he could do to maintain his composure as he approached.

She either did not notice that Proximo had walked up beside her, or was no longer able to acknowledge it, so he spoke first. “Pardon me, but would you care to dance?” he asked respectfully.

At first she didn’t seem to hear him, but then she looked up to see him there. Her eyes were red, and Proximo could tell that she was close to tears. He extended a hand gently, but she seemed reluctant to take it. “Is this a trick?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Proximo replied as clearly as he could.

She looked warily at the hand for a moment, then took it. Proximo led her out to the floor, when a slow, sad song was starting to croon from the musician’s corner. Imelia stood a head shorter than Proximo, and her eyes were darting around nervously as they started to dance, as though she were expecting a joke at her expense in any moment. She was quiet, but then ventured to ask, “Who…”

“Proximo Hart. Assistant Warden of Generosity,” he replied.

She blinked in surprise. “Oh. You’re one of those people.”

“Yes, I am,” he said sympathetically. “If that is an issue, I…”

“No!” she said suddenly. “No, no, that wasn’t what I meant at all. It’s just… I’m sorry.” She looked away, embarrassed. “My name is Imelia.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Imelia,” he said sincerely. He was trying to avoid looking at anyone else in the room as much as possible, and when he turned with her in time with the beat he did not look up to see who was watching. “I hope my invitation didn’t take you by surprise. That was not my intent.”

“Oh, no, not that. I’ve always loved to dance, but…” She looked down sadly again, and seemed to be fighting back tears. “I should tell you now, why they all hate me, why no one talks to me anymore. I’m…”

Proximo stopped her gently. “You don’t need to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. Either I know already, and I’ve elected to ignore it, or I don’t know and I have no interest in prying from you.”

She seemed infinitely grateful when he said that, and breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t need to say more. For a time, they simply moved silently, swaying with the music. There was clearly something she wanted to ask, however, and eventually she blurted out, “Why?”

Because you didn’t deserve to be treated that way, Proximo thought, but instead he pondered a different answer. “My lady, “I wear the colors of the Generous Friend, and flawed as I am I do my best to live up to them. I was not always this way,” he said, the scar across his chest stinging slightly as he remembered it, “but it would seem to me now that civility and respect are not earned but owed, to everyone. Nothing one does excuses him from adhering to that rule, and nothing one can do exempts them from being treated fairly.”

They both looked at one another, her eyes no longer so red or hesitant. Proximo smiled softly when he saw the improvement. “Truthfully though,” he added, “one should never need a reason to ask a beautiful woman to dance. You deserve nothing less.”

For the first time, she smiled, and seeing that was the only reason or reward that Proximo had ever needed. The music came to a close, and at the end he looked up to the high table to see what his hosts thought of the performance. The two knights were still ignoring the scene, and Lord Aureliano was picking at the rim of his wine glass in discomfort, but Lady Pilara was giving a half-smile with half-closed eyes glinting in a vaguely threatening way. The look that Arcadio was giving, on the other hand, had no amusement at all, despite the upward curl of his thin mouth, and his stare was full of something odious. Proximo returned the glare with an icy look of his own.

Though the dance was over, Imelia seemed to be loath to break her hand away from Proximo’s, still half-clinging on as she looked up at him. She did not appear to know quite what to say next, now that it was done, so he tried to open up the conversation again. “If you would like, my lady,” he said, “you’re more than welcome to join my friends and I at our table. I’m certain they would love to meet you, and it would be better company then you’ve had thus far.”

She considered it, but shook her head. “No, thank you but I… I think I had better just leave. I should be home anyways, my grandmother will be expecting me back soon.” It was an obvious lie, but one that Proximo did not hold against her—he would not likely wish to stay either, were he in her shoes. She bit her lip, nervous to say more. “But… maybe, if you’re willing, we could meet again?”

She was looking at him hopefully, and even if Proximo had considered refusing it is unlikely that he’d have been able to. I’m the first friend she’s had in some time, he thought sadly. He knew how that felt, after all. “My lady,” he said earnestly, “I would like nothing more. If there is ever anything you need, or any help you might want, don’t hesitate to find me.”

Imelia smiled again, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Thank you. I don’t… I’m not… thank you.” Slowly, she let go of Proximo’s hands and walked out of the ballroom, stepping lightly through the doors and down the hall.

Proximo returned to his friends and found them all glad to see him. Lady Violet was beaming, and touched his hand as he sat down. “That,” she said proudly, “that was a noble thing, Mister Hart.”

Dustario leaned back in his chair and clapped Proximo on the back. “Damn good work out there, Proxi,” he said with a grin. There was a chorus of agreements from the rest of the Bronies—even Prim seemed slightly upbeat.

Withins-Bei was giving an odd look to Proximo, his head tilted slightly. “The way they were watching you,” he said, “you’d think you were dancing on hot coals, sir.” He drained another glass of wine and smiled. “I believe that you will all prove most interesting as you stay here in our fair city.”

