Crusader copyright © 2006 by Andrew Smith

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Mundania Press Production

Mundania Press LLC

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Cover Art © 2006 by SkyeWolf

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Trade Paperback ISBN-10: 1-59426-230-6

Trade PaperbackISBN-13: 978-1-59426-230-2

eBook ISBN-10: 1-59426-231-4

eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-231-9

First Edition • October 2006

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2006927882

Morning Tea

Nobody in the Woven City could tell you quite where they were. They could provide a whole litany of geographic and temporal markers, however. For instance, they could tell you that they were in the mid-nineteenth century, in a block of London flats. They could tell you the to the left was a ten-story civic auditorium from Chicago, completed in 1890, and that to the right was a small church of St. Pandelemon from the Greek island of Antissa. On the sidewalk in front of it sat a rusty tank, aimed at Turkey. Or rather, where Turkey would be but in fact it was just pointing across the street.

They could tell you that in the normal world, that place where most people lived, these places were thousands of miles apart, and half of them gone or in a serious state of disrepair. And in fact, it was quite easy to get to the normal world from any of these places.

But where this world was, where it existed in relation to that other place, that was another question entirely. If there were single living being who knew the answer, they weren’t talking.

The London apartment building had been converted into a tea shop, a favorite among the citizens for its amicable owner, fresh baked treats, array of comfortable seating, and relative security. The Woven City, formed by buildings and patches of land from all over the world since the dawn of civilization, was rampant with sorcery, chaos, and lively debate.

The shop was crowded as usual with some of the regular customers, standing round the bar, perched on armchairs near the fireplace, or simply ducking in for their morning drink. The sweet, slightly plump Mme. Rumella dispensed teas and coffees with the readiness of many years’ practice.

“Here you are, Mr. Markab: one medium earl grey, no milk, no sugar,” said Mme. Rumella in her ancient Londoner’s accent, as she handed a steaming glass to a somewhat portly black gentleman in a pinstripe charcoal suit and bowler hat

“I would tip my hat, Madam, but...” Mr. Markab, gentleman astrologer, shrugged, his one hand full with his tea, the other with a plain black briefcase and umbrella.

“Of course, Mr. Markab,” Mme. Rumella smiled. “You run along to your office, and have a very nice day.”

Mr. Markab inclined his head, said good day and exited. Mme. Rumella never worried about losing her glassware. She turned to the next person in line, a young man with short dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved one. “Oh, Jason, lamb, you’ve found the shop this morning. How lovely. What can I get for you?”

“Earl Grey,” Jason Oblivion replied cheerfully.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

“How about something fruity? It’s fall: how about some nice apple cinnamon?”

“Absolutely not!” Jason smiled.

“One apple cinnamon it is. Are you staying?”

Jason shook his head. “Got to leave immediately, sorry.”

“One apple cinnamon to stay. Why don’t you have a seat, Jason?”

“I think I’ll stand,” said Jason as he chose a seat by the window. “May I pay you right now?”

“That’ll be lovely,” Mme. Rumella replied, setting his steeping tea on the bar.

The next person in line, an apparently twenty-something woman with flaming red hair, shook her head and remarked, in a Scots accent, “How do you carry on a conversation with the Man Who’s Always Wrong?”

“Oh, it’s not all that difficult, Mary,” Mme. Rumella said. “You just have to give him what he isn’t sure that he doesn’t want.”

“I still think I’d get a headache,” Mary remarked

“The headaches go away after a while,” Mme. Rumella smiled ruefully. “What can I get for you now?”

“Just a coffee to go. I’ve got kind of a busy day.”

“Of course, dear, here’s your cup,” Mme. Rumella replied

Mary filled her cup with French roast, as an attractive woman with voluminous black hair and green eyes, and wearing plenty of silver jewelry, stepped forward. “Mary, Queen of Scots,” she said mistily

Mary exhaled angrily into her coffee without turning to look at the other woman. “Tina Virtue,” she said mockingly, “Proprietor of Truth and Beauty.” Mary looked her in the eye. “Why is it that everyone in this town seems to need a title as well as a name? I’m Mary. No appellations, no honorifics. Just Mary.”

Tina Virtue cocked her head innocently to the side and rejoined, “Mary, you will always be Queen.”

Mary’s face reddened. “That’s as may be,” she growled into her cup, “but you don’t have to tack it onto my name whenever you see me.”

“I speak only in truths,” said Tina.

“I’m not asking you to lie,” said Mary, “just omit a bit more than is your current practice. If youfeel the desperate need to add extra syllables, Mary Stuart will do.”

Tina shrugged. “ A hot chocolate please, Mme. Rumella.”

“Right away, love,” said Mme. Rumella as she grabbed her steaming pitcher and premium chocolate.

“So, have you heard,” said Tina, an indulgent gossip whose news was always reliable, even when she chose to share it for free, “that someone is actually running for Mayor?”

“Mayor?” Mme. Rumella cried over the steam and bubbling milk. “If I didn’t know better, Tina, I’d swear you were joking!”

“Jesus...” Mary muttered. “When’s the last time this town even had a Mayor?”

“Three hundred twenty-some years, I believe,” Mme. Rumella supplied.

“You’re wrong!” Jason called from his seat.

“Thank you, lamb.” Mme. Rumella looked pensive as she mixed the milk into the chocolate. “What happened to him, anyway? I just remember that it was unpleasant...”

“I think he was beheaded while on fire,” Mary supplied.

“Dreadful,” Tina remarked. “The one before that, Mayor Davies, was shot to death with crossbow bolts. On fire.”

“Does seem to be a flame theme, doesn’t there?” Mme. Rumella asked rhetorically. “I can’t imagine why this Mr...?”

“Suerte. Miguel Suerte,” Tina supplied.

“Suerte? Isn’t that Spanish for ‘lucky’ or something?” Mary asked

“I don’t think so!” Jason Oblivion chimed in.

“Thanks, Jason,” Mary mumbled. “Well, he’d better live up to his name if he wants to live to Election Day.”

“We ought to start a pool on it. How many days before the election do you think the candidate will be killed, and another section for how,” Mme. Rumella cheerfully suggested.

“Offer three-to-five on it not involving fire,” Tina suggested.

“Do you actually know when Election Day is?” Mary asked.

Mme. Rumella realized that she didn’t, and said so. Tina just shrugged. “Nobody knows everything,” she said.

“So Mary dear, how was your day yesterday?”

Mary sighed and took a sip from her coffee. “Well, I ran into Lionel the Necromancer last night.”

“Oh, and how is he?”

“Shifty as ever,” Mary grumbled. “We had a bit of a fight.”

“Who won?” Tina asked.

Mary shot her a harsh look. Before she could say anything, Mme. Rumella commented, “Tina, love, Lionel hasn’t been a real threat in years. Mary won, of course, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” said Mary. “We just bumped into each other out by the Pyramid of the Moon. I mean, literally: we were both coming around a corner a little fast. I asked him what he was up to, and he made with the shifting eyes. I was actually trying to be cordial. No, really,” she said, catching their looks. “But when necromancers start acting suspicious, it’s best not to give them latitude. I saw him reaching for his Focus under his cloak.”

“Did you give him a right thrashing, dear?”

“Not too bad, actually,” said Mary, readjusting her pony-tail. “I feel guilty beating up on him, since he’s penniless and powerless three centuries running.”

“I’m not sure that you should,” Mme. Rumella told her, finally handing Tina her hot chocolate. “It’s a bit too hot of chocolate, I’m afraid, so be careful.”

Tina just smiled and paraded herself out of the room, hips swaying to an unheard drum beat somewhere. Mary watched her go with an eyebrow raised disdainfully. As the door swung shut behind her, Mary looked at Mme. Rumella. “That woman is too much,”. she said. “She swayed extra to annoy me. I can tell.”

Mme. Rumella smiled, taking the customer-free moment to fix her graying curls, which had come loose in the fray. Rather than indulge Mary’s antipathy, she shifted the subject to Mary’s plans for the day.

“Oh, the usual. I thought I would go patrolling around Downtown here the new kids always take some time to adjust,” Mary said and they shared a knowing smile.

“Not going out to the edges of town today, then?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “I spend too much time out there. Besides, a space appeared last night, if you can believe the whispers on the street. Would you mind if I top up?”

Mme. Rumella gave a wave of her hand. “You needn’t ask, Mary!”

Mary nodded politely and refilled her coffee. “I’ll see you later, Mme.”

The proprietress waved ‘goodbye’ as Mary exited into the curving street, removing her own Focus, the device by which she performed acts of sorcery, from her pocket. Looking like a small, cylindrical cartridge of no apparent use, Mary had spent a lot of time personalizing her Focus to do many things with different wrist motions. She ran through each of them every morning, just to keep in practice. She turned the cartridge over her wrist, and it became a short metal baton. Another turn, and it became two. Next, she flicked her wrist outward and the Focus became a torch. She blew on it, and the flame came to life. She turned the torch in just the right way, and it became a spear. She threw the spear into a nearby wall, where it lodged itself in the mortar between the bricks, and subsequently removed itself and returned to her hand. She swept her arm upward, and the spear became a shield. Mary grinned as she performed the last transformation. This one was her favorite. She made a motion like reaching for a scabbard on her back, and the Focus became a claymore. I love these things, Mary thought as she swung the long sword around in front of her. She rolled her Focus back into a single baton.

The former Queen adopted a more modern, less peacock-like style of dress, which appeared much earlier in the city than the normal world, quite quickly after finding herself in the Woven City. Today she wore calf-high boots, white, straight-line slacks, and a loose blue blouse with a few buttons unbuttoned. The crisp autumn air wrapped itself around her, filling her lungs as she clicked across the cobblestone street.

She had fled from her defeat in Scotland in 1568, seeking refuge from her enemies with her cousin Elizabeth, who had her locked up. Admittedly, she had a complete entourage with her, but it was not an ideal situation. Then one morning, the entire castle, jailors and all, appeared here. Through some clever tricks, she had convinced Elizabeth that she remained imprisoned. Of course it helped that the other queen never actually agreed to an audience with her cousin. And now, so many years later, she hardly even thought of it, save when someone as aggravating as Tina Virtue called her by her discarded title. She was just Mary, and most of the city realized that calling her ‘Queen of Scots’ would only make her mad. And having Mary, former Queen of Scots mad at you was never a good position to be in

Mary walked between two of the buildings across from Mme. Rumella’s. A small tree grew up in the middle of the alleyway. That was the thing of the Woven City. You never knew what would show up: buildings, whole parks, or monuments, or a simple, single tree. Its leaves were turning colors in the cool weather and slanting sun. Mary held up the end of her pony-tail, and glanced back and forth at the tree. “I win,” she said to it, and went on her way

Mary walked towards the center of town, passing a turn-of-the-century mill, its water-wheel churning up water from a stream that began and ended within a span of fifty feet, a World War I trench that someone had filled in and planted with pansies, and a bank of stationary guns from the Maginot Line. She watched vigilantly for signs of trouble as she passed between a couple of prefab houses from 1950’s Illinois, a high-rise that was part of Singapore’s government housing project in the 1960’s, a Northumberland golf club from the 1970’s, and a small Columbian house from the 1980’s

Finally, she came to Denver International Airport, nearing the center of town. She walked across the empty runway (airplane travel from the city was impossible for half a dozen good reasons) towards the place where the third concourse should be. The airport’s terminal and concourses A and B, as well as all the majority of runways were there, but where the third concourse should be, there was a self storage place and an apartment complex with stucco walls from somewhere in the American southwest.

Mary entered the complex and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. The modern lights not been replaced, but burned with flame rather than electricity. There was an elevator, but Mary never used them. She didn’t trust them. It was simple enough to get most machines to work without electricity here, but being trapped in a small box animated by someone else’s sorcery was not Mary’s idea of a good place to be. She came to a door painted an offensive shade of violet and knocked once before entering. A chain stopped the door from opening. She swung her baton down on it and it snapped. The door swung open.

Mary stepped into the space, hung with cheap Moroccan tapestries and filled with billowing clouds of incense that escaped to fill the hallway behind her before she closed the door. She coughed a little. A beaded curtain separating the kitchen from the living room was brushed aside.

“You!” Came an accusatory voice with a faintly Cuban accent

“Hello, Fernando,” Mary said.

A man dressed like a standard-issue carnival fortune-teller bustled into the room. An inviting smell of arroz con pollo rushed in behind him to battle with the choking incense. “You could have knocked, Reina,” he said.

Mary exhaled slowly. She hated how he always called her that. Fernando Tarrega, for all his many, many quirks, was actually a fairly reliable oracle. If something was absolutely destined to happen, Fernando would know. Of course, without a little threatening, he would start handing you the standard-issue carnival fortune-teller lines. And he never answered his door at lunch time. Mary always wondered why she went to him, instead of the equally reliable Mr. Markab, but he did help her out of a bit of a jam once (which, frankly, it pained her to admit).

Mary gave him a bit of a glare. “What do you know?”

“That my rice is almost done,” Fernando sniffed and exited back to the kitchen. Mary followed him and waited, almost patiently, as he stirred the contents his Dutch oven. “Well then,” he said as he served himself a large plate of food, “some pretty interesting things are about to happen around here.”

“Really,” Mary said in her least impressed tone.

“Vry mchso,” said Fernando.

“Swallow, then talk,” Mary advised.

“Something,” he said, “I cannot tell exactly what, is coming here. Soon. It will cause a bit of a disruption in everyday activities. And whatever it is, it has a mission.”

“You know what?”

Fernando shook his head. “It’s all very vague, even for me. I cannot tell the mission, or the outcome, only that it would be best if the mission were completed.”

“So if someone, or something, comes to town looking to do something, I should probably help it?”

“Whatever you like,” said Fernando off-handedly before shoveling some chicken in his mouth

“Anything else?” Mary waited until he had swallowed before asking.

“Have you heard that some lunatic is running for mayor?”

“I have,” Mary said. “Anything on him?”

“He’s from Spain.”

“Very helpful.”

“You’re lucky to know that much. He’s been shrouding himself. I couldn’t tell his future without a major foiling spell, which I don’t know.”

“Would anyone else know it?”

Fernando shrugged evasively. “Maybe. You could always try Tina Virtue’s if you want...”

Mary glared.

Truth & Beauty

The Charminar was the Crowned Jewl of Hyderabad, India. It was built by the then-famous Quli Qutub Shahin in 1591, and was sometimes called the Arc de Triomphe of the East, though it predated the French monument by some centuries. There was a great arch several stories high in the building’s square base, topped by several floors, themselves studded with smaller arches, and all surrounded by the four minarettes, the towers from which the building took its name, rising high into the air

At street level hung a shingle announcing the building as the place of business of one Tina Virtue, Proprietor of Truth and Beauty. Within, many people come and go, many with faces hidden, not wanting the world to know what they seek.

Behind a makeshift desk, really a black lacquered table that shone in the light of the illuminating candles, sat Tina Virtue. She tugged at the low-cut front of her dress before her next customer came in. A woman, dressed like Tina in black, only somewhat more conservatively, entered the room. Her face was covered in a black widow’s veil. A few bits of wavy brown hair escaped from around the edges. The visitor glanced about in the usual pattern of people avoiding Tina’s eye: the wrought-iron chandelier, only half lit, the baroque portrait of a sea captain on wall to her right, the cold fireplace behind Tina, and finally, at Tina herself

“Good morning,” said Tina steadily. She sipped at her hot chocolate to give her visitor the chance to speak in her own time. Cold. She quickly reheated it and took another sip.

The woman sat in the chair opposite Tina. She glimpsed painfully dark eyes behind the veil. “You know who I am?”

Tina simply nodded tranquilly. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I... I’ve just...”

Tina waved a hand mistily before her. “You’re worried that the life you chose was not the right one.”

“Yes,” said the visitor.

“Relax,” Tina ordered placidly. “You are strong enough to resist the fate that befalls most of your kind. And your skills will serve you well.”

“I thought, well, that’s why I started my study.”

Tina nodded. “However... I cannot tell the future,” she said, “but I can tell you this: all beings in this place are meant for something; some small part of their future is predestined. This truth I can tell: a struggle will choose you. And you will not back down.”

“Ah, I ah... Thank you.”

Tina nodded serenely as the woman took a small gold medallion, a Spanish doubloon, and placed it on the desk in front of her. The visitor rushed out of the room as quickly as she could and still preserve some small measure of dignity.

A woman, short and round, wearing khakis, a pink cardigan, and white go-go boots along with a disconcertingly similar black widow’s veil, entered the room. Tina raised a serene eyebrow at the woman, and thought seriously of opening up a veil shop next door. After all, the place had been abandoned for some years now, and no-one charged rent in the Woven City. Though evictions were common enough.

This woman was different. She hustled urgently across the room and flew into the chair, making it rock up on two legs. “I need to be disguised,” she said without preamble

Tina Virtue shook her head sadly. “That is not my business,” she explained

“But you can make me beautiful! I can start a new life with...” The woman trailed off as she saw Tina shaking her head

“No,” said Tina. “But I will give you some good advice at discount prices.” She paused as the woman took a small vial filled with smoke and placed it on the desk. Tina nodded her approval and continued: “I have seen many like you, many who run. Against my better judgment, I even granted a few of the favors you seek. They are all dead now. You may run as you feel you must, but if you run you will run forever, until they catch you. If they are determined as you believe that they are, they will not stop. They will find you. Don’t seek help to hide. Seek help to fight.” Tina could tell that there were conflicted emotions playing over the face beneath the veil. In the end the woman nodded, in a defeated sort of way, and exited slowly.

Darkness

Everyone wants something. In the normal world, things could get dangerous because of that simple fact. In a place like the Woven City, things could downright apocalyptic. Though to be fair, it’s usually an accident. After all, a person would have to be crazy to want to end the world.

As Tina Virtue was heard to say, nobody knows everything. When sorcery, desire, and that particular axiom collided, events often got out of hand.

Damon McLenen walked as inconspicuously as he could down the road. He preferred to wear dark clothes, like most of his kind, but it made them easy to spot on the street. He had pulled on a plaid shirt and, to his extreme distaste, a pair of blue shorts.

The city was organized into rings of time, but the population was more clustered than evenly spread. There were a few main neighborhoods and certain places that people rarely went, especially places from the distant past. In the normal world, the giant Buddha statues of Indonesia were famous. Here they were infamous. The surrounding area was made up of buildings nowhere near Indonesia, for the most part. Here they formed the neighborhood known as Buddha’s Wrath. It was a haven of dark sorcery, necromancy, and plague science. And the people were none too friendly. No serious necromancer or dark sorcerer would live here, and it pained Damon even to come. Buddha’s Wrath was a neighborhood of junkies and tinkerers. They did, however, come into a lot of interesting items. Half the time they didn’t know what they had, and someone, like Damon McLenen, who knew what they were doing could get away with murder.

Figuratively. In that case, anyway

There was a small shack. The windows were black, even though there were undoubtedly lights burning within. Damon walked up to it and kicked it. Knocking was too polite for this neighborhood and would probably get a person mugged. The weather-beaten door creaked open. A man, apparently in his mid-thirties appeared. His eyes were vague and unfocused and he was having some trouble not giggling. Damon rolled his eyes.

“Damon, dude. What’s up?”

“You know very well what’s ‘up’. You said you had it, you told me to come and get it, and here I am. Now give it here.”

“Do you have my stuff?” asked the man.

“Yes, and it’s been giving me a damn headache all the way here. I’ll never understand how you live like this.”

The man smiled. “The headaches stop after a while. All the headaches stop after a while.”

“Whatever,” said Damon shortly, thrusting forth a cloth sack tied with a length of string. Just take it, and give me mine.”

“Alright, dude, chill,” said the man. He walked a few unsteady paces to a decaying table within and grabbed a small globe, about the size of a billiard ball, out of a cluster of miscellaneous objects. It was a marbled mix of violet and black which seemed to shift in the light. Or maybe the light had nothing to do with it.

“Thanks,” said Damon, meaninglessly

“Yeah, no problem. This guy gave it to me for two of these,” said the man, holding up the cloth sack. Its contents clinked. “Didn’t even know what he had.”

“And you do?” Damon asked, doubtfully.

“Oh yeah, dude. That’s a Sorcery Core. It’s been a long time since anyone’s seen one of those. Course, they all look different depending on which order of sorcery it is, and I don’t really know anything but the ones for the dark sorcery. Still, that’s what it is alright. Y’know it’s the one Ruin used.”

Damon narrowed his eyes at the man. “How do you know that?”

“I know things, dude. It’s the only way to stay alive here. Gotta know stuff.”

“Funny you should say that,” Damon remarked, examining the Sorcery Core.

“Funny?”

“I meant ironic, but I didn’t think you’d know what that meant,” Damon explained

He wrapped his fist around the globe and punched the man in the gut. The man barely managed to sputter the word ‘what’ before a fountain of blue energy sprayed like fire from his mouth. It jetted over Damon’s shoulder, landing on the ground behind him and burning there for a few moments before dissipating. Damon could barely hear the man choking over the strange crackling sound it made. He pulled back his hand and the junkie fell to the ground.

Damon lifted the cloth sack, his payment, and examined it for a moment before throwing it at the unmoving body and walking away.

With his back turned, Damon never saw the shadows from inside the junkie’s shack creeping out and pulling the body back in. Damon didn’t look back. He had a church service to get to.

* * * *

The man called Ruin was someone to avoid making irritable. And waiting did that to him. It seemed like all of life was waiting, waiting to grow up and become independent, waiting for important dates, waiting for answers. Especially that last part. Right now, he was waiting for a messenger. Ruin ceased pacing the stone floor of his basement, and returned to the slab. Both the slab and its keeping in the basement were terribly cliché, he knew. Still, proud as he was of his work, and even with his basic lack of sympathy for the living, he could never bring himself to move his lab upstairs. A little sorcery would keep the bodies fresh enough, but where would he keep them? The living room? The study? Certainly nowhere near the kitchen. Germs

Ruin leaned in to study the dead man. He looked basically like they all did. He had a different death wound, and eyes were interestingly pointed in opposite directions. Ruin always kept the eyes open. It was easier to tell that way

He thrust his fingers into the man’s heart, the ribs cracking as he pushed. He began to chant, the old words. So many of the artifices of his work were in ancient Egyptian, obsessed as they were with death, they had been the pioneering culture in both the dark sorcery and necromancy. They and the Romans were big on the dark sorcery. Ruin assumed that in the case of the Romans, it had something to do with their paranoia.

The dead man closed his eyes, and they snapped open once again. They were clearer, much less vague, and though focused, they were focused somewhere infinitely far away. He spoke. That was encouraging. Not all of them spoke.

The problem was the same as always. When they spoke an actual language, they spoke in gibberish, stringing random words together. One time, Ruin had a man who spoke entirely in prepositions and proper nouns. Ruin quieted that one after the sixth time the man pointed at him and shouted, “Over Rome! Over Rome!” And then there were the others, like this one. He reached towards the ceiling and spouted what sounded like distinct sentences. The problem was, they were in a language that didn’t exist. Ruin had spent a lot of time at first, writing it all down phonetically, and researching it at the Mulhoy Institute, but he had found nothing. Then building security got all huffy and refused him entry because he lost his temper the one time and mummified a passing linguist. The living could be so unreasonable

Nightlife

Most of the city had night at roughly the same time. No-one knew quite why. After a thousand sunsets, the night settled over the Woven City. The bars and clubs sprang to life, crowded with people from all parts of the world, from all times of human civilization.

Everyone was multilingual. There was no agency to regulate a common parlance, and people were understandably disinclined to give up their native tongues. With the lengthy lifespans here, there was plenty of time to learn several languages fluently, and common phrases in many more.

Mary, formerly the Queen of Scots who had arrived already knowing several languages, was sitting at a table in the Roxy with a man who claimed to be a former incarnation of the Dalai Lama, though the bleached pony-tail and skull tattoos on his arm tended to dispute the assertion. She finished her Irish whiskey and excused herself, suddenly feeling very much like she should wear her hair loose more often. There was a rock concert going on the stage as Mary filtered out through the crowd. She exited into the cool autumn air. Mary had mixed feelings about rock music in general, and definite doubts about crowded places. A small man in a leather vest attempted to push a leaflet on her. She glared at him until he recognized her and decided to pretend that he was handing the leaflet to the other leaflet man just behind her.

The leaflet was for a concert at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go. In reality of course, they were right down the street from each other. They had appeared in the Woven City at the same time, right next to each other, but over the decades been pushed apart by the appearance of new buildings. They still had a lot of crossover business, since the walk was reasonable enough: right down the curving street.

Mary had been feeling kind of restless since talking to Fernando. Usually, she took nights off and just enjoyed her free life here in the city. Tonight she just couldn’t relax. Maybe if she hit something... Mary resolved to walk down to the Nightlight, just a decade or two from the Roxy. She walked through a few blocks of the city, which had the disturbing habit of turning from streets to alleys and back again, and stepped suddenly into a pool of bright daylight.

The Nightlight stood before her, twenty stories of converted university dormitory from upstate New York, bedecked with signs informing the passer by of its identity as the city’s premier club. There was a bit of ambiguity involved in calling it a nightclub, since most of its business occurred during the Nightlight’s day hours. Most of the city was dark now, and the Nightlight was the most notable exception. It had more than enough room to cater to all manner of clientele. Which made it prime real estate for the clashing of cultures, and personalities. Which in turn made it even more popular.

It was a trouble spot Mary usually avoided. As attached as she was to her home, she couldn’t be everywhere at once, and had to make choices as to where she should concentrate her peacekeeping efforts, as she referred to them. The fighting here qualified mainly as entertainment.

There were always stories of people accidentally walking into the Nightlight’s Portico, the doorway to the normal world that each building in the Woven City contained. Mary figured that universities were used to seeing strange, intoxicated people appearing and disappearing at all hours

Smoke filled the lobby as Mary entered. A dozen globes of light in a dozen colors zoomed by her and disappeared. She saw a bored-looking young man sitting in the corner with a wand, replenishing the smoke and light effects. He glanced up at the ceiling as though wishing he could see what was happening in some of the club’s more exotic levels. Mary bypassed the cluster of elevators and headed for the stairwell.

Nineteen flights later, thinking, and people wonder how I keep in shape, Mary exited into the main bar on the top floor of the place. It was crowded with an assortment of tables and chairs and people and some of the more interesting inhabitants of the city. She sat on a bar stool and ordered another Irish whiskey from the bartender. She kept her fingers on her drink, glancing surreptitiously around the room. Near the flutter of absinth-drinking Eagle Maidens and the Portico repair man knocking back his x-number bottle of beer from the city’s finest (read: only) brewery, sat a Vestal virgin and a priest of Asiago, a local god who had the misfortune of sharing a name with cheese, and was more than a little touchy about it. Mary sipped her drink. Though the Temple of Vesta in the normal world was long since ruined, and home only to tourists and archaeologists, here in the city it was a major player. They were also a lot less pacifistic since the rape of one of their number by the Emperor Caligula, who had fled to the city after his supposed death in the normal world. His flight didn’t last for long once the Vestal virgins had caught up with him. The rumor was that Vesta herself held him in some eternal torture for his crimes, and no-one was too terribly upset about the idea.

The rather intoxicated priest was making passes at the virgin, and she was reaching for her Focus, which Mary had spotted concealed in her laurel-wreath crown. The priest made the mistake of laying a hand on her shoulder. The virgin knocked the hand away and leapt to her feet. Her Focus, like a wand, only a more organic branch shape, was suddenly in her hand, but the priest was ready with his own wand. Mary got to her feet and edged closer as the rest of the bar was making room, the usual theater-in-the-round that formed for sudden fights. The priest disarmed the girl, her Focus skittering across the floor. She in turn locked his wrist and started kicking him in the shins. With his free hand, the priest punched her hard in the face, and Mary was there. So was her spear, pressed against his belly

The priest felt the pressure and froze. He looked down at the spear and looked alarmed. He looked up at its carrier and dropped his wand.

“Evening,” said Mary. The virgin tried hard not to look smug. “I thought,” Mary said, “that I would save us all a whole lot of trouble by reminding you of a few things: This is a Vestal virgin. One would be wise not to try and pick them up. You don’t touch Vestal virgins without permission. That is something they aren’t likely to grant to someone who’s drunk and grabby.

“And you don’t,” she said with emphasis, “punch them in the face unless you are suicidal.” She glanced meaningfully at her spear.

“Perhaps I’d best be going,” said the priest.

“Perhaps you’d best be,” said Mary.

She pulled back her spear. The man grabbed his wand and ran out of the room like his pants were on fire. Which Mary barely resisted doing. The virgin introduced herself as Claudia and thanked Mary for her help. “Maybe next time you could step in a bit earlier,” she said with a smile, and shook Mary’s hand.

Mary returned to her drink, and finished it quickly when she felt the weight of many eyes pressing upon her. She couldn’t imagine why they were all staring so, as this was the sort of thing she did all the time. If she didn’t break up at least three fights during the week, she wouldn’t give herself dessert on Sundays. She got up, threw the bartender a silver cube and strode casually out of the bar.

Crusader

It was another morning like any other at Mme. Rumella’s. The proprietress herself was manning the espresso machine as Mr. Markab exited with his medium earl gray, no milk, no sugar. Jason Oblivion stumbled into the shop. His clothing was rumpled and dirty. “I met the loveliest person on the way,” he said, and collapsed into one of the armchairs around the small fireplace towards the rear of the store.

“Oh Jason, lamb, are you alright?” Mme. Rumella called over the noise of man and machine.

“I think I’m dying,” he said

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Mme. Rumella: “you had me worried for a moment.”

She finished Tina Virtue’s hot chocolate and rushed over to see to Jason with a warm cloth in hand. The customers started serving themselves as much as possible, and left their money by the register. Tina Virtue prowled over to help.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, lamb,” said Mme. Rumella. She removed her wand from the white apron she always wore in the shop and cast a simple spell which repaired his clothing. She used the cloth to wipe the smudges of dirt off of his face. “There’s not much blood,” she noted

Tina laid a hand on his shoulder. “Can you tell us what happened, Jason?”

Jason shook his head. “It was a woman: looked nothing like a necromancer. Anyway, I tried to explain that I saw him there before I didn’t accidentally bump into him. He got all friendly on me.”

“Oh that’s terrible!” Mme. Rumella cried. A trickle of blood escaped Jason’s lip. She dabbed it away.

Tina Virtue produced the small vial of smoke she had received as payment “Take this,” she commanded

Jason complied and opened the vial, breathing in the smoke. It smelled of sandalwood. His cut quickly repaired itself, leaving no scab and no scar.

“You just sit here, and I’ll get you a nice tea, on me,” said Mme. Rumella.

“That’s really not necessary,” said Jason

Mme. Rumella and Tina Virtue exchanged a puzzled look. Sometimes Jason’s comments were utterly untranslatable. Mme. Rumella prepared him a large, steaming hot chai, and returned to her customers. “Oh,” she said to herself. “Out of breakfast tea.” She turned to her customers. “Dears, I’m out of the Irish breakfast. Just let me run to India, and I’ll be right back.”

The customers made murmurs of acknowledgement as Mme. Rumella grabbed the empty tea canister and bustled her plump frame out the door. Last she saw, Tina Virtue was still talking with Jason. Mme. Rumella made her way down the curving street, side stepping the tank and passing a single wall, and turned the corner. The road was suddenly dirt. A small farmhouse from the Indian countryside, built a short time after the British claimed the country, was just down the road. It was a quaint, white-washed place with few windows. Mme. Rumella knocked politely and entered

Inside, her supplier, Vijay, was standing behind a counter he had installed in the house’s entryway. He greeted her with the wide smile of a man whose best customer had just come to visit. “Good morning Mme. Rumella. What can I get for you today?” Vijay asked in Hindi.

“Just some of the Irish breakfast, love.”

“Bags or loose?”

“Bags? Why that’s practically blasphemy!”

“Of course,” Vijay said in English, smiling again. Though he knew well the answer, he always asked, because he enjoyed Mme. Rumella’s amusing answers. He suspected that she, too, enjoyed the little ritual.

He ducked out and returned with a fresh canister. He and Mme. Rumella traded and she excused herself, remarking how busy she was today, and to put the tea on this month’s tab. Vijay waved goodbye as she exited.

Mme. Rumella trod off down the street, precious cargo grasped tightly. As far as she was concerned, Vijay’s teas were the best in the world. He dealt strictly in the Woven City, but he kept a slow growing crop in normal worlds fields for customers who where purists when it came to tea and sorcery, so he was always ducking through his Portico out back. The Romanesque archway looked out of place on the small farmhouse, as it did on most buildings. The fact that he never dealt in the real world had aroused suspicion on the part of local law enforcement, but when they found his fields planted only with tea, they were forced to leave him alone.

Mme. Rumella rounded the corner back onto her own street to find the most curious thing: a walking suit of armor, seven feet tall, and harassing the passers-by. “Well,” she remarked to herself, “there’s something you don’t see every day.”

As she grew closer, she heard that it was, rather gruffly, asking everyone who passed it by whether he or she knew the whereabouts of something called the Standard of Uruk. It repeated the same words over and over again, as though it were a recording. Mme. Rumella drew up to it, and it repeated again: “Halt, stranger, and tell me what you know of the Standard of Uruk.”

“Right,” said Mme. Rumella and looked the suit of armor up and down. It looked recently polished, but beaten and well used. A scarlet plume stretched upwards from the helmet. The visor was closed and Mme. Rumella couldn’t tell whether there was actually anyone in there. “Honestly now, if you’re looking for something, this isn’t the way to go about it. Strange as may seem, these people can ignore bigger things than you. I’ll be happy to help you if you follow me, and stop bothering people outside my shop.”

The suit of armor nodded stiffly. Mme. Rumella was only mildly surprised. She walked back to her shop, with the armor in tow. It had to crouch low to get in through the door. As it entered, everyone in the shop stopped to look. But only for a moment. In the Woven City, after all, they had all seen stranger things.

“May have your attention please?” Mme. Rumella called over the resumed chatter. The shop quieted again. “Our friend here...” She turned to the armor. “Do you have a name?”

“I am a Crusader,” the armor responded. Its voice was tinny though perfectly audible

“How lovely for you, dear,” said Mme. Rumella, patting the Crusader’s gauntlet. “Our Crusader friend is looking for something and having a terrible time of finding it. What is it again?”

“The Standard of Uruk.”

“Yes, that. I don’t suppose any of you have seen it?” All responded in the negative. “Oh my. Well...” She drew her wide face into a thoughtful frown. “Here is the Irish breakfast,” she said. “Help yourselves, please, I’ll be back in two shakes!” She set the canister down and showed through Crusader back outside, explaining that she had an idea

The pair crossed the cobblestone street, as Mme.Rumella announced that she was taking him to the British Museum. Which happend to be right across the street. They entered the building. Mme. Rumella asked to speak with Dr. Lanstrom, and was led down into the basement. The Crusader only just fit down the stairwell. They passed antiquities in boxes and on shelves, awaiting their moment in the sun. Or rather, meticulously monitored sorcerous lighting

After a while they came to the card file room. Computers were all well and good in the normal world, but a simple sorting spell lasted virtually forever, and didn’t become obsolete the moment the box was opened.

“Excuse me, Dr. Lanstrom, but you have um...visitors,” said the docent who had led them all this way

Dr. Lanstrom looked up from her work. She paused a moment to place her askew glasses back over her eyes. She blinked once and exclaimed, “Mme. Rumella!”

“Good morning, Leila! How are you, pet?”

Her shoulders drooped a little. “Is it still morning? I feel like I’ve been at this forever.”

“When did you get here?” Mme. Rumella asked

“Yesterday,” Leila replied. Dr. Leila Lanstrom had just received her PhD in anthropological sciences from Stanford last year, when she became, like many in the Woven City, the victim of an accidental transference. She decided to stay here, but the archaeology of the world where the Woven City rested was many times more complex, since it dealt with objects from both its own world and the normal world, and whether they existed in both. As such, she was vanquished to the basement to sort and catalogue till she got her city legs under her. Leila was a few inches shy of six feet, with flaxen hair that fell below her shoulders. She wore squarish black-frame glasses that Mme. Rumella had tried to convince her did nothing for her heart-shaped face.

“Listen, pet,” said Mme. Rumella

Leila interrupted her, quite innocently. “Is he from that new Henry VIII exhibit they’re putting in upstairs? You can find the damndest things walking around in here, I’ll tell you. Some of them don’t even have legs!”

“Actually, this is rather what I came to ask you about. Sorry to interupt you at work.

“Oh, think nothing of it,” said Leila with a dismissive wave of the hand. Unfortunately, she waved with the arm she had been leaning on. Her supporting elbow slipped out from under her and she collapsed into one of the old wooden file boxes. “Ow,” she said, pulling herself up

“Oh my, let me help you with that!” Mme. Rumella cried as she bent down to collect some of the scattering file cards.

“Don’t bother,” said Leila. She caught herself half-way through another dismissive wave and stopped short. The cracked file boxes repaired and restacked themselves, the cards leaping back into their assigned spots.

“Forgot one,” she chided, picking up a card she had just finished writing.

She removed her Focus from the breast-pocket of her linen shirt. It was a fountain pen filled with peacock blue ink. Mme. Rumella herself had taken Leila to buy a Focus when she first arrived, but the archaeologist had refused to buy a wand, saying it made her feel silly. Actually, she asked, “A magic wand? A damn magic wand? A god damn magic wand?!” Continuing until Mme. Rumella made her stop. She cast the sorting spell on the card and it flew to its place

Mme. Rumella put a hand to her heart as she heard Leila laboriously sounding out the syllables of the spell. Most people eventually learned to cast basic spells without saying a word, but Leila struggled with sorcery every stage of the way. “Leila, this,” she glanced at the Crusader, “gentleman has come a very long way, or so I assume,” she said unsteadily as she realized she had no idea whence the Crusader had come. When the Crusader made no move to refute her claim, she continued. “He is looking for the Standard of Uruk. Do you have any idea what that might be?”

Leila pursed her lips in thought. “I’ve never heard of it. Are you sure you don’t mean the Standard of Ur?” She asked the Crusader. The armored helmet nodded squeakily.

“Well,” said Mme. Rumella hopefully, “they could still be related couldn’t they?”

“Sure,” Leila shrugged. “I mean, Uruk and Ur were both in the same area. It’s possible that Uruk had a standard as well.”

“What exactly is a Standard?” Mme. Rumella couldn’t help but ask

“The Standard of Ur,” said Leila in her ‘explaining things’ voice, “is a wooden box covered with images detailing the customs of the ancient Mesopotamian city of Ur. In the normal world, at least, it was discovered in a tomb, where it had been crushed by the collapse of the ceiling, and subsequently reconstructed, though we can’t know for sure how close the reconstruction is. The laws of Ur are where ‘eye for an eye’ comes from,” she added

“I always thought that was the Old Testament,” Mme. Rumella said curiously

“They cribbed it.”

“I see,” said Mme. Rumella, though in fact she didn’t

“I’ll look into it. Maybe it only exists in this world, and that’s why I’ve never heard of it. I’ll only take a second to do a basic check of the card file.” Leila spoke the words of a simple spell, and then spoke aloud the name of the artifact she was looking for. No cards volunteered themselves. “That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist,” she explained. “Information can be a tricky bastard. I’ll keep checking here.”

“Lovely,” said Mme. Rumella with a warm smile. “Do you want something? Tea? Some sandwiches maybe?”

“No thanks,” said Leila. She looked dubiously up at the Crusader. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help... Are you sure it’s here in the city?” The Crusader nodded. She frowned. “How do you know?”

“Everything ends up here,” the tinny voice replied

“True enough,” said Leila, “but why are you after it? What makes it so important?”

“It has disappeared from its resting place.”

Helpful much? Leila thought. “Any more information you’d care to proffer?”

The Crusader remained silent

* * * *

It was late afternoon. Leila was certain the sun would be setting by now, what with England’s latitude, though she had no windows in her workspace. She had finished her most recent assignment just before Mme. Rumella and the strange visitor had arrived, and had not received a new one. She had spent the intervening hours searching in every way she could think of for information on the Standard of Uruk. If it existed, the British Museum did not have it, nor did they seem to know anything about it. The Standard could be a rumor, that certainly was not out of the question, especially in a place like this. Then again, the Crusader said it had been stolen. That implies it existing. Doesn’t it? Leila asked herself. She removed her glasses and leaned back in her chair. She didn’t have the greatest balance in general, but at chair leaning, Leila Lanstrom was an expert. After a few minutes, no ideas had presented themselves for her consideration, and sleep threatened. She decided to walk back to her apartment and sleep on it. Leila often remembered her dreams, and they were usually pretty strange. The sad part, she mused as she collected her jacket and exited the museum, was that they were no longer stranger than her waking life.

Stars

Mr. Markab entered the shop, bang on time, for his morning earl gray. Mme. Rumella had it going before he said a word. “Perfect as usual,” said Mr. Markab. “Say, I’m terribly sorry to hear about your trouble with that armored fellow down the road.”

“Oh my, he’s not out there again is he?” Mme. Rumella sighed.

“Yes. Anyway, if you would care to bring him round to the Clinic this afternoon, I have some free time about half two.”

“Lovely, Mr. Markab! We’ll see you then.”

Mr. Markab inclined his head respectfully and exited, crossing the street and heading centerwise to his place of work.

The morning passed quietly. After the unhealthy-lunch crowd passed through, Mme. Rumella noticed the time and ran to find the Crusader. He was two blocks clockwise down the road.

“Are you just going to move a block down every day until someone tells you what you want to know?” Mme. Rumella asked. And if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn the Crusader shrugged at her. “Come on, I’ve got a new plan,” she said and swept him off centerwise.

The thing about the Woven City that surprised newcomers most over the last hundred years was the lack of cars. There were no busses, no trains; there was no air travel, with the exception of singular flying people. There weren’t even horse-drawn carriages. Occasionally they would even ask about rickshaws and sedan chairs. If it’s really nine hundred miles in diameter, they would ask, how can you get around entirely on foot? And the answer, like that of so many questions about the city, was that no-one knew.

Many newcomers of the last half-century or so had compared the feeling to walking on one of those motorized walkways at airports. Of course with millions of people moving in different directions, passing all about and between each other, none of them could think of a specific mechanism by which it could be accomplished. The greatest sorcerers in the city, over the course of its history, failed each in turn to account for it. Most people found it best for their mental health not to think of it.

Mr. Markab, for many years, had worked out of a small building near Tina Virtue’s Hyderabad shop. Some years ago, however, he had staked claim to a large new premises on the River, where it was the Thames of some time in the 1990’s. The property was on Vauxhall Street in London, and so he had named his new location the Vauxhall Astrology Clinic. In the normal London, it was something called MI-6 Headquarters

Frankly, Mme. Rumella thought it was a horribly ugly building, and she was sad to hear it besmirched the face of the city whence she came. She was similarly troubled to hear, some time earlier, of the terrible choking fogs caused by the burning of mass quantities of coal. The city hadn’t been what one might refer to as pristine when she grew up there, but it had been free of polluting factories and automobiles and suchlike.

Mme. Rumella and the Crusader were buzzed into the building, and trekked back to the area Mr. Markab used as his office. After speaking to the receptionist, Mme. Rumella settled herself and the Crusader into one of the comfortable green couches that filled the spacious waiting room. Watercolors of flowers and English gardens adorned the soothing, neutral colored walls. The daylight of a London autumn slanted in through the wooden shutters on the windows, highlighting the few floating particles of dust. There were three other patrons in the room.

There was a young woman whose natural hair-color seemed to offend her on a profound level. Her loose brunette curls fell over one eye and half way down to her waist. She had dyed them a fairly believable hue of blond and shot them through with pink and purple strands. The effect served to highlight her hazel eyes. She sat in a hunter chair on the opposite side of the room, perusing yesterday’s paper

“That,” Mme. Rumella whispered to the Crusader, who had patiently let her wrap her arm around his right gauntlet, “is Voz. She’s the daughter of a banshee and a siren. People have been trying to work out how that happened since she was born. It’s patently impossible, but she’s definitely half of each. If you’re going to be in the city for a while, you might want to put her near the top of your list of people not to make angry.”

“And you can do that by not talking about her,” Voz chimed in from across the room.

“And she has a very keen sense of hearing,” Mme. Rumella explained. “She’s called ‘Voz’ because her parents were vacationing in normal-Spain when they met.”

“Majorca,” Voz corrected

Mme. Rumella gestured with a nod at another woman sitting on the couch. She had fine brown hair that curled outward at her shoulders and unnaturally dark eyes. She was also incredibly tense. She was hugging herself, hands clutching at the opposite sleeves of her black dress, eyes darting to every sign of movement in the room

“That one is Delilah Runestone,” said Mme. Rumella to the Crusader. “Be careful: she’s a dark sorceress. I don’t know too much about her but I hear she’s good at what she does. Whatever that is. You can never tell with the dark sorcery types, can you?”

“Do you think you could keep it down?” Delilah irritably demanded

“Oh, pardon me,” said Mme. Rumella insincerely.

“Hiya, Mme. Rumella!” said a small alto voice.

Suddenly, a small winged creature fluttered up in front of her face. Mme. Rumella squinted. “Wyyla-fair is that you?”

“Mm-hmm!” Wyyla responded in the positive

“I can hardly see you when you’re that size. Why don’t you grow up?”

“Alright!” Wyyla said brightly. The winged creature the size of a pygmy butterfly set herself on the floor and expanded until she was many times larger. Even so, she was only about two feet tall. She might have been mistaken for a small child, except that she was rather full figured. Gossamer wings colored like the ghost of silver sprouted from her back.

“Wyyla-fair, so nice to see you! It’s been too long!” Mme. Rumella exclaimed as she bent over to kiss Wyyla on the cheek. She then looked back at the Crusader and explained, “Wyyla is a sprite. They live in parts of the primeval forests that surround the city.”

Wyyla nodded in support. The squat creature wore a miniature wrap covered with representations of blooming red poppies, with a slit up one leg. Her hair was brown, twisted and piled up atop her head. Her lips were naturally a glistening rose color. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit, but I haven’t been into the city in ages! I’m just coming to check up on the ol’ destiny. But I promise to drop by soon.”

“Lovely. I’ll be at the shop. Unless I’m out with this one,” Mme. Rumella replied, indicating the Crusader with a tilt of her head

“Wyyla,” came the stern voice of Mr. Markab’s secretary, “Mr. Markab will see you now.”

“Gotta flutter!” Wyyla called as she returned to her smallest state and flew into the next room

Wyyla’s appointment came and went, followed by Voz, and finally Delilah Runestone, who looked less shaky, but not in a good way. The secretary’s voice called, “Mme. Rumella and guest.”

Mme. Rumella led the Crusader through the anteroom which the secretary lorded over, into Mr. Markab’s own office.

“Ah, there you are,” Mr. Markab greeted them with a wide smile. Wearing one of what must be an uncountable number of pinstripe suits, he stood as Mme. Rumella entered the room. He extended his hand, and Mme. Rumella took it. After a proper shake, firm but never crushing, they sat. One chair strained under the weight of the Crusader, but held.

Mr. Markab’s desk had pens and a blotter and a constantly burning lamp. Other than a few star charts on the wood-paneled walls, it could have been any accountant’s office. “Now, you are a Crusader, I am told.” The Crusader’s helmet nodded with a small squeak. “And for what again are you looking?”

“The Standard of Uruk. Do you know of its location?”

“Afraid not, but let us see whether you are destined to find it, and perhaps we can deduce something from that, eh? Now please, relax.” The Crusader made no visible motion. Mr. Markab glanced at Mme. Rumella who shrugged apologetically. Mr. Markab narrowed his eyes at the Crusader in concentration.

After a few moments, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot read him.”

“Why not, Mr. Markab?”

“He is... Alive, in a way, but he is a sorcerous being, Mme. Rumella. He has only the destiny his creators made for him. If they were here, perhaps, but they are not.”

“How terrible. I’m sorry to have dragged you on a wild goose chase, you poor thing,” she said apologetically. Mme. Rumella frowned and asked, “Can you read Wyyla?”

“Yes, Mme. Wyyla is a sorcerous being, but a natural one, not one created, as our friend here.”

“Ah. Well, thank you very much anyway, Mr. Markab. We’ll be taking our leave now.”

“Yes, yes of course, Mme. I apologize again.”

“No trouble Mr. Markab, no trouble,” said Mme. Rumella with a smile that never quite made it.

Sun & Moon

Vijay always delivered to his best customers in person. He walked down the dirt road that contained his farmhouse and turned left on to the rounding cobblestoned street of the tea shop. He had a large canister of his famous chai blend tucked under each arm. He stopped. On the corner was a gray section of wall. It must have been from the sometime in or around the eighteenth century, so people said, or it would not have been in this part of town. In truth, no one knew just where, or when, it came from. Covering the wall from end to end were pictures of a smiling Spanish man with a well-groomed moustache. The caption enthusiastically proclaimed: Miguel Suerte, what the City needs!

“That,” said Tina Virtue, who had come up behind Vijay, “is far from the truth. Believe me.”

Of course he did. “I cannot imagine what he is thinking,” said Vijay truthfully, staring at the smiling poster. The red-and-orange striped background behind the grayscale portrait, like a Japanese-style drawing of the rising sun, offended him on some level he could not quite grasp.

“Why does the sun rise behind this man’s head?”

Tina Virtue remained silent.

“And why is he running for this office? Didn’t they take the last mayor, soak him in whale’s oil, hang him by the neck and then light him on fire?”

“Not the last one, no,” said Tina. By unspoken agreement, the pair turned and covered the remaining distance to the tea shop. Tina held the door for the encumbered Vijay, who thanked her.

Mme. Rumella, between customers at the moment, spotted them at once. She stopped fixing her graying curls behind her head and bustled over to help Vijay with the tea. “Lovely, Vijay, perfectly lovely!” She set the canisters in their places. “Can I get you anything?”

“You could prepare me a cup of this,” he said, patting one of the canisters.

“Of course, Vijay, free of charge. The usual Tina?”

Tina nodded. The proprietress set about fixing drinks. Suddenly, Leila Lanstrom flung open the door and shouted “Aha! Ah-freakin’-ha!”

“Good morning,” Mme. Rumella called. “Did you find something at the museum, pet?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking all night about this.” She continued over Mme. Rumella’s weary counsel that she get some sleep, “I did. And I think that maybe I’ve got a good place to look for the thing.”

“Really,” said Mme. Rumella, intrigued. She handed Tina and Vijay their drinks and rested her elbows on the counter, ready to listen.

“Okay, what about this,” said Leila excited her: “has the Crusader looked anywhere, or his just about harassing people on street corners like now?”

“Again?” Mme. Rumella sighed

Leila shrugged.

“I did ask him, and he said he looked a few places.”

“Do you know where?” Leila pressed

“Out by the Jericho Wall and that stretch of the River, where it’s the Euphrates.”

“Exactly his problem!” Leila exclaimed. “He’s been looking in all the wrong places. If the Standard disappeared from its resting place, and it’s an artifact from Mesopotamia, the logical places to check are places nearby. But in the geography of here, everything is completely scattered. So, the most likely place for it to turn up is somewhere with no possible association: Old World artifact, New World hiding place! It’s completely stuipid!” Leila concluded and threw her hands up in a gesture of triumph

“Of course!” Mme. Rumella exclaimed. “I’m so proud of you, pet. You really are getting the hang of this place!”

Leila blushed slightly. “Oh stop. I’ve even got the perfect place to look: The Street of the Dead!”

Mme Rumella beamed. It was a brilliant suggestion. A lot of things found their way to the ample hiding space afforded by the buildings that lined the avenue.

“Did someone say ‘Street of the Dead’?” came a Scottish voice from the doorway. Mary had just entered and was looking about enquiringly.

“Yes, dear, we’re going artifact hunting,” Mme. Rumella explained.

“Oh. Can I get a tea first?”

“Of course. What’ll you have?”

Mme. Rumella quickly drew Mary’s water and set her tea steeping. Then she left the shop to run in her absence, with a quick apology to her customers. She was famous for it, and most of her regulars knew how to use all the shop’s equipment by now. When Mme. Rumella got taken by a whim, she would rush out the door at once to investigate.

Mary set off for downtown again, slipping down the alleyway next to the British Museum. Mme. Rumella and Leila Lanstrom went down the block, collected the Crusader, and made for parts of town farther out. “I do hope this outing will make up for yesterday,” Mme. Rumella mused

Almost immediately, they crossed a bridge over the River. As the city was all cities, the River was all rivers. It wound its way through the city, looping in and bisecting itself, and finally disappearing into the forests. The section they crossed was the Seine, about the time when the Eifel Tower was built

They crossed rings of time like the cross-section of a tree trunk, from the nineteen hundreds, back and back until they came to the Street of the Dead. A wide, sprawling avenue located in Teotihuacan in the Mexican highlands, the Street acted as the central area of the great city. The avenue, minus the sunken plaza called Ciudadela, appeared in the Woven City sometime after two hundred A.D., not long after its construction, in what archaeologists call the Miccaotli Phase of the ancient civilization. The avenue was just under two kilometers long, here in the city.

Generally, every building appears with the arched doorway into the normal world, the Portico. Along the entire street of the dead, there was only the one, set into the Pyramid of the Moon. There was great speculation as to the cause of this amongst the Woven City’s archaeological population. The general consensus was that since Teotihuacan’s city planning was, apparently, so stringent, the avenue was considered one building for Portico purposes. The underlying questions as to who decided these things and how they managed them were ignored.

Mme. Rumella, Leila Lanstrom, and the Crusader entered the street from the central side. There were only a handful of other people on the avenue today. Few people came to the Street of the Dead anymore. No-one used the Portico for fear of enraging real world archaeologists. The Porticoes transported their users to the normal world’s present regardless of when the building came to the city, or whether it was yet extant in the normal world.

“I think we should start at the Sun and work our way back,” Leila suggested.

“Whatever you say, pet.”

The trio walked past the Pyramid of the Moon, and then the further kilometer to the Pyramid of the Sun. “Can your joints handle it?” Mme. Rumella asked of the Crusader, who sometimes squeaked on inclines, as she surveyed the four stepped platforms leading to the building’s summit. The Crusader responded by setting off up the stairs. “I see,” Mme. Rumella muttered.

“This is absolutely amazing!” Leila cooed as she surveyed the temple that topped the pyramid. “You know, in the normal world, this temple was destroyed, and when the pyramid was reconstructed they kinda screwed it up.” She ran a hand over a slightly weathered carving of a masked man in profile, a definite no-no in her line of work, but buildings in the Woven City did not appear subject to the passing of time, so she forgave herself. “Shall we?” Leila asked rhetorically as she stepped down into the pyramid’s interior.

The passages within the pyramid, requiring years of excavation in the normal world, were perfectly preserved here. They worked their way into the core of the structure, searching shadowed areas and testing for false walls. Finding nothing. Mme. Rumella conjured a hovering globe of fire to light their way. Finally, they found themselves in the caves below. The Crusader could go no further. Mme. Rumella promised they would be very thorough in their search before leaving him.

She and Leila pressed forward down the tunnel. “Do you remember,” Mme. Rumella asked, “when the Globe of Carnaeo ended up down here?”

Leila shook her head. “I don’t think so. When was it?”

“Come to think of it, it happened three years ago. That was well before you arrived. Sorry, pet.”

“No problem. What happened?”

“Well, a Phoenician trading vessel went down in a stormy patch of the Woven Sea, some years before that. It was carrying the Globe of Carnaeo, one of the lost artifacts of the ancient Ireland. All hands were lost. Tragic,” she said. “I knew the captain’s widow. Lovely woman. She’s never quite been the same.”

Leila made a sympathetic hum and waited for her to continue.

“Well, someone was jogging the steps, and decided, capriciously, to come down into the tunnels, or so it’s told. He walked down here for a little while, and was about to go back, when he noticed a light. He walked toward it,” she said as the cave opened up into a trio of chambers before the. “Right there,” she pointed to the central one, “it was. Sitting, well, hovering, like it tends to do. There must have been years’ worth of dust on the top. He took it, and this became the hotspot for people searching for lost objects, until what happened to him...” Mme. Rumella trailed off, frowning at the memory

“Um... What did happen to him?” Leila asked, not convinced she wanted to hear the answer

“You see, the artifact’s owners live here, in a stretch of primeval forest beyond the Sticks, and he, er,” Mme. Rumella paused, trying to put the poor man’s stupidity in a better light. “He tried to sell it back to them. They were rather upset with him for the presumption and, er... No-one quite knows, but some people call that day the Day of the Screaming.”

“Oh no...”

“You could hear it all over the city, for hours and hours. It was days before we figured out what had happened. Since then people have decided it’s generally not worth the risk of upsetting someone.”

“So that’s why the place is so abandoned.”

Mme. Rumella nodded

“Too bad. It would be way cooler to live in ancient apartment on the street of the dead than my crappy one from the land of who-gives-a-crap.”

“Language, pet.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

They pressed forward and searched each of the chambers, but all were empty. They returned up the passage many times more quickly than on their way down, Mme. Rumella unnerved by her own story. They collected the Crusader and returned to the top of the Pyramid. Mme. Rumella spurred the Crusader on to the right, towards the Pyramid of the Moon. Leila suggested the two of them stay back to check the platforms lining part of the street.

Leila tested gingerly for concealed doorways and the like, as Mme. Rumella examined the platforms with a sharp eye.

“Do you think we ought to be helping him?” Leila asked, the apprehension obvious in her voice.

Mme. Rumella sighed. “Leila, pet,” she said indulgently, “you were born in the normal world, and it is a dangerous place, always has been. There you can avoid a lot of the danger if you’re careful, but never all of it. Here, the danger has a habit of going after those who avoid it. It’s practically clockwork. It really is best to embrace it, because in the end you have very little choice in the matter.”

Leila grumbled something unintelligible. “Don’t think I don’t know your reputation,” she said. “You’re just saying that to get me to do crazy things with you more often.”

Mme. Rumella shrugged. “Think what you like, pet,” she said and strolled off towards the Pyramid of the Moon. The sun climbed into the sky: local apparent noon in central Mexico. The pyramid rose before them, smaller than its solar counterpart, but no less important in the scheme of things.

There were more than half a dozen substructures within the pyramid, and any number of important burial sites. The trio entered the Pyramid of the Moon and searched for what seemed like ages

Leila stopped constantly to brush the dust out of her hair. She had never been to Teotihuacan herself, but had studied it in several courses. “I think this one is ‘burial two’,” she said as they approached a gravesite. “But I could be wrong. The New World was never really my thing.” Around the skeleton of the man in the tomb were the bones of sacrificial animals and offerings of obsidian and other stone. “It was uncovered in-”

Suddenly, the skeleton leapt to life and shouted ‘boo’ really loudly and Leila broke off screaming

“Calm down, pet!” Mme. Rumella ordered. She removed her traveling hat and slapped the skeleton across the arm bone.

‘Hey!”

“Do shut up, Jerry!” Mme. Rumella shouted as the protesting skeleton. Leila was still screaming. “And do calm down, pet!”

Leila stopped screaming in order to point at the skeleton and say ‘but’ repeatedly without and any subsequent clauses.

“Jerry, apologize to the lady!”

The skeleton rubbed sheepishly at the back of his top vertebrae. “Er, sorry,” he said

“How many times have I told you not to jump up and shout at people. It’s not nice!”

“Well, to be fair, only the one time,” Jerry replied.

“Jerry!”

“Sorry! I won’t do it again, Mme. Rumella, I promise.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Jerry, the lady with her mouth hanging open is Dr. Leila Lanstrom of the British Museum.”

“Wow,” said Jerry, impressed. The British Museum was one of only two archaeological organizations in the city.

“And that gentleman is a Crusader.”

“And I’m Mother Mary of the Sisters of Who Gives a Crap.”

“Jerry, mind your language!”

“They must live in my building,” said Leila

“Sorry. But if he’s searching for anything here, he’s out of luck. I’m not giving away any more of our stuff. It belongs here.”

“Of course I understand your sentiment, Jerry, but he’s not looking for an object from Teo, we just thought it might have ended up here.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

“And I see you’ve been doing your reading.”

“Yeah,” said the skeleton, in a proud tone of voice. “Once I read those primers you gave me, English was a cinch! And I finished ‘The Birth of the Anglican Church’,” he said, producing the rather dusty volume and handing it to the lady. “And I’m halfway through ‘An Honest History of Catholicism’. I haven’t gotten to ‘The Sunset of Queen Victoria’ yet, sorry.”

“You’ve plenty of time,” said Mme. Rumella, accepting her book back. Then she explained about the Standard.

“I haven’t seen it, but then I’ve been doing a lot of reading and I don’t wander around the place as much as I have in the past. You could look.”

“Has anyone been hanging around here a lot lately, maybe?” Leila asked, having recovered her faculties.

The skeleton shrugged. “A couple of people have been in. Tourists probably.”

“Thank you anyway,” said Mme. Rumella, removing her gloves from her ancient, weathered handbag, and sliding ‘The Birth of the Anglican Church’ inside. “I’ll be back soon with some more books.”

“Great!” Jerry enthused

The trio exited the pyramid. The sun was setting.

“I’m starving!” Leila cried. “I can’t believe we’ve been in there all day.”

“It’s a large place,” commented Mme. Rumella. “Let’s get sandwiches.” She strode off with Leila close behind. The Crusader stood one the Street of the Dead, turning his helmet from side to side. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I must continue to search.”

“Of course, I’m terribly sorry this didn’t work out. We will tell you if we discover anything.”

The Crusader nodded and Leila and Mme. Rumella again turned to leave. They didn’t get two steps before Lionel the Necromancer came into view. He skirted the Crusader and headed centerwise, towards downtown. Wrapped in his knee-length, tattered black cloak, he moved swiftly without so much as acknowledging the others

Leila, who had heard about the necromancer’s fight with Mary, failed to stifle a giggle. The man turned swiftly, if a little off-balance, on his heel to face them. In the darkness, his facial features were difficult to distinguish, but even so, it was clear that he was not pleased

“I should hope,” said Lionel in a British accent whose specific origin Mme. Rumella had never been quite sure of, “that you were not laughing at me.”

“Oh no, Lionel, of course not,” said Mme. Rumella, who failed to keep the cheekiness out her tone.

Lionel brushed the hair back from his graying temples with the tips of his long fingers

“Good,” he said.

Mme. Rumella and Leila exchanged a glance. “After all, you just lost a little fight.”

“To a girl,” Leila chimed in

“Not that there’s any shame in it,” said Mme. Rumella

“Maybe a little,” Leila corrected

“But just a smidgen,” said Mme. Rumella.

“Really,” said Leila, nodding helpfully

Lionel narrowed his grey eyes at them. His long face, with its pointed chin, drew into a deep scowl. “I would be tempted to teach you two a lesson,” he said in an inflated tone of voice, “if you didn’t have a giant walking suit of armor with you. Here to kill some Incas, is he?”

“First of all, Teotihuacan’s ethnic identity is unknown,” said Leila. “And second, the Inca aren’t even on the same continent. You dumb bastard,” she added quietly.

Lionel sniffed, brushed some lint from his shoulder, and turned to leave

“I don’t suppose you know where the Standard of Uruk is,” Mme. Rumella asked. Leila gave her a questioning look. Mme. Rumella just gave a shrug.

“Never heard of it,” called Lionel over his shoulder, “though I’m sure it must be frightfully important to involve three such consequential personalities as yourselves. Best of luck,” he sneered and disappeared into the night.

“What a freakin’ jerk,” said Leila.

“Indeed,” said Mme. Rumella.

* * * *

The Crusader walked from Teotihuacan, in the city’s Fourth Quarter, to the nearest curving street and followed it. He pondered, in his way, the strange people he had met here. It had been a very long time since he last left his home and come to the city. The Street of the Dead must have been there at the time, but he never visited it. There were so many new buildings, and they ones that had been there when he had were all in different places, pushed radially outward by the expanding city.

The stars changed so often here, he noticed. And they were so much smaller in the sky than the stars at his home. He had sensed the presence of the Standard earlier, but only for the briefest second. It was confusing. Sorcery reached out to the world around it, but people had devised ways to mask it. He had been prepared for the Standard to be hidden, but something had disrupted that concealment, and he did not understand what.

He set off along the nearest curving street in hopes that the Standard might be along it, somewhere. Because sorcery reached out to the world around it. It followed lines. They were lines that no one anticipated, but surely the curving streets of the city, which were themselves shaped by some sort of sorcery, would be a likely conduit for that sort of reach. The Crusader walked down the curving street all night, but felt nothing.

The Standard of Uruk

Mary was last in a waning stream of customers. Since she had the time to chat, Mme. Rumella told Mary of their fruitless search, and encounter last night with Lionel the Necromancer.

“How strange,” Mary commented as she filled her coffee. “He hasn’t been out and about much in the last few years, as far I know. To be honest, I preferred it that way, instead of him skulking around all over the city.”

“He is up to something,” remarked Tina Virtue, who had a habit of coming up behind people like that

“Oh, thank you, Tina,” Mary said acidly. “Lucky for us all you have such great powers of deduction.”

“Be nice, dear!” Mme. Rumella ordered

Mary mumbled something not entirely apologetic and left her trade goods by the register on her way out. Tina, apparently unconcerned, stepped forward. “May I have a hot chocolate,” she asked, “but with coffee in it?”

“You mean a mocha, love?”

“If you like,” said Tina

Tina went on her way. She spotted an exasperated Leila Lanstrom, exiting the British Museum at a fevered clip. She had put her hair up, but bits of it were coming loose. She stopped in the middle of the street, and looked left towards her destination, then to Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. And back. And forth. Several times.

Finally she marched into the tea shop, demanding caffeine.

“Oh, pet, you look awful!”

“It’s this Standard business. It’s kind of starting to piss me off! I spent all night searching through the Museum-”

“You promised me you were going home to get some rest!”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you try?” Mme. Rumella rejoined

“Not really. But anyway, there is nothing in the whole place about the Standard of Uruk. I checked and checked and, well, I have another idea. But I need coffee.”

“You need sleep.”

“Coffee now, sleep later.”

Mme. Rumella narrowed her eyes at Dr. Lanstrom. “Alright. But go home early.”

“Umm... Okay.”

“Remember, the Museum might let you sleep there but other places will likely just throw you out on the street.” Leila nodded. “Where are you going, by the way?”

“The Hall of Apocrypha!”

The Hall of Apocrypha was the place where files on all the stuff that probably didn’t exist were kept. Actually, a lot of it probably did, but the British Museum never kept files on anything unless there evidence, of a convincing and reliable sort, that it existed. Its presence in their vaults, for instance. The Hall was housed in the Hagia Sophia, the great church of Eastern Christianity, famous mosque, and part-time museum of the normal world. The vast structure contained multiple domes, and sat in the city’s Fourth Quarter, in the ring of time which contained the sixth century (or just sixth in city slang: when the word ‘century’ became as ubiquitous as the word ‘street’, someone got the bright idea to omit it).

Leila entered it and gazed up to where the walls disappeared in the light of forty windows and the dome of the ceiling appeared to be suspended on a cushion of light. She found herself wondering whether it was an optical illusion here, or if the dome was actually hovering. Stranger things had happened. On a daily basis, as a matter of fact. The building was cool, despite the desert heat of the area outside. There were two half domes to the ‘east’ and ‘west’. Such directions were meaningless in the city, where buildings appeared in random orientations, which often changed as new buildings appeared.

At the center of the atrium area, there stood the famous fountain of purification, inscribed with the words ‘cleanse our sins, not only our face’. Someone was using it as desk. It was covered in scattered stationary, pens, and the like. There was a large book for guests to sign in on a stand nearby.

The man behind the desk, apparently in his early forties, wore a navy blue blazer. Even Leila, whose vocation and avocation in life involved wearing lots of khaki and digging in the dirt all the day long, found his red-with-black-polka-dot bow tie and suspenders painfully unfashionable. He was poring over papers, and, judging by the brim of sweat on his brow, rather hot despite the cool of the space. He dipped a glass in the holy water and took a drink while tugging at his collar with one finger.

“Excuse me,” said Leila, after he failed to notice her

The man looked up briefly, with a look that plainly told her she was interrupting something important, and then back down. Leila was sorely tempted to throw her hot coffee in his face.

“Excuse me,” she said again, rather gruffly

The man stabbed the air with his pen, indicating the stand. Leila stepped over to it and filled out the information in the sign-in book. Name, occupation, time in, first visit?

She looked around the space, wondering where all the files were kept.

“That way,” said the man at the desk, with utter disdain, stabbing the air with his pen

“Thanks,” she said, through gritted teeth.

She crossed the room, up a ramp, to a tall but rather narrow hallway. The divine figures of one of the Hagia Sophia’s many mosaics stared down at her. She greeted the saints in the arch and continued on. There didn’t appear to be any sort of records about, but there was a sudden stairwell in the corridor wall. The stairs spiraled down below ground level. The walls changed from hewn stone to rough earth and Leila had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. As she reached the end of her journey down, she saw the arms of catacombs spread out before her

Her shoulders slumped without her permission. “I can’t believe they arranged it in catacomb order,” she said to no-one, her voice echoing away into the torch-lit distance. “I bet there aren’t even any catacombs under the real Hagia Sophia! Stupid city.”

She stepped out into the earthen passages full of old wooden file boxes. This happened to her in the museum too. They called them ‘green rooms’, rooms that existed in the city but not in the normal world. Conversely, rooms that existed in the normal world building but not in the city version were called ‘red rooms’. It happened most of all in the basement, as though the city felt it could take liberty with the structures it brought to itself, especially underground.

Leila raised her Focus and said the words of the searching spell she used in the museum, followed by the name of the artifact she was searching for. Nothing happened. “Oh dammit,” she grumbled

Morning became afternoon as Leila wound her way around the catacombs, trying to get a handle on the organization of the place, which was defiantly non-alphabetical.

* * * *

There was a plaza. It once belonged to a Mediterranean city that was long ago sacked and burned to the ground. Leafy vines crawled upwards through the cracks between the white brick floor, wrapping themselves around the pillars and columns. A small platform and podium were set up to one side. Miguel Suerte, a Spanish man of modest height with a well-trimmed moustache stood next to the platform, surrounded by a pack of bodyguards so large that any one of them could have surrounded Suerte by himself.

There was no-one else in the place. The candidate cast a spell to amplify his voice, and stepped behind the podium

“My fellow citizens,” Suerte began, “we are all here for one reason: to hear why I, Miguel Suerte, should be the next mayor of our great home.” He paused, apparently for effect. “The city has gone without leadership for too long. The Peelers are answerable to no-one, necromancers and dark sorcerers walk among us unhindered, there is no regulation of the use of sorcery. Is this any place to raise our children?”

He paused and smiled. People, drawn into the plaza by the sound of his amplified voice, trickled in from various entrances. There were only a few

“I say that it is not! I say that this city needs someone to be bold and decisive. I have a portfolio of programs ready to be implemented upon my election, the very processes of which this city is in dire need. They will make our streets safe and clean and our homes secure.

“This,” he said, “is what the city needs. Cast your votes for Suerte!”

He stepped down to no applause. The few people present realized who he was, and were obviously disappointed that he hadn’t been spectacularly killed. With some disappointed shrugging the assembly dispersed and went on about their days

A dark-eyed woman took pains to be neither the first nor last to leave. She pretended to chat with another passer-by and then took off centerwise.

* * * *

Leila Lanstrom cursed loudly. No one heard her. The flames of the torches burned endlessly down seemingly endless passageways. “Who knew there was so much made up crap in this city,” she said to the file boxes.

The file boxes were full of scraps of paper and parchment, some printed or typed, but most handwritten. She had even found some cuneiform tablets that bordered on ten thousand years old. And for once since she came to the city, she was grateful for sorcery. Someone had gone through great pains to make sure that all the information in the caves was readable by all. She had picked up a cuneiform tablet, and glanced at it. Leila wasn’t that great at reading Cuneiform but the tablet appeared plain as English. She took off her glasses, blinked grandly, for her own benefit and replaced them.

“Woo Hoo,” she said nonchalantly, and continued reading.

Though cuneiform was precisely the language she was looking for, none of the tablets contained anything about the Standard. There were some tablets on the Obsidian City, which was supposedly somewhere in modern Turkey, and something called ‘the Creature of the Lapis Caves ’, who didn’t sound the amiable type.

No Standard of Uruk.

She wandered around the passages, which were arranged almost like the arms of a spiral galaxy. Almost, the realization dawned on her, like the circular arrangement of the city itself. Leila had only been in the Woven City a little over a year, and the geography of the place was immense. She realized the cuneiform tablets, deep down the passage behind her, were all about things in Turkey, thousands of years ago. But the ancient Mesopotamian neighborhoods of the city were... “Where are they?” Leila asked herself. “Where...?”

Back at the core of the files, by the staircase returning to the surface, tempting her to daylight and fresh air, and soon after to bed, she looked at the various arms of the catacombs. She had just come from ancient Turkey

“Six o’clock,” she labeled the passage. “And if that’s six, then the Street of the Dead is... Is eight and Ur is... Two!” Leila shouted in triumph and scurried off down the corresponding passage.

The path wound its way down the centuries. Her natural curiosity forced her to stop and have a peek at a couple boxes along the way. She read about secret rooms of horror in the British Museum, at which she had to laugh. She saw the story of the Helm of Atlantis, supposedly lost in a Dresden museum. Of course, that sort of thing had happened before.

Leila continued back through the ages, coming to the thing she sought: more clay tablets. She rifled through descriptions of the cattle spirits of Jericho and real story about the whole wall thing, and finally: the Standard of Uruk

The English which somehow stowed away on the cuneiform’s journey between the tablet and her brain was simple and somewhat stilted and stoically refused to accept the definite article as a necessary part of itself. It was, however, unmistakably the right story. She removed her Focus from her pocket and conjured up a stenographer’s pad: one of the first tricks she had learned. She was shocked to learn later that object summoning was actually quite complicated. Especially considering the amount of time it took her to learn how to unlock her door

She jotted down all the details of the tablet. Leila was reasonably certain that the sweaty man with the bow-tie upstairs wouldn’t be all about letting her go with the tablet.

Plus with her luck, she’d probably break it before she got a dozen steps from the door

She replaced the tablet, smiled, and stood. Suddenly she noticed something. She was near the edge of the city’s history. She had assumed the tunnel stopped there. The light stopped there. The tunnel kept going, beyond the range of the sorcerous torch’s light. An impervious blackness, sloping down, into the earth. She took an unsteady step backwards. Something about the darkness frightened her, something her rationality couldn’t acknowledge. It seemed concealing... Consuming. She stumbled backwards, tripping over her own shoes. She landed hard. The jolt snapped her out of her absorption. She hopped to her feet and bolted for the exit, not bothering to pat off the dust

She was dodging ornate hanging fixtures and nearly at the Hagia Sophia’s door when the bow-tied man cleared his throat loudly. She halted as the echo reached her. The man looked meaningfully at the sign-in book. Leila rolled her eyes: she had forgotten to sign out. She filled in the ‘time out’ slot with the help of a nearby clock and hurried to Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop.

* * * *

There was another campaign speech, in the evening. The same speech, verbatim. There were a very few people at it, including the same dark-eyed woman. She slipped away again, neither first nor last, and made her way to the Woven City Hall of Records.

The hall was housed in the United States Library of Congress. The Library had appeared there many years ago, along with all its contents. They were quickly stolen by the hired muscle of the Alexandria Library in Egypt. They didn’t like competition. (In fact, when the Alexandria, Virginia, municipal library had appeared some years earlier, the leadership of the old Alexandria Library had gotten rather irate and burned the building to the ground.)

So the city records moved in. There weren’t nearly enough to fill the building, as government here was really more of a suggestion and the bureaucracy was comprised entirely of people who had a lot of free time and a borderline-obsessive need for organization.

One thing they should have, the dark-eyed woman guessed, was the set of rules for becoming mayor. She checked in at the desk, where a smallish fellow with thick glasses and a bow-tie sat, shuffling a sheaf of papers and trying to decide which corner of the desk was the best home for his spider plant.

She followed the signs to the records room, which was much larger than it honestly needed to be. The woman guessed she could fit most of them in her basement.

She found the correct filing cabinet, and rifled through. A charter, written in old English, possibly when someone thought they could make this city like other cities. There had been a string of short-lived administrations, and by 1680, people had given up on trying to control the place as if it were a normal-world civilization. She waded slowly through a bog of Old English and some older languages she couldn’t even recognize. The results were not encouraging. The woman muttered something un-ladylike and exited. Other projects required her more immediate attention.

* * * *

Along the way, Leila’s feet began urging her to run, and she listened, gaining speed for three straight blocks. There were a lot of people in the city, but the streets were rarely crowded. She cut centerwise for many centuries, then back out as Mme. Rumella’s was in the opposite quarter from the Hagia Sophia, then finally clockwise, along the curving streets that marked the separation of time, most of them well into night now. She ran headlong towards the door, realizing too late that it opened outwards.

“Ow,” Leila remarked as her cheek peeled away from the glass. As she fell over, Mme. Rumella, Jason Oblivion, and Mary all rushed out to help her.

She sat slightly dazed upon the sidewalk as Mme. Rumella commenced to fuss. “Oh, pet, what have you done?”

“Well, I have some news. And I wanted to share it. And I, uh, forgot which way the door opened, so... So, yeah...Ground....”

“Up you come,” said Mme. Rumella as she and Jason raised her to her feet and led her inside. They led her to one of the comfortable chairs by the fire and sat her back down. Mme. Rumella examined Leila’s face and pronounced she would have some slight bruising, but was otherwise fine.

After bringing a soothing cup of jasmine tea, Mme. Rumella asked what Leila had come so urgently to tell them. She sipped at her tea: “Ooh, honey.”

“Yes, pet,” said Mme. Rumella, a little impatiently

“I went to the Hall of Apocrypha. You won’t believe the amount of stuff in that place, I’ll tell you. It took me for-ever to find it...”

“You haven’t been home, have you?” Mme. Rumella accused

“No, but-”

“Leila, it’s not healthy. You need sleep. You can’t keep having forty-eight hour days!”

“Now that you mention it, I am really tired.”

“Then I won’t make you walk home. You can stay in one of the spare rooms upstairs.”

“Oh good,” said Leila absently.

A moment passed.

“And what did you find there at the Hall?” Mme. Rumella prompted.

“Um... Darkness,” she said, and explained her experience. “It’s probably all in my head, though,” she concluded

“Never a safe assumption here, pet.”

“Anyway, I found out about the Standard. The city of Ur was founded in 2850 BC, and Uruk in 3500 BC, though both were settled in the fifth millennium BC. They were two of the earliest neighborhoods in the city.”

“Right,” Mary commented. “They’re all in clusters of buildings on the edges of town, instead of single buildings like most of the city.”

“So, the neighborhoods were in competition with each other over the pride of their cities. It never really manifested in the normal world until much later when Ur finally conquered Uruk,” Leila said, brushing hair out of her eyes, “but here, it got pretty brutal. Ur had their Standard in the normal world, but I believe the Uruk community’s sorcerous version predates it by almost nine hundred years. It was right around the time Uruk passed the threshold into civilization in the real world. You know, civilization as a matter of scale. Ur got cranky, things escalated, and the Standard was crafted with some mysterious power. I wasn’t exactly sure what its power was though, the tablets didn’t say, only that the Standard was meant to secure the power and prestige of the Uruk community here in the city.” She paused and looked to Mme. Rumella. “Are there any of them left we could talk to about it?”

Mme. Rumella shook her head. “People last a long time in this city, pet, but seven thousand years is a pretty tall order.”

“Maybe their descendents?” Mary suggested. “The area is mostly abandoned now, but there’s bound to be someone.”

“That’s as may be, but someone along the line sent the thing away, so long ago that no-one we’ve talked to yet has heard of it,” Mme. Rumella reasoned. “The odds are against us on this one.”

“Since when do the odds mean anything here?” Mary countered

“True enough,” said Mme. Rumella.

She had just risen to show Leila to her room, when Delilah Runestone, Dark Sorceress, blew into the room without touching the door. There was an accompanying rush of cold night air. The spectacle was all the more impressive since the door opened out.

Mary crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What,” she asked, “no crack of lightning?”

“I was thinking about it,” Delilah replied

There was a moment of silence as Delilah crossed the room. She went to the shelf of stainless mugs with the words ‘Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop’ emblazoned on them and began fiddling calculatingly. “I just dropped by,” she said in a casual tone that fooled no-one, “to give you a friendly shout.” She put down the mug and put on a smile. “This whole Standard of Uruk business,” she paused so the rest could look at each other meaningfully. “It’s really not something you ought to be involved with. If you have any survival instinct to share between the lot of you,” she glanced at Leila and Jason and then back at the mugs, “you’ll stop trying to help the Crusader

“Trust me,” she added condescendingly; “it’s in your best interests.”

Then Delilah Runestone turned and swaggered out of the room, the door swinging slowly shut behind her. “Are she and Tina Virtue related?” Mary had to ask upon seeing the swagger

“I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing,” muttered Leila sullenly. She yawned and Mme. Rumella led her upstairs. She promised to talk to her colleagues tomorrow now that they had more information. Mme. Rumella said if she saw Leila awake in less than nine hours, she would drug her.

The Standard of Ur

Leila awoke the next morning feeling if not refreshed, then at least passably awake. She rose and attempted to make up the bed for Mme. Rumella. When she was done she commented to no-one, “Not exactly hospital corners.”

Downstairs, it was Mme. Rumella’s peak time, though she kept the shop open all day. Mr. Markab had just exited with his size medium earl gray, no milk, no sugar. A flock of new and returning customers stood between Tina Virtue and her hot chocolate. Mary had just returned after her customary six-and-a-half hours of sleep. She was just about to join the queue when she pinpointed Leila on the stairs.

“Wow,” the archaeologist commented

“So, what’s the plan?” Mary asked as she joined Leila on the staircase.

“Oh. Well, I was just about to head back to the museum. They’re probably wondering where I am.”

“Naturally: you haven’t been in in... hours,” Mary remarked

“You’re starting to sound like Mme. Rumella,” Leila accused.

“Worse people to sound like,” said Mary ungrammatically.

Leila shrugged and exited with a wave to Mme. Rumella, who wasn’t too preoccupied to notice. Her hands were full, but she returned the wave with a smile.

Leila hurried across the cobblestone street, and began making the rounds. She climbed to the top of the building and began asking questions

“Thanks anyway, Deng,” she told one colleague as she exited his office. A dozen offices and no luck as yet. The news on the Standard hadn’t refreshed anyone’s memory. She continued down the hallway. A few of the doors were locked. She found an open one, the light of the desk lamp spilling out into the hallway. She knocked quickly and popped her head into the next office down they way

“Hey, Margo, got a minute?”

Margo, an older woman with uncooperative gray hair arranged like atmospheric strata around her head, set down her reading glasses and spun her chair to face Leila. “What is it?”

“I’ve been looking into this artifact called the Standard of Uruk and-”

“Are you certain you don’t mean the Standard of Ur?” Margo, like everyone else in the building had asked

“No, I really, really don’t. It’s an artifact from the old Uruk neighborhood, here in the city.”

“Oh. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

Leila sighed resignedly. “Alright,” she said, and made to exit

“But there is one thing,” Margo hastened to add

“What?”

“On the chance that the two Standards are related, that is...”

“Go on,” Leila prompted, a little impatiently

“The Standard of Ur was stolen, two nights ago, from the normal British Museum. It was in one of the red rooms, so we never had it here.” She reached over a copy of an internal report from the normal Museum.

“I can’t believe nobody else knew about this.”

Margo sniffed imperiously. “Nobody else bothers to keep up with the normal Museum. We really ought to make more of an effort.”

Leila muttered something about supposing so, and thank you, and wandered absently down the corridor.

* * * *

A cadre of bodyguards surrounded Miguel Suerte as he walked downtown. All the newest buildings of the city were here. Set up as it was for shopping, the Denver International Airport had become, in essence, a mall. Inside it was relatively crowded. On the runways, there were only Suerte and his people.

And a podium. On a raised platform. The bodyguards flanked the place, ready. Miguel Suerte smoothed his moustache, stepped behind the podium and began his speech.

It was the same speech. That was all it needed to be.

In the distance, a few people spotted the scene through panes of glass, and pointed it out to other passers-by. Suerte saw that they saw. He quickly rapped up his speech. He and his cadre exited to another point on the campaign trail. The podium remained. ‘Suerte for Mayor,’ it said

* * * *

Hunter Blue was not a nice man. For the last several centuries, he had lived alone in the primeval forests around the city. And as anyone would say, the forests were not the safest of places. The sprites were most likely the nicest of the creatures within. There were things in there a lot bigger, and a lot meaner. Hunter liked to shoot them.

Hunter Blue emerged from the forests. The citizens may not know what was happening in the forest, but the forest knew many things. Knowledge was ambient. That, and the sprites were incorrigible chatterboxes. Upon her return from the city, Hunter had overheard one sprite speaking of the new mayoral candidate. Miguel Suerte. He started for the edge of the forest at once.

He walked through the outskirts of town, mainly comprised of desert areas. Cities long since passed to dust passed him by as he headed centerwise. As he came into the more populous areas, people went on about their business in the same way they had upon seeing the Crusader in their midst. If, perhaps, their movements were a bit stiffer, or their shoulders suddenly held more tension than they had, Hunter chose not to be offended.

Hunter had not been in the city for some time now, and there where are a lot of people who preferred it that way. Hunter was the only man in this world who carried a gun. He had come here with it, and he planned to go out with it. As an actual gun, it was next to useless here, but he had made it his Focus. A gorgeous arquebus in such perfect condition that it would be almost priceless in the real world, slung over his back. After three wasted centuries, his quary had not only returned to the city, but made himself suddenly public. Thus, after years of anonymity so complete even Hunter, who had killed a fair few people looking, could find no more then whispers. He would kill Suerte next, after he screwed with him for a while.

* * * *

Mme. Rumella was relaxing with a hot mug of tea. The morning had passed with an even greater amount of activity than usual. Mme. Rumella’s register was chock full of doubloons, cubes of silver, vials of smoke and more of a liquid in an unidentifiable shade of blue. The only people left in the shop were herself, crashed into one of the comfortable couches, and Jason, opposite her. He tended to stay around for long periods, rather than chance finding his way home.

She inhaled the rising vapors of her cup and enjoyed a moment of peace.

Then the door opened. In came Leila Lanstrom, with a manila envelope

“Guess what I heard,” she said

“Something interesting, I hope,” said a weary Mme. Rumella.

“It’s about the Standard of Ur,” Leila said, seating herself by Mme. Rumella and leaning in urgently.

“Don’t you mean-”

Mme. Rumella was interrupted by the opening of the door. In walked a woman in a black dress, blond hair dropping out from beneath the low brim of her fedora. The woman didn’t go to the counter, but to the shelves of mugs and other such merchandise Mme. Rumella sold on the side. Mme. Rumella regarded her suspiciously.

“Go on pet, but quietly,” she whispered to Leila

Leila leaned in a bit closer, and Jason, apparently intrigued, leaned in. “The Standard of Ur was stolen in the normal world a few days ago. The police have no leads. They said the thieves must have used some sort of complex electronic device, which the police hadn’t heard of yet, to short out the entire security system.”

Mme. Rumella nodded thoughtfully. In her time in the city, she had heard of many cases like this. Magic would work in the normal world if one brought a Focus, but only for about an hour, depending on various factors of location, etc. After that time, the effect of the sorcery would be undone, with no apparent explanation. When something like this happened, it usually meant the thieves absconded with their bounty to the Woven City.

“I mean, I don’t know why,” Leila continued, “someone would steal the Standard of Ur, since it’s not an artifact of this world. Maybe there was a clerical error, maybe they wanted a matching set, whatever, I don’t know, but” she paused, “if we could track them while the trail is still hot...” She trailed off, being unable to land on the proper heist-movie slang.

“What does it look like?” Jason asked

It was often disconcerting when Jason asked questions. They were often coherent. Leila and Mme. Rumella jumped a little.

“Well,” Leila attempted to describe the artifact simply, “it’s a big box with lots of pictures on it.” She was trying to keep the jargon in her everyday language to a minimum. It constantly surprised her how often she had found ways to use ‘lapis lazuli’ in casual conversation.

Jason made a thoughtful ‘hmm’ noise, and said, “You know, I’m not at all certain that I didn’t see them.”

Leila looked to Mme. Rumella for translation “That’s good,” she explained. She laughed. “That’s very good!” She looked to Jason. “When wasn’t it, lamb?”

“Later, on my way home.”

“Could you lead us to where you saw them?’

“Not really.”

“Brilliant! Off we go!”

She and Jason rose, with Leila following a moment later. “What’s going on?”

“Go and find the Crusader, he’s a block anti-clockwise and round the corner. I’ll catch you up.”

“Alright,” said Leila, still nonplussed. She led Jason out of the store as Mme. Rumella walked up to the woman

“You could at the very least have worn a different dress, Delilah,” she said accusingly

“Delilah? I do not know what you are talking about,” said the woman, in a slightly over-the-top French accent

Mme. Rumella just raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Oh, alright,” said Delilah irritably. She ripped the hat and blond wig off her head. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. We all know your reputation, Madam, but this is one caper you don’t want to get involved in!”

“Thanks again for the advice, Delilah. Is there anything I can get you before you leave.”

Delilah paused. Then, “A cappuccino would be nice, actually.”

“Of course,” said Mme. Rumella.

Down the street Leila had collected the Crusader, and was getting rather impatient. “Come on,” she ordered and started back to the tea shop

As they tracked up the curving street, the shop came into view. Mme. Rumella exited and came towards them. Another woman carrying a coffee and whistling innocently exited immediately thereafter, and turned in the opposite direction. Mme. Rumella was wisely carrying three umbrellas. You never knew when it might be raining over a building or two.

“Was that that Delilah woman?” Lelila asked

“You’re not the most observant for an archaeologist, are you pet?” Mme. Rumella joked good-naturedly. She distributed the umbrellas and asked Jason to point the way. Or rather, didn’t

They followed him past the tea shop and museum, past the grey wall of indeterminate origin, and up the cross-street towards Vijay’s. Then past, all the while Jason was pointing to each building and swearing on his life that the culprits were in each of them. The buildings slipped by them as they walked forward, back to a curving street, then back to a radial one, and finally they were somewhere in the First Quarter of the city. Mme. Rumella examined the Spanish villa on her right, and placed it somewhere in the fourteenth century.

She asked Leila, who responded, “Fifteenth. You’re not very observant for a tea shop owner, are you?”

“Very good, pet.”

“It wasn’t in there,” Jason whispered to her, gesturing subtly at the villa with his chin.

“Are you sure?” Mme. Rumella whispered back

“No,” Jason said urgently.

“Alright, this is it. Quietly now,” she said, and stepped gingerly up the stone path from the road. The villa was a two story building in rose stucco, a square perimeter bordering a central courtyard. The four stepped through the arching doorway. There were matching mosaics on either side. Mme. Rumella stopped the others behind her and peered cautiously around. There was a scattering of shade trees, their glorious foliage still full despite the settling autumn elsewhere.

All the doors lining the courtyard were closed. Mme. Rumella glanced down, purely by chance, and for the first time noticed that the courtyard was tiled with rose marble. She frowned, unsure of where to go next.

A loud crack split the silence. A cry of ‘dude!’ echoed down from above. Mme. Rumella drew her wand from a pocket, and gestured to a door opposite them on the second level. Leila nodded. Jason shook his head. The Crusader remained still.

Mme. Rumella crept forward between the doorways and the white columns and arches, below the overhang. There was a spiraling staircase of blackened iron at the far corner of the courtyard. They approached it as silently as they could, though the Crusader still squeaked occasionally.

The sounds of conversation grew slightly louder. The quartet ascended the spiraling stair, moving themselves stealthily down the open corridor. The autumn sun was bright over Spain, splashing the wall with an intense golden hue. Mme. Rumella halted outside the door in question. She turned placed a finger to her lips, which Leila could barely see in the shadow of the other woman’s face. They stood perfectly still and listened.

The words were still somewhat muffled. Mme. Rumella sensed the inane chitchat of bored young people. They sounded unhappy about ‘having to sit here and look at this dumbass thing all day’.

She turned to the others and mouthed ‘it’s inside’.

This, as it turned out, was a mistake.

The Crusader, apparently able to read lips despite the evident absence of eyes, swerved around them. As he turned to face the door, Mme. Rumella grabbed one arm and pressingly urged, “Don’t!”

The Crusader ignored her, and punched through the rough-hewn wood of the door. The part that didn’t disintegrate under the force flew backwards off its hinges and crashed into the opposite wall. Not feeling like bending down, or so it seemed, the Crusader raised up both fists and arced them down onto the top of the doorframe. Wood and plaster crumbled and he stepped through into the room, the others right behind

Two young sorcerers in cargo pants and t-shirts bearing angry legends, apparently in their late teens to early twenties were kicking back with a few bottles of Klienhorst, from the city’s oldest brewery. Absent a bottle opener, they had been trying to remove the caps by setting them against the edge of the table and hitting them. They jumped to their feet as the Crusader came in, and fumbled for their wands. One yelled, “Holy shit!”

On the table between them sat the Standard of Ur. It was a trapezoidal box, about twenty inches long and eight high. There were three rows of figures, showing processions in times peace and war, figures of the people bringing food and livestock and artisan goods to a grand banquet, and figures on chariots, with spears and axes, vanquished enemies presented to a spear-carrying king. The figures were constructed in surprising detail from bits of shell, red limestone, and lapis lazuli

Leila drew her Focus and shouted the Italian word ‘to protect’, and the name of the artifact. One of the young sorcerers fired an orb of energy at her and she flew backwards. Mme. Rumella tossed Jason a vial of smoke from her pocket and he jumped over to her slumped form.

The other sorcerer immobilized the Crusader before he could move any further. Mme. Rumella tried to do the same to him, but his friend deflected the spell. With a swiftness belying her age, she leapt behind the Crusader.

“Sorry about this,” she said absently to the inanimate armor

One of the young sorcerers shouted something, and the Crusader began to topple. Mme. Rumella leapt again, out of the way. Without thinking, she went further into the room rather than towards the door. She shouted the first thing in her mind, and the room was filled with a blinding light. Jason, Mme. Rumella, and the two young sorcerers cried out in pain.

The light faded from the room, but still filled Mme. Rumella’s eyes. She looked around blindly. The young sorcerers were casting around the room, equally blindly.

An orb of red light stuck a glancing blow to Mme. Rumella’s shoulder. She was thrown back against the near wall, but was still fully conscious. She could feel the splintered door beneath her. She dove out of the way as two spells crashed into her former position. Splinters of wood flew overhead as she struggled across the floor. She felt a warm trickle on the back of her neck and touched a hand to it. It came back wet with what she had to assume was blood. Across the room, she heard poor Jason cry out in shock as he was hit.

Then suddenly, silence.

Mme. Rumella struggled for another vial in her pocket. She had brought several. One was smashed. She cut her finger on it. She found another, unstopped it, and breathed in the gray, sandwood-scented vapor within. Her cuts healed, and her abused retinas were restored. She took in the scene. Leila was still unconscious against the wall. The Crusader lay toppled nearby. Jason had apparently gotten close enough to land a solid punch on one of their attackers before he was hit. The walls were set through with scorch marks and holes.

The two young sorcerers lay fallen on the ground, gagged, and bound with rope at the wrists and ankles. Mme. Rumella looked closer and discovered the rope was sorcerous, coiling back and forth of its own accord, and actively resisting the young men’s attempts to untie them.

There was a window. It was broken. Mme. Rumella stood on her toes and peered down. There was a rain of glass on the ground below, with a rather suspicious gap in the middle.

“Thank you,” she said to the decamped rescuer who must have been below only moments prior. She walked back to Jason and gave him her last vial. He awoke with a start, sputtering perfect sense. She restored the Crusader as the young sorcerers continued to struggle against their bonds. To her surprise, the Crusader spoke.

“They caught me by surprise,” he said.

“Of course they did,” she said reassuringly.

She made her way over to Leila. With no more healing vials left, she slapped the archaeologist’s face lightly. After a moment, she came to

“Can I just go ahead and ask what the hell just happened?”

“I’ll explain it later dear.”

Leila appeared puzzled. “My head doesn’t hurt.”

“Jason gave you a healing vial. There was enough to take care your bruises and such, but not enough to restore you to consciousness. You probably had concussion.”

“Ah.”

“Now, I think we ought to summon the Peelers.”

“Good plan. I can do it,” said Leila, using the wall to push herself to her feet. “It’s just about the only thing I can do.”

“Nonsense, pet, your protection spell is working just fine,” Mme. Rumella reassured her. She gave a nod to the Standard, still resting on the now three-legged table. There was a sort of a film or bubble, the blue of a tropical ocean.

“Okay then,” Leila said. She looked back and forth and decided on the window rather than the door. She stuck her arm out the window and pointed the tip of her pen at the sky. “Peelers!” Leila cried and a red bolt fired out of her wand. It exploded over the villa like a flare, and hung there.

The Peelers were the world’s first real municipal police force. Established by Sir Robert Peel in 1829 in London, they were based off his earlier efforts, the Peace Preservation Force of 1814 in Ireland. The Peelers in the city were still based in old Scotland Yard, where the commissioner’s office resided. A few other police precincts had popped up over the years, but their facilities and personnel had been quickly absorbed into the Peelers. They didn’t like competition.

The first spell newcomers learned in the city was the red flare spell that summoned them. And they would arrive within minutes. Which is why they missed most of the action, but they did try.

Chief Inspector Ian Gregor looked around the room as various people of lower rank shuffled around him. Mme. Rumella had explained to him what had happened, and C.I. Gregor, in classic police fashion, was skeptical about the person-under-the-window theory.

As the two young sorcerers were carted off, sans-irons, since they were already bound perfectly well, Mme. Rumella led Jason and Leila back to her shop. Leila took the Standard, promising to return it to its rightful resting place. The Crusader had wandered off a few minutes earlier, and none of the Peelers felt particularly like getting in his way.

Leila irritably pushed the door of Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. After again remembering that the door opened outwards, she pulled on it, even more irritably. “Who does that idiot think it was? I mean, what does he think happened? We saved ourselves but don’t remember it because we weren’t paying attention or what?”

“It’s his job to be that way, pet. Maybe he thought we were trying to duck out on paperwork.”

Leila snorted. “What’s the point of those guys anyway? It’s like Law & Order without the law part.”

“Sorry?”

“There’s no court system. They just take the bad guys away, write down what they’ve done, and then what? Chide them severely?”

“Then,” Mme. Rumella explained, “they lock them up for a suitable amount of time, and tell them not to do it again. Most of them break out pretty quickly,” she shrugged

Leila set the Standard down on a low table that formed the center of one of the seating areas and proceeded to collapse onto a sofa. Jason appeared to think that this was a fantastic idea and crashed down next to her. Mme. Rumella prepared them all some Irish coffees.

“Well that was exciting,” said Leila. “We nearly got killed, and didn’t learn a thing.”

“At least we didn’t recover the artifact,” said Jason helpfully

“False enough,” said Leila, and Mme. Rumella had to smile

“And we didn’t exactly learn nothing,” Mme. Rumella broached her thoughts. Leila looked at her for a moment before asking what. “We know that whoever did this has resources.”

“Uh-huh,” was Leila’s skeptical remark

“Just wait, pet,” Mme. Rumella admonished. “I had been suspecting Lionel the Necromancer.”

“Him? Why?” Before Mme. Rumella could continue she had to ask: “And why does he call himself that anyway? Why not Lionel J. Necromancio while he’s at it?”

“I really can’t say, pet.”

“Sorry. So why him?”

“Don’t you remember?” Mme. Rumella inquired in classic amateur detective fashion, hazel eyes twinkling. “When Mary had her fight with Lionel, she said it was out in Teo. And where should the two of us run into him but days later: exactly there, on the Street of the Dead. I thought perhaps that he had hidden the Standard there, and was then moving it.”

Leila nodded thoughtfully. “But now?”

“Well, assuming that the taking of the second Standard was related to the first, I’d have to say it was someone else. First of all, they, whoever they are, had the money to hire those two young men to steal the thing and guard it for them. Plus, the estate in which they were hiding.”

“Nice place, until we got there,” Leila commented

“Exactly, pet!”

“Huh?”

“It was a gorgeous Spanish villa, those mosaics, the marble floor... Places like that don’t go unclaimed here in the city, and they’re usually claimed by people who are powerful enough to prevent others taking it from them.”

“And Lionel couldn’t?” Leila queried, puzzled

“No, pet, no. You see, many years ago, Lionel was the most powerful sorcerer in the city. After a while, the Peelers wouldn’t touch him because too many of them had gotten killed trying. It was... Not a great time to live here, for many,” Mme. Rumella understated severely. “The thing of this city, of course, is that there most people here won’t put up with that sort of thing for very long. A few citizens went at a time when he was... distracted.”

“Distracted?” Leila repeated in Mme. Rumella’s euphemistic tone

“I apologize, that sounded a bit odd, didn’t it? You see, Lionel was about to tap into an amazing power, not seen in either world since before the rise of man. Needless to say it was...”

“Really scary?” Leila jumped in as Mme. Rumella fished for the right word

“More than a little, yes. Anyway, like all things sorcerous, it required a bit of ritual.”

“Wait, all things?”

“From the simplest spell, pet. What do you think those words you speak are?”

“Oh.”

“And the bigger the power, the more ritual is involved, and the more apparatus. The group of citizens stormed his manor house. Not all of them made it out alive, but one managed to take out the vital Focus of the spell.”

“That sounds like bad news.”

“Very bad, pet. The room was full of a pulsating sorcerous light, focused through a crystal. When it was smashed, the energy collapsed in upon itself. The citizens, and especially Lionel, were lucky to have survived.”

“Wow. Who did that?”

“That would be me, pet,” Mme Rumella said with a proud little smile. “And some others, I’m not sure how many you’ve heard of: Hunter Blue, Joseph Collins, Saridée, Eleanor Drowning?” Leila shook her head. “Ah, well, if I ever see them, I’ll have to introduce you. Where was I? Oh, my, yes. After the ritual, Lionel’s power was reduced to a much more moderate level, and he ran through his accrued riches trying to get it back. Every now and again he comes up with some scheme to that effect, and we’re about due. If the Standard does have some ancient power, it would be like him to try and take it for his own. However, as I said, he doesn’t have the resources for the things we have seen.”

“Round the board and back to square one, then,” Leila sighed

Mme. Rumella shrugged easily

Jason, who had been listening intently and sipping at his drink, held up his empty glass. “I would really hate it if you brought me another of these foul concoctions,” he smiled

“You’re such a sweetheart,” said Mme. Rumella, and fixed him another drink.

Foci

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Leila announced. Mme. Rumella and Jason regarded her curiously. “Do you think the Crusader can do magic?”

“I’m not sure, pet,” Mme. Rumella honestly replied as she handed Jason his drink.

Leila paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “The way it’s been explained to me, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that every human being has magic inside of them.”

“Sorcery, pet,” Mme. Rumella corrected

“Whatever. So, in the normal world, all the kinds of magic-”

“Orders of sorcery,” Mme. Rumella interrupted to correct

“Whatever. They’re dormant, right? But here, they’re more than a little active. As we’ve all seen today,” she added, smoldering. So far Mme. Rumella had only corrected her vocabulary and not her ideas. She went on. “But, we need a Focus, like a wand or some specific device, to, well, focus it. I guess my question is, since you said that Mr. Markab said that the Crusader is a sorcerous being, can he do mag—um, sorcery? And if he can, do you think he needs a Focus? Or does being sorcerous mean that a Focus isn’t necessary. He certainly doesn’t carry much, except that longsword strapped across his back.”

“I’ve never seen Wyyla carrying one, but then she is positively miniscule and perhaps I’ve simply never seen it.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Wyyla. A friend. A sprite. I should introduce you two. And I will, next time she comes for a visit.”

“Huh. Okay. Come to think of it, I have another question. You know that guy you took me to, to get my Focus?” Leila saw Mme. Rumella grimace. The older woman knew the question wasn’t meant to be answered, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated by it. “How does he do it? And why do people have to go to him? Like, could I learn to make Foci myself?”

“Theoretically, you could,” Mme. Rumella answered. “The reason so many people have to go to Mr. Dallal is that creating Foci is a very difficult process. Even a basic wand takes several days to create. Custom Foci usually take much longer, though most who have them learned to make the items themselves.”

“Mine didn’t take that much longer,” Leila noted

“Yes, but it’s really not that much different from a wand is it? It doesn’t do anything extra, it’s simply in a different form.”

“Oh.”

“As to your first question, it’s mainly a matter of concentration. You can create a Focus without a Focus, so there’s no paradox of the original item.”

“No chicken-and-the-egg,” Leila added

“No poultry were involved,” said Mme. Rumella. “The creation process,” she resumed, “is mainly a laying on of hands, and willing the sorcery into it. The reason we need Foci is that it would take days and weeks for the most simple of spells otherwise, though, theoretically, they could be done. Anything more advanced would take a lifetime.”

“So anyone with the willpower could do it, really?”

“Yes, but again, theoretically.”

“Do you know anyone who can do it?”

“Other than the wand merchants? Only myself and Mary, and possibly someone at the Temple of Vesta. There are others, of course.”

“You can?” Leila asked

“Please try to sound a little less surprised, pet,” Mme. Rumella said with a sly smile

“And Mary made her own... What can yours do, other than the usual?”

“It does one transformation, which is rather silly and I rarely use it, and it also constantly replenishes the shop’s safeguards when I’m not using it.”

“Wait, wait, wait just a minute.”

“Are those the opening bars of a song?”

“No. I have been told, many times, like by everyone I met for the first three months that I lived here, that you have to be in contact with your Focus for it to work. Like touching it, not through cloth or anything. So how does that work?”

“I have a lot of practice,” Mme. Rumella replied

Leila glared

“That was slightly cheeky, wasn’t it?” Mme. Rumella apologized. “What I mean is that rule is less absolute than most would believe. I certainly couldn’t cast a spell with my Focus miles away, or even in my pocket. But, as we can, under a great many conditions, cast spells without a Focus, we can also cast them without touching our Focus.”

“You are making so not much sense,” Leila declared, crossing her arms.

“Of course I am. This world is not the world you come from, only with sorcery. The very existence, or perhaps I should say activity, of sorcery means a great deal of fundamental differences. Rules apply to most people, but the very determined and the very lucky can virtually always find ways around them.”

“Like you?”

“I have lived in this place for many hundreds of years. As I’ve said, I have a lot of practice.”

“I am so very tired,” Leila sighed.

“I understand. It’s been rather a long day already, hasn’t it?”

Leila didn’t respond. “I just hope the Crusader finds what he’s looking for and leaves town before we get in any more fights,” she wished

“I’m afraid this city doesn’t usually work that way, pet,” Mme. Rumella delivered the news

Leila grimaced.

Spirits

“Back out to the edges,” Mary replied as Mme. Rumella handed over her drink. She took a long drink of the spiced tea and milk. “This is fantastic.”

“Of course, dear. Vijay is the best.”

“I hear you’re not untalented yourself. I heard about your little adventure out in the fifteenth,” Mary smiled over her cup. She took another sip

“I don’t think I’ve been in quite as many scrapes as you, dear.”

“Not many have,” said an ambivalent Mary. She shrugged. “I’d best be on my way.”

“Good luck!” Mme. Rumella called after her.

Mary had spent yesterday in the Fourth Quarter, especially around the Temple of Vesta, just in case of any incidents. Today she thought she would go to the opposite way, the Second.

A half-mile track of heather appeared in the city from the seventh century A.D. Mary walked through it slowly, though there was a path. A few sheep grazed nearby. The weather was colder in this part of the city. Mary was wearing a patterned scarf. She wrapped it around her throat again and drew her loam-colored coat closer around her body. In the distance, a barn, with a run connected to nothing. Theoretically, there had once been a farmhouse there. It hadn’t made it to the city. That was the city for you.

She breathed in the air. It still felt...old. It didn’t feel like modern air. Mary could tell. And it was better. Much better. It was why she hardly ever went farther center than Mme. Rumella’s.

And today it was back out to the fringes of sedentary society. She passed out of Scotland, into what was either southeast Asia or a flawless impersonation. A few yards off the path, a panda munched on some freshly-plucked bamboo. She waved to it and it waved back

The world changed again. It moved beyond her as she moved through it. She was getting out to the B.C./A.D. line. Mary, obviously, had been raised Catholic. She had always expected there to be something out here. Some sort of big line, perhaps, or a marker. There was nothing. Mary shrugged.

She continued outwise. More and more of the city was desert out here. Jericho, famous for its tower and wall, appeared in the distance. Or to be more accurate, the wall appeared. The rest of the city was not behind it. Bits of it had been slowly pushed to somewhere along the same ring, but out to the Third Quarter of the city.

She looked over to some low mudbrick huts when a motion caught her eye. She stopped and blinked. Fireworks in a dozen shades of red were erupting over the small Neolithic dwelling. Beneath the crack of the light show, Mary could hear the accompanying low moans. She shrugged and continued on. A lot of strange things happened on the fringes.

She supposed she might come here herself if she needed that sort of privacy. To her left, there was a small spring which pooled into a clear, glinting pond. Next to the pond, a bald man with olive skin wore a simple tunic and hovered in a sitting position above the ground. Below him, a patch of what Mary surmised to be leeks. They grew upward. The man ascended. This continued

When the leeks were about a dozen feet tall, Mary called out, “Is four paces high a good leek crop?”

The man, who had apparently not noticed her, looked down and shouted back, “I’ll stop when they’re seven!”

“Farming,” Mary said to herself and continued on her way

Soon after, she had climbed the steps of the Jericho tower. She surveyed the piecemeal landscape before her. She closed her and inhaled the air of an ancient desert. And coughed. Bit dry, she thought

There was a conversation somewhere. She could hear it. Mary swept her gaze over the ground again. No-one nearby. But the sounds of speaking continued.

“Idiot,” Mary admonished herself. If she was able to hear them but not see them from her high vantage point, they could only be in the shadow of the wall. She slipped off along the structure, looking over the edge.

And saw a man. A man playing supplicant to a spectral cow. “And why not,” she murmured. There were plenty of gods and spirits here. Vesta, Asiago, and now, cows. She stifled the urge to make a bad joke connecting the latter pair, and listened in.

The usual supplicant talk. Some of it was a bit crude. The cattle from Jericho were, after all, symbols of fertility, and apparently the man wasn’t having the best of luck with his crops, and other endeavors as well.

“Jericho...” Mary whispered to herself. She removed her Focus from where she had it hidden up her sleeve and cast a spell without speaking a word. She was good.

Then she waited until the apparition disappeared back into the small object the man held in his hands. From this height, Mary couldn’t make out the details, but apparently the spirit took its cue from the last word the man spoke. She leapt off the wall

About half way down, something, the wind perhaps, began to gradually slow her descent and she touched down, barely disturbing the scattering of scree at the base of the wall

“Good morrow, sir,” she said, a bit cheekily. “I have rather a favor to ask of you.”

The man, dressed similarly to the man with the leek patch, regarded her with suspicion. Not fear, Mary noted, which meant he probably, somehow, did not know of her reputation.

“Honestly, it’s a very small thing,” Mary smiled. The man seemed to soften a little. Mary had a rather reserved exterior in her former life, but had liberated herself of it long ago. Her vivacious smile made everyone think the sun was shining just a little brighter. It was usually right afterwards that she started hurting people. “It’s that, in fact,” she pointed at the small object in his hand, which she now perceived as a miniature carved cattle head.

The man, still not speaking, covered the object in his fist and turned away, shielding it with his body.

“Don’t be that way, I’ll give it back. I do, however, need to borrow it, and if you don’t give it to me, I’ll take it.”

The man narrowed his eyes and sent his answer in the form of a low growl.

“Are you a timber wolf now? Just give me that. Now.” The man did not comply. Perhaps her tone wasn’t threatening enough? Whatever it was, talking was getting her nowhere. She made a pulling motion over her shoulder with her cartridge-Focus, and it transformed into her claymore. Taller than she was, Mary was only able to wield the weapon after making it ultra-light. It could still cut through an awful lot of anything, though.

The man realized that this was not a good situation for him, and handed over the cattle head.

Mary nodded politely. “Thank you. two days, right here,” she said, indicating the ground beneath her. She rolled the sword over her wrist and it became cartridge-size again. “Good morning,” she called as she walked away

The rest of Mary’s day was fairly uneventful. Less fights than usual. That was almost never a good thing. Generally speaking, when the lesser thugs and brawlers weren’t out fighting each other, it was because one of the major thugs or schemers were paying them to cool their heels while they worked on something big.

Mary thought uncomfortably of her talk with Fernando last week. She thought he was talking about the Crusader, but now wondered whether or not there was more to it than that. And she was especially uncomfortable that he couldn’t tell her anything about Candidate Suerte.

She went back to the old Scottish barn. She smiled at it. She had been living in an apartment from the seventeenth century ever since it appeared. She never really liked it much. It was small, and the landlord, while offering quality protection at reasonable rates, was rude, and slovenly, and smelled like a midden heap. Not to mention that if anyone could protect herself, it was Mary, former Queen of Scots.

She had just never found a place she liked enough to overcome the inertia of having lived in one place for so long. She took in the field. Roughly squarish, about a half mile on a side. A quarter mile square of old Scottish splendor. Complete with sheep.

Mary bent down on one knee and ran one hand through the wispy heather. “I have to have it,” she announced to no-one as she stood. She decided to check the barn for signs of habitation.

She straightened her glove absently as she strode over. Beside the large doors was a smaller, more human-scaled one. She pulled it open. There was no handle. The inside was unlit. A few weak strands of light from the overcast sky wove themselves between the cracks in the walls. Mary flicked her wrist and her torch-Focus appeared. She blew on it and it came alight.

Cobwebs hung from every available surface. What may once have been hay laid decomposing in a slowly collapsing heap in the loft the covered the far half of the building. A rickety ladder led up to it. It was off to one side, and the top half had slid so it was now leaning against the near wall.

Mary straightened it and began to climb up to survey the space up close. Half way up, the ancient ropes lashing the rungs gave way and she fell ten feet to the ground. A stream of curses in both Gaelic and French escaped Mary’s mouth as she dusted herself off. Her leg hurt. It didn’t feel broken. She removed a vial of smoke from an interior pocket of her coat (she always carried several) and inhaled its healing power.

She picked up the still burning torch-Focus and aimed it at the ladder. She spoke a Latin word, the infinitive verb ‘to repair’ and the fallen rung replaced itself. The wood itself turned from an ancient gray to a more healthy brown color. Mary again ascended to the top, actually getting there this time.

The barn was quite large, and the loft overhung a good half of it. There would be ample living space, after ample cleaning and repair work. She nodded conservatively.

“Oh, why not,” she told herself. She flung her arms wide to the air and cried, at the top of her voice, “I love this barn!”

She did not, however, have a great command of cleaning spells, nor did she possess any particular volition to do this all by hand. She cast a spell silently, and leapt to the ground, bypassing the ladder completely. As she touched down, she indulged in another triumphant cry. Now this, she thought, is a home!

She returned to her apartment and gave her corpulent landlord notice, and proceeded to have the worst night’s sleep ever because of the anticipation.

She went into Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop the following morning and examined the menu. They were hand written in a variety of colored chalks. She examined the list of coffee drinks and hit upon the perfect solution

“A double red-eye, please, Mme.”

“Oh my, Mary dear! Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into? Coffee with a double shot of espresso added in?”

“That’s what it says.”

“That’s very unusual for you, isn’t it?” Mme. Rumella asked

“I hardly slept last night, and I need a bit of a jolt to start the morning off,” Mary explained.

“Oh my, is something wrong?” Mme. Rumella asked, concerned, as she tied back some graying curls that had gotten loose

“Not at all. Actually I was too excited to sleep.”

“Oh? New love interest?” Mme. Rumella teased

“Sadly no. I found a fabulous new place!”

“Really? When is it?”

“Seventh,” Mary replied

“Hardly new, then, eh?”

Marry shrugged.

“What’s it like, then?” Mme. Rumella urged.

“It’s,” Mary began, suddenly self-conscious, “well, it’s rather a run down barn.”

“Sounds... Lovely?”

“It will be. It’s on a gorgeous half-mile of heather, and I can convert the barn. With some help, anyway. I’ve never been great with cleaning-type things.”

“I’d be glad to help, just as soon as things die down here,” Mme. Rumella smiled

“That’d be wonderful,” said Mary. “By the way, I found something yesterday, it might be able to help you out.” She produced the cattle head carving from her pocket. “It’s a Jericho cattle spirit... Er, thing. I’m not quite sure how you activate it, but if you can get it work, I thought maybe they would chance to know something about your Standard of Uruk problem.”

“Lovely!” Mme. Rumella exclaimed. “We’ll get to it after lunch.”

* * * *

Delilah Runestone hovered outside the front of the shop, occasionally leaning forward to peek in through the window, otherwise pretending to examine a newspaper. While in the shop, she had enchanted one of the mugs to act as a listening device. It was rather short-ranged though, as the long range version required more obvious sorcery. Someone would have noticed. She took in the comments about the Jericho spirits, and decided she had some other, more urgent, eavesdropping to get to.

Delilah walked off down the curving street as Dr. Leila Lanstrom crossed the cobblestones and entered Mme. Rumella’s. Leila spotted the woman walking away and frowned. She wasn’t absolutely sure, but she would mention the other woman’s presence to Mme. Rumella even so

Delilah, meanwhile, decided she needed a better view. She touched a hand to her Focus, concealed up her sleeve. A draft of chill air lifted her to the roof tops. As she drifted from rooftop to rooftop, she made her way centerwise. A prism of darkness rose up into the endless sky. The Nightlight. She leapt up towards the club’s roof, the chill air lifting her twenty stories.

Most of the city was clearly in daylight, and though it could be seen from here, it failed to illuminate the Nightlight and surrounding patch of land. Delilah could hear subdued music and the shuffling of a few ‘daytime’ patrons within. She looked around. She could see a few people walking the streets, one or two others walking the rooftops as she had done. No sign of what she was looking for.

A breeze blew. Delilah froze. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up at attention. If she was sensing what she thought she was sensing, there could be trouble. Great heaping lots of trouble.

She turned. Behind her was a man, six-foot-three if he was anything, wide across the shoulders, and possessing of a chin like a slab of granite. He had fine blond hair and cold, cold blue eyes with pupils that were, perhaps, a touch too wide

“Ruin,” she breathed. She had only run into the man once, when she was a child and he had last been active in the community. For a necromancer, being active in the community usually involved screaming and pain and occasionally fire. She was understandably nervous

“Delilah Runestone,” the man called Ruin uttered in a predator’s voice. “How...nice to meet you.”

Delilah just looked at him for a moment.

“Ah, Ruin. Still spouting the tritest, most vapid lines you can think of.” She crossed her arms smugly, keeping a finger on her wand. “It’s the necromancer’s curse, I suppose: keep trying to breathe life into dead things, People, dialogue, whatever.”

“And your tongue is sharp as I’ve heard.”

“I keep a whetstone on me at all times, to keep it nice and pointy,” She said rolling her eyes.

“Please come to your point quickly. Listening to youis giving me a headach.”

The necromancer let the dark sorceress’s comment pass. “I know what you’re up to, Delilah.”

“Do you? Then perhaps you’d care to fill me in on it, because I’m a little behind on current events.”

“Delilah, Delilah, Delilah...”

“I’m familiar with the name.” Delilah sighed as he continued. Apparently he had rehearsed this conversation earlier and was not about to allow her presence to disrupt it for him.

“I’m trying to be friendly here. Keep your nose out of this Standard of Uruk business. It’s better that you do.”

“Oh not you too!” Delilah lamented. “Listen, I’ll do what I please and-” She broke off as she saw him reaching for his Focus. She pulled her own out of her sleeve as she dodged to the side. A gray something shot by her.

Delilah lost her balance and fell hard on her right side. She shouted something in the language of the ancient civilization at Harappa, and a stroke of blackness left the tip of her wand and started for the necromancer. It struck him on the left shoulder. It was a relatively minor hit, but Ruin had to pause and inhale from a healing vial before the darkness invaded him, giving Delilah enough time to get to her feet.

Only just enough time. The moment she was up, something like a small green shell exploded beneath her. A noxious gas in an equally noxious shade of green rose up around her.

“Vento freddo!” Delilah cried, and an icy wind blew the gas back at its attacker.

Then, as she shouted the French infinitive ‘to fall’, Ruin shouted the infinitive ‘to crumble’ in the tongue of ancient Egypt. The effects of the two spells combined, and the ceiling beneath them exploded downwards.

Both fell into the main bar of the Nightlight. There were only a few patrons and the daytime bar tender. They all leapt back. The bartender was the first to reach for his Focus, and followed swiftly by the patrons.

Delilah and Ruin got to their feet and dusted themselves off

“Asbestos? Jesus...” Ruin complained

“I knew this place wasn’t up to code,” Delilah said sternly

Upon recognizing the dark sorceress and the necromancer, the bartender and patrons wisely decided to flee

Delilah quickly recast dark version of the feather spell, the spell that allowed her to leap from rooftop to rooftop on herself. As she leapt, she cast the ‘crumble’ spell on the floor, even as Ruin fired another gray particle at her

Delilah jumped back out to the roof.

Ruin ended up two floors below with a pyramid of ceiling on his head. A dozen leather-clad people stopped what they were doing to look

Delilah looked at her shoulder as her dress unraveled and the flesh beneath turned gray and dried and began to flake away. “Stare!” The Italian word froze the effect before it got too far, but her left arm was completely numb. She struggled with her other hand for a healing vial, but it had no further effect. Delilah swore and jumped from night to day

* * * *

Mary was busy fussing with a color palette. She loved red, but didn’t want her hair to look faded when she was in the room. She pointed her Focus, in single baton form, at the wall and it changed again. To yellow. She frowned. Much more yellow than she had intended. She focused on the picture in her head, and said the words again. The wall became a more rich, golden tone.

“Better...”

Mme. Rumella had cleared out the decaying hay immediately, and set some incense burning. Now she was downstairs disposing of the contents of the various stalls. Mary gave up on decorating for the moment and stepped off downstairs to join her.

“What are you going to about all these stalls dear?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Mary said thoughtfully. “The upstairs is plenty enough living space for me. I was thinking just put the bathroom in down here, and wait to convert the other space as needed.”

Mme. Rumella nodded. “Well it’s relatively clean now.”

“Thank you so much, Mme. Rumella. If there’s anything I can do for you..?”

“Let’s just see how useful this little thing is,” Mme. Rumella replied, producing the cattle head carving, “and then we’ll decide,” she said with a wink

Mary nodded. The carving, whatever it contained, was definitely a sorcerous object. And while some people tried to be sneaky, many used the same words to activate and deactivate their sorcerous objects, for memory purposes. Mary made a fair attempt at repeating the word she heard the man speak earlier.

Sure enough it worked. A flash of light in a strange brownish color filled the room, and a spectral cow was born from the carving. Or at least, half of one. a pinched waist grew outward from it, expanding into life-size shoulders and horned head, all fluorescing in shades of brown and white. The spectral image hovered some feet above them, back to the ground, legs kicking bizarrely in the air

“Er, hello...” Mary greeted it

“Oy! ‘ Ow are ye then?”

Mary and Mme. Rumella exchanged a look. The Jericho cattle spirit sounded rather... Australian.

“Fine,” Mme. Rumella attempted to assure both herself and the cow.

“Awright then! Who are ye?”

“I’m Mme. Rumella, and this is Mary, formerly Queen of Scots.”

Mary winced but remained silent

“Right. I’m Big Ollie.”

Mary and Mme. Rumella exchanged another look.

“Listen... Big Ollie... We’re in a bit of a spot involving something from your area of the world. We were wondering if you couldn’t help us out.”

“I’ll give it me best, but no guarantees. I’m kinda outta the loop, ye understand.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” said Mme. Rumella. “Our specific trouble is with the Standard of Uruk, you see-”

“Oh bleedin’ ‘ell!” Big Ollie interrupted. “I thought they got rid o’ that thing ages ago! I mean literally: ages of civilization!”

“It would appear to have disappeared, perhaps stolen, from its resting place. We had to do quite a bit of searching just to find mention of it, but we still haven’t the vaguest inkling of what it does. Could you chance to explain?”

“No trouble, miss, no trouble at all. The Standard was a sorcerous device that they carried round on a pole, all covered with pictures.”

“So it’s just another sorcerous object, so what?” Mary asked. “It doesn’t sound like anything we haven’tfm seen before.”

“No, no, you’re missing the point, miss. The pictures are glyphs. The Standard is covered in writing: in words.”

Mary and Mme. Rumella looked at each other.

“Well. We are officially idiots.”

“Of course,” Mme. Rumella muttered. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

“Oh, no problem, miss! Always glad to ‘elp. If you don’t mind my asking, though, how did you get your ‘ands on one of these carvings?”

“I, er, rather threatened it away from someone by the Jericho wall earlier.”

“Right, right. Would you mind giving back, then?”

“No,” said Mary. “I was going to,” she added, knowing how unconvincing she sounded.

“Alright, miss,” said Big Ollie. It was difficult to tell, with him being a bovine phantasm, but Mary could swear he winked at her. “Goodbye!”

“Goodbye,” said Mary and Mme. Rumella in unison. Then Mary said the word, and Big Ollie disappeared.

Manors

The city had its favorites. Buildings appeared from England to India, Australia to Argentina, from ten thousand years of human settlement. But not every century was equal. The number of villas and manor houses was suspiciously large, while, despite the booming population and construction of the world after the Second World War, there were relatively few newer buildings. The old theory was that as that the world’s population grew larger, proportionately more buildings would appear, but the twentieth century threw the breaks on the city’s expansion. The new theory was that the city did what it damn well pleased.

Either way, the manor houses were the favored residences of the city’s power players. Delilah Runestone owned one, though being more safety-oriented than most of the dark ones, she never told anyone about it. And now, Miguel Suerte owned one.

Actually, like most real estate transactions in the city, the phrase ‘staking claim’ rang truer. A horde of boxes swept in from down the street and set themselves down in front of a place once known as St. Vrain Manor, according to the words etched in stone over the doorway. Miguel Suerte, surrounded as ever by a half dozen of the largest men (each possessing of a neck of dwarfing thickness) that he could find, strode serenely up the street.

He passed through the gates to his new property, up the path to the door, and stopped. He looked up from the file folders he was flipping through. Suerte turned to his men. “Hang it,” he ordered, and went inside

Four bodyguards followed him. Two others remained outside. One opened one of the stacked boxes and produced a rolled banner from within. They stepped back outside the gates and unfurled it. With a simple piece of sorcery, the banner flew up and attached itself above the gate. ‘The proud home of SUERTE CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS,’ it said

Across the street a pair of dark eyes narrowed. Bad news all around

* * * *

It was night, mostly. An erstwhile vocational college from South Africa now housed the Mulhoy Institute for Extinct and Imaginary Languages. Most of its employees thought it was too unromantic a home for the Institute, but leadership of the institute insisted on moving every few centuries to keep close to the center of town

Clement Jones, known to those who would acquiesce to his requests to be called ‘Clem’ as ‘Clem’, removed his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. Affixing the glasses again to his face, he glanced at the clock. Midnight, city time. Four in the morning, local time. The others had left hours ago

He didn’t bother to pack up. He wouldn’t be working at home tonight, and he would be back in a few hours, so why bother?

Clem Jones departed his desk, and exited, setting the magical safeguards at the front doors. He stepped outside into the darkness. He started walking by rote. He only lived two blocks from the Institute. His feet knew the way.

Clem Jones failed to notice how impenetrable the darkness was. He failed to notice that he could not see any lights shining from windows, or street lamps. He didn’t even hear the hard step of someone sneaking up behind him.

“You. You’re a linguist here at the Mulhoy Institute?”

“Huh?” Clem turned around. Behind him was a tall man with sharp features and hair graying at the temples. Clem found himself wondering where the man came from. “Um, yeah, I am. Who are you?”

“We have something to discuss then,” Lionel said. “Perhaps you’d care to come with me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer

* * * *

The city was a big place. That didn’t bother Hunter Blue. He had found nearly a dozen abandoned platforms promoting Suerte for mayor, and numberless leaflets on numberless walls. He also roughed up a few passers-by for information, only partly because he needed the news, but mostly because he missed doing that sort of thing, and needed the city to know he was still the same old Hunter

Everyone he had threatened seemed to know about the Suerte campaign. None of them had any intention of voting however, and all seemed mystified that the candidate hadn’t been killed yet. One or two admitted they had been thinking about it, but it was difficult to fit into their busy schedules, so they planned to let someone else do the job.

There were a few things that Hunter Blue had yet to figure out. For instance, what specifically Suerte thought he was doing, and where he was now. They had some things to discuss.

Hunter rubbed a leather-gloved hand absently against his stubbly chin. Then the hand shot out, grabbed the nearest person, and proceeded to slam him against the wall. No-one nearby appeared to take notice

Hunter looked the man over and decided he was from north Africa, probably Morocco. Hunter was trying to recall his Arabic, when the man, who had made a similar inference as to Hunter’s own origins, spoke to him in English. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“There’s something I need to know,” replied Hunter, in a gravelly British accent.

“I’m sorry for your ignorance, but I will still have to demand that you unhand me right now.”

“I take it you don’t recognize me, or you’d probably be afraid enough to answer all my questions.”

“I have a difficult time being afraid of a man stupid enough to carry a gun in this city.”

“Really? You don’t remember ever hearing of a man who managed to put his gun to good use here?”

The realization spread over the man’s face from the top down. Once his jaw finished dropping, he managed, “You’re not... You... Hunter Blue? I heard that you disappeared years ago.”

“I thought it was a good time to make a reappearance. Now, what do you know about Miguel Suerte?”

The man was a bit busy trying not to panic, and his mind had become a bit muddled. He looked up and away, searching for the memory. “Wait,” he said, “you mean the man running for mayor?”

“That’s him,” Hunter said, in what he and he alone considered an encouraging tone

“I have seen him giving a speech or two around town. He does not sound very sincere. I had never heard of him before this.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot. Don’t suppose you know where he’s living?”

“No. Wait! I did see a sign... It said that it was his campaign headquarters.” The last words were obviously foreign to the man

“Where was that?” Hunter pressed

“It, ah... It was in a manor house somewhere.”

“Not helpful,” said Hunter, and leaned a little harder on the man

“I know, I am sorry! It... It was one with a full yard.”

“Better,” said Hunter

“It... was old. I’d say no newer the twelfth. I... I saw it Wednesday. Where was I on Wednesday?” The man struggled to remember. “I was out in the Third Quarter!”

“Thanks,” said Hunter, and released him

* * * *

The next morning, after a good rush or two, saw Mme. Rumella and Mary sitting quietly opposite each other, sipping at tea, speaking very little. Thinking about what they had learned.

The door opened. It was Leila

“Leila, come, sit down.”

Leila frowned at Mme. Rumella’s subdued tone. “Is something wrong?”

“Just sit down, will you?”

“Alright,” said Leila slowly, but complied. “What is it?”

Mme. Rumella looked at Mary as she spoke. “We’ve discovered something new about the Standard of Uruk.”

“Oh! That’s great. What did you learn?” Leila looked expectantly back and forth between the pair

“Something I fear we should have realized much earlier. There are symbols on the Standard, like you suspected.”

“Yeah...”

“They’re early writing, pet.”

“Don’t follow,” said Leila

“Do you remember, when you first came here, and you were having trouble with your basic sorcery? Yes? And you asked me why there wasn’t a library where they write all this down so people don’t have to remember it all and teach it orally? What did I tell you?”

“Um... You said that,” Leila began, “it was dangerous, and that sorcerous books had lives of their own, and were impossible to control, and had the power,” she slowed as the realization took her, “the power... to change reality. Itself. Oh boy.”

“Right.”

“So the Standard...?” Leila paused. “Well, we can’t have too much to worry about. I mean, it’s been dormant so long that it’s obviously not out of control.”

Mme. Rumella and Mary relaxed slightly.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” Mme. Rumella commented.

“In fact,” Mary inferred, “since it has remained dormant, whoever has it probably couldn’t use the thing without know how to read it. And who would know how to read whatever symbols they used in ancient Uruk?”

“Oh no.”

Mary and Mme. Rumella looked at Leila. “Why did you say that, pet?”

“They put us all on guard at the Museum... Someone disappeared from the Mulhoy. The Mulhoy Institute for Extinct and Imaginary Languages,” Leila added after seeing the lost expressions on the others’ faces. “They said he was working late, but he does that a lot and he’s always in early the next morning. When he didn’t show up, they sent someone to his apartment, and he wasn’t there. They think he was abducted. They want everyone at the museum to be careful in case it wasn’t a random crime. I heard that everyone at the Dresden museum is on guard as well.”

“In case they were to come after someone of similar experience,” Mme. Rumella supplied, concerned.

They all sat quietly for a while.

* * * *

There were bushes below the window, and why shouldn’t there be? A woman crouched below the casement, listening intently, and trying not to snag her dress. Stupid bushes, she thought to herself in an accusatory tone. A high wrought-iron fence separated the place from the street, which was relatively empty.

However, a man in black slacks and a long-sleeved black silk shirt noticed the woman in passing. “Delilah? Delilah Runestone,” the man called

“Would you be quiet!” Delilah hissed. “I am trying to eavesdrop here!”

“What? Why?” The man was no quieter.

Delilah bolted across the yard and vaulted the fence, out of view of the window. She looked the man in the face. He could almost be her brother, with his dark, handsome features. Of course his hair was a lot shorter than hers.

“Damon, what the hell is wrong with you? I say I’m trying to eavesdrop and you get all shouty?”

“Sorry, Delilah,” Damon replied

“That was painfully insincere. Get out of here Damon, and do it so quietly that you could be walking on someone’s face and they wouldn’t hear you, alright?”

“Fine, chase me away, then. We’re both after the same thing, you know?”

“I doubt that. I doubt that’s been true for a long time. Now you go do your dark sorcery, and leave me to mine, hmm?”

“Later, D.”

“Don’t call me ‘D’. You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“Whatever you say, D.”

“Go. Away.”

* * * *

It was precariously slow at Mme. Rumella’s. She, Leila, and Mary still sat, staring at increasingly cold tea. After a round of audible exhalations, Leila spoke up

“The whole academic community is up in arms about this actually. Nobody believes it’s not a kidnapping.”

“Of course they don’t, pet. This is not the first time something like this has happened. When someone needs ancient knowledge for their evil scheme, they usually kidnap someone.”

“They must not feel sufficiently evil just asking,” Mary pondered aloud

“Oh fun. I’m going to start dressing like a janitor or something for the walk home.” Leila sighed. “This is bad. Real bad. We’ve got to do something. I mean, the Mulhoy people have set the Peelers onto it, but my confidence in them is not quite as high as it might be. We should do something,” she repeated

“My sentiments exactly,” said Mme. Rumella, and Mary laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Leila asked

“Nothing,” Mary lied. “I was thinking that as well. And not only that, I think I know just the people for the job.”

“Oh?”

“The Grace’s Fever Detective Agency.”

“Never heard of them,” said Leila and Mme. Rumella in unison.

“They were in that building that arrived here a few months back, you remember, they say it’s from San Francisco. Apparently, the lot of them have the talent for sorcery,” Mary informed them

“Weird name though,” Leila commented

“It used to be the Owen Agency, but they adopted the new name for the city.”

“Smart of them,” Mme. Rumella interjected

“You know what’s really strange though?” Mary said in a confidential tone. “I heard the latest building is here. All here.”

“What do you mean?” Leila asked, puzzled.

“I mean that the British Museum exists in the normal world, and here. This new building used to exist there, and now, it exists here. Apparently, they had a time explaining it in the local news.”

“A whole building disappearing? No joke,” said Leila.

“I hadn’t heard this, why didn’t you tell me this?” Mme. Rumella demanded

“I just found out myself. Apparently, the people there didn’t think anything of it when they found out, since they were new to the city. It wasn’t till a few days ago that the word started to spread.”

“Days,” Mme. Rumella said with a snort.

Mary laughed. “I’m going to head over there now, and see if they’ll look for that linguist for us.”

* * * *

A set of marble steps led up to the Grace’s Fever Detective Agency. The building had appeared in the early days of 2005 from the many-hilled city of San Francisco. In fact, it had been located near the top of one of those hills, and had taken part of the with it when it came. The problem was of course that the section of hill jutted sixty feet above the surrounding ground. After what was likely a great deal of shouting by the occupants of the building, some generous soul had conjured a set of steps leading to the door.

Mary approached the small patch of northern California. She glanced above her, and saw the Pinnacle. The Pinnacle was a twelve-foot-long spur of shining crystal in a shape like a three-dimensional spearhead that hovered fifty feet in the air, marking the center of the Woven City. It had been there as long as Mary had. Mme. Rumella, who had arrived many years prior, had once told Mary that they used to have a plaque, mounted to whatever building was there at the time. Of course, it wasn’t always a building, and people got tired of moving the thing, and so someone had enchanted the Pinnacle to hover over the spot.

Where Mary stood was warm, almost uncomfortably so, considering her fall wear. The place that had appeared here a few days ago was a bit tropical for her tastes. From where she stood, she could hear the wellspring of the River. There was great debate, in certain circles who debated this sort of thing, as to whether the wellspring existed in the normal world, and just where it might be, and what it might represent. Mary wondered herself, considering that the center of the city was really where it ended rather than began, though with the River it appeared just the opposite

She looked into the roughly squarish area that began with the conjured stairs. It was drizzling and filled with a billowing fog. Mary stepped in without hesitation, and ascended the stairs

The building above was six-stories of white stucco office space. The building had disappeared in the night, when only the detectives were in. They had adapted the rest of the building to serve as their living quarters rather than live in one of the city’s many apartment complexes, some of which had been little upgraded since their construction as lower-class cubby holes in centuries past. Even considering the state of those buildings, the fact that they hadn’t moved spoke volumes about their knack for sorcery. Everyone in the city knew when a knew place appeared, and it was a rare occurrence indeed that no-one try and claim it.

Mary entered the partially enclosed space between the various offices. A sign directed her to the top floor, and she patiently ascended the next set of stairs.

Mary smiled. She was always amused at buildings that had appeared here since the invention of electric lights. Once people had been told how the city worked, they always expected the lights to work. Which of course they didn’t, save in the rare situation in which the building was possessing of its own generator. Most of those required gasoline to run, which was another thing the city possessed little of

Once they had come to terms with this, most people since the invention of the light bulb decided to enchant their electric fixtures. It was a piece of sorcery that had never worked. No-one who had enough power or experience could be bothered to work on the problem. So eventually, they would have to settle for fire. Fire was easy. Very basic. Still, many simply had the sorcerous flames burn within their existing fixtures. Mary thought it looked ridiculous.

The people of Grace’s Fever had taken to the city with relish, ripping out the exterior lighting of the semi-enclosed stairwells and replacing them with bracketed torches that looked downright medieval.

Mary knocked politely on the door, with its frosted window informing her of the name of the business, before entering. The space was broken into three small offices and conference rooms, and a lobby in front. There was a desk. Mary supposed it was nice by modern standards, but people in the twenty-first century had no taste in furniture, she had decided. Behind it sat a woman with a head of hazel curls, hair that obviously had no intention of being tamed by any of the weapons in the modern stylist’s arsenal, and sharp blue eyes. She had been scribbling something in a day planner before Mary entered, and her pen was poised to continue at any moment.

“May I help you?”

The woman wore a honest but business-like expression without any of the false sincerity and falser smiles Mary had come to expect from new arrivals. Mary was silently thankful. “Yes,” Mary replied. “I’ve come to inquire about a case.”

“What kind?”

“Missing persons,” Mary replied

“Alright. I think I can help you. Whom do you need located?”

Mary took a few steps further into the office. “His name is Clement Jones, he’s a linguist from the Mulhoy Institute.”

“Ah, I heard about that. Please,” the woman gestured to the set of chairs on the opposite side of her desk, “sit.”

“I’d rather stand,” Mary replied.

The woman nodded and stood, gliding around the desk. She was Several inches shorter than Mary and a few inches wider. She stuck out her hand. “Grace Owen,” she said. “I’m the owner of this agency.”

“Mary,” Mary replied lamely, shaking Grace’s hand.

Grace looked at her expectantly. After a moment, she said, “I see... So, who is this Clement to you? Husband, boyfriend, or just a coworker, perhaps?”

“I’ve never met the man,” Mary replied.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Not exactly.”

“I’ve sort of found myself in the middle of something,” Mary explained. “And suffice it to say that I believe this man was abducted, for a specific purpose.”

“You mean a big nefarious scheme?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we couldn’t go a week without having one of those around here, could we?”

Clearly adapting very fast. Mary smiled. “No, we couldn’t at that.”

“Is there anything else you’d care to share with me?” Grace asked

Mary had the suspicion that the detective thought she was being deliberately secretive since she had told the other woman her name. The way she asked her question didn’t help Mary any. She decided to inform her of the Crusader, though not the specific object for which he searched, and of her compatriots, Leila and Mme. Rumella, and told the detective to contact her at the tea shop, or leave messages there. Grace asked whether Mary had any suspects.

“Personally, I would check into Delilah Runestone.”

Grace waited a moment before asking, “Who?”

“Delilah Runestone, she’s a dark sorceress. Not one of the major ones. She warned some friends and me away from any involvement a while ago.”

“So you think she has something to do with the big nefarious scheme,” Grace supplied.

“Naturally,” said Mary. “I don’t know where she lives, but it’s probably one of those manor houses. The city is full of the places. Oh, and a helpful hint: anything that came from the suburbs,” the word was obviously foreign to Mary, “is probably concealing something unhealthy.”

“Really?” Grace sounded surprised.

“Yes,” Mary assured, “very much so.”

Grace made a thoughtful ‘hmm’ sound and told Mary that she would be on the case personally, and soon. Mary thanked her and left, promising to settle on payment at a later time.

* * * *

Wyyla the sprite was winging through the Fourth Quarter of the city. Below her was a small stretch of the Pampas in Argentina, where Miguel Suerte and his bevy of large, serious-looking men stood on another platform. Suerte was giving his speech again. A few natives watched curiously from a stand of trees. The candidate wrapped up his remarks, and abandoned his platform.

The locals disassembled it as soon as he left. Suerte wasn’t terribly happy about it, but at least they knew he was there and no-one could say his campaign was discriminating against the city’s tribal cultures.

Wyyla continued her flight into the city. She had just come from the forest. It was rare for her to come into town twice in so short a period of time, but she had promised Mme. Rumella a visit, and sprites were as good as their word. Ahead of her was a manor house and the Enryaku-ji Temple from Otsu City in Japan . She ducked between them.

A blue flash erupted from the manor’s window. Wyyla swooped upwards rather than pass through it. She came within inches. She could feel the energy of the light warming her front as she pushed up past it, and was grateful not to have touched it. Across the alleyway, a squarish patch of wall, like the manor’s window, only scaled up in size, was scorched. Blackened. A decorative stone dragon looked back at the window with a surprised expression. Of course, it had looked just as surprised before.

Wyyla descended cautiously towards the window. The sprite flipped upside down and peeked inside. She recognized the man inside as Damon McLenen, a dark sorcerer. Wyyla wasn’t particularly fond of dark sorcerers. They were an untrustworthy lot.

Damon McLenen coughed and wiped the soot off his face with a black silk square that had resided in his pocket. In front of him was a large armoire. The doors were open, and he examined the contents. A blue light pulsed out. Wyyla shrank back, but nothing more happened. She heard the dark sorcerer say, “Not quite got that worked out yet.” She peered back around the casement. From this angle, Wyyla could not see was kept within, but she didn’t dare go inside.

McLenen shut the doors of the armoire, coughed, and exited the room, muttering to himself. Wyyla resumed her course to Mme. Rumella’s, with a great deal more urgency.

She arrived in a matter of minutes, zipping through the open door as Mary reentered the shop.

“Mme. Rumella!” Wyyla cried urgently, setting herself down on the counter and growing to her full two feet tall.

“Wyyla! Lovely to see you.”

Wyyla interrupted, and explained what she had seen. Leila asked what the object looked like. “Was it a cylindrical thing with pictures on it?”

“I said I didn’t see it.”

Leila frowned. The door flew open.

“Auntie!”

Everyone looked over to the door to see a tall, strapping, young man in a gray flight jacket and white scarf. He