Proximo settled into his seat and started to pour himself a glass, feeling happy. Hopefully that helped her, even only a little, he thought. It can’t make God knows how much abuse slung at her any less painful, but at least she knows that she isn’t alone. That much, at least, could make a world of difference for someone who had their life turned on its head.

While he sipped at his wine, however, Proximo noticed something in the far corner of the room.

He had been unable to see them earlier, when a crowd of people stood in front of them, and they were so pushed into a dark alcove of the ballroom that he might not have see them even then if he hadn’t strained his eyes in curiosity. There, all seated and looking to one another, were three figures. They were all wearing strange, dark, patchy clothing that was incredibly out of place, considering where they were, and none of them seemed to be talking.

And all of their faces were covered by masks.

Proximo nudged Lady Violet, and directed her attention over. At first she didn’t seem them, but then she tilted her head in curiosity and looked to Withins-Bei. “Those three, over there in the corner of the room,” she said to him, gesturing subtly to the far table. “Who are they?”

Withins-Bei tried to make himself sound bored, but Proximo could tell that he was being deliberately enigmatic when he saw the three and replied. “Three anonymites of the Chan, if you’d believe it. They arrived here two days before you all, and I’ve been seeing them around the Palace ever since.”

“Anonymites?” Rosesoul said, startled. “Here? By the Kind, what are they after?”

She sounded uncomfortable at the thought of even sharing the room with the three distant figures, and Proximo could not help but sympathize. Though he had never been to the Chan—that dreaded place of dark water and hideous demon-gods—he had met anonymites in the past and heard many stories about their homeland. The whole island was in a constant flux of anarchy and war, with the Moderators only barely able to hold a tiny presence in certain cities—even then, they could rarely intervene, and were often expelled. In that land, strange people wore strange masks to hide their face and name, which the Channic held to be sacred and thought all others were unworthy to know, and stalked through crumbling streets ablaze with fire to avoid the sight of some horror they thought dwelt under the ocean. It was an infamous place, and while its inhabitants were extremely proud of their home, the rest of the civilized Web held them in varying degrees of contempt, disgust, and fear.

Withins-Bei laughed. “You sound so afraid. The Channic are only people, my lady—a bit rougher, perhaps, but all flesh and bone and blood. Aside from the wood on their faces, that is, and the metal in their hands. As to why they’re here…” He shrugged. “I couldn’t say. They probably bribed someone or another to get an invitation, but what they’re looking for is beyond me. Despite rumors to the contrary, I’m not omniscient, dear chums.”

Proximo listened to the words as he stared over at the three anonymites huddled together. It was unwise to look so obviously their way, he knew, but Withins-Bei made him curious, and the possibility of why these Channic were in the city made him even curiouser. Three anonymites of the Chan, here in the Dreamweave, arriving as soon as all this drama comes up? It could easily be a coincidence… but at the same time….

While Proximo looked over, however, he saw the one of the three people stirring. How he had noticed, Proximo was not sure, but the gawking at their table must have been more obvious than the Bronies had thought, because the masked man seemed to be staring right back at them. It was hard to tell, but the eyes of the mask—encircled by odd spirals and dotted with white paint, appeared to be fixed on Proximo and his friends. The anonymite tilted his head to the side, and then lowered it slightly. It took only a moment for the assistant to realize that the man was half-bowing. He can see us, Proximo thought, as his friends looked away.

* * * * * *

“How does one describe the Chan? Many have tried, and found words lacking. Wild, untamed, lawless. Brilliant and beautiful, fickle and cruel, dark and dangerous, good and evil. All are equally acceptable, and equally applicable, and indeed “equal” is another word to describe the state of the Channic. Perhaps the best word is simply “strange,” for those small, rocky, bleak islands squatting in the Saying Sea are nothing if not foreign, even alien to outsiders. Other places in the Web emulate them, many others despise them, but none can possibly match them when it comes to strangeness.

“How old is the Chan? Old, that much we can say. The isles themselves are ancient, though it is difficult to tell exactly when they were settled by the first to call themselves ‘Channic.’ The anonymite legends say that they came from the Deep Web, born from smoke and soot and given form and life by an old power that dwells there. Some of these myths claim they were born in the damned halls of the Black Palace, and sent out from the Deep to live unbowed by any man alive. If that was their goal, they indeed succeeded. The Channic also state that the first settlers arrived in the place that their oldest city, Moot’s Point, now stands, and it was there that the first anonymite ‘laws’ (if one can call them that) were made and the first Mootking, called Crof, was chosen to wear the Baymaster’s Mask. Since the oldest ruins and artifacts all seem to be found in that area, it would seem that this legend, at least, is true.

“Despite the fact that they have a king, the Channic are ruled by no one. Mootkings are chosen purely by enough Channic simply saying that they are the Mootking, regardless of who they are or where they come from. There is no succession and no formal gathering to decide who the new Mootking is, should one die, which has led to long periods where there is none at all or where there are many at once. The only real criteria for a legitimate king is that they generally must be crowned in Moot’s Point and rule from the Slouchhall in the Channic capital, Baysmouth, but even these bare rules are little more than guidelines, and are often forgotten. The Mootking has no power save for the power he takes for himself, and the only sway he has over his people is found in his ability to compel them to follow him through either force or fraud, meaning that a certain points the Chan has been united under particularly fierce and cunning rulers and at others has dissolved under the rule of weak or indulgent kings whose rule did not extend outside their own door.

“The Moderators have no more power than the Mootking, and often much less. The king, at least, is Channic and was chosen by the Channic, but the Mods have always been seen as foreigners, oppressors, and enemies to many in the Chan. The Authority has never been fully accepted to even the smallest degree, and even the tiny amount of knights and lords allowed in are often maligned and hated. The Channic have an enormous fear of control or intervention in their lives, and are fiercely, fanatically independent—every Channic considers himself, and himself alone, to be his own lord, king, and god, and will only obey the whims of his own body. Any perceived attempt to establish law or authority over them is immediately met with riots, wars, and assassinations, and thus only the truly unlucky or daring Mods are sent to the Chan, and only the strongest (or the most corrupt) are able to leave intact.

Every once in a while, the Authority will attempt another large offensive to bring the Channic under heel when they grow too rabid or dangerous, but in time everything inevitably reverts back to as it always has been—the dark, angry, paranoid, resentful Chan that will always be. It is little wonder that ordinary men and women of the Web avoid the place, but fortune-hunters, thrill-seekers, pirates, criminals, and curious rogues of all sorts nevertheless flood the islands, and many, in time, carve their own masks and stay for good, draw by the intoxicating freedom that the Chan offers. Nothing is illegal, save for law itself, and all is permitted, something that has no end of appeal for certain types…”

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

Comments

[Yami Vizzini]

And yet more mysterious pieces on the board... at this point I'm just going with the flow and seeing what comes up because I don't know what to think of them all. Except wanting to give Imelia a hug, and even then I wouldn't be surprised if she's more involved in the larger intrigue than anyone suspects.... And I find myself liking Withins-Bei in spite of myself.

[Deadna]

This story has such wonderful world-building. The way Lord Max creates parallels between the internet we live with, and the Internet these characters live in is spectacular. As always, looking forward to the next chapter.

[Brother_William]

Honesty becomes better with each chapter. I can tell Halforth is already taking a liking to him. A man, like himself, who has no time for flattery or intrigue, and freely speaks his mind.

[DE_K]

Proximo knew the sort—he had been one, once. The scar across his chest tingled slightly as he thought about it, but he tried to push it out of his mind.

He really must've taken that to heart, I mean it's always tingling or something just at a thought, you'd think he'd almost died or something.

Anyway, still great and the Channinc sounds like a lovely vacation spot.

[Seraphem]

First off, LOVED the bit with Honesty and the chair, I saw what he was doing coming.... but I was half expecting him to come back in with the Lord's chair/throne/whatever from the main hall. But yes, that was EPIC! And.. I can definitely see, despite what the Martes believe in their arrogance self delusion, the Lord Moderator seeing the Bronies as the more trustworthy group if it comes down to a "Whose telling the truth" type deal. They are to used to their little lordlings, who follow their lead, and always agree with them, not even able to consider that he might see right passsed their deception and false charms, and only care about reality. And given most of their case revolves around "I have said it so it must be true, now accept it!"....... Still gotta be more to this then just that or this would be far to easy. And then you have the Anons..... that nod.. it means something... it's claimed they showed up only two days before the Bronies so... what about the ones that killed the Knight? Same ones? Just hiding out and only showing up recently? A different group? Not even Anons? Just people faking it?

The fact that the Anons are at the party by invite, makes it a lot more likely the Martes are in collusion with things on the murder in some fashion beyond just using it as an excuse to flex their microscopic e-peens about how awesome they are.

And then of course Withins-Bei.. I like him.. and he is by no means the idiotic drunk he claims and acts like. He was far, far to shrewd, far to insightful, perceptive.... the whole "I'm just looking for entertainment" I'm suspecting is all a ruse.. he's here as someone's spy, some faction or House... using the "Vapid, drunken, lecherous playboy" image as his cover. And curious that the Bronies seem to be taken what he said about himself at face value........

Also, they made a friend! YAY! one that is likely going to help them, and certainly was more likely to weight the Lord Moderator into their side.. if only slightly. And Proxy.... way to go dude, THAT is showing the true spirit of the Six and One in all it's glory. Yes, yes, there may have been a few hints of Liquid Pride at that scene... so touching, and moving, and sad and just..... she better get a happy ending out of this!!!!

Short version, fuck the nobles.. they are the same thoughtless, petty, cruel assholes you get anywhere... GO BRONIES!!!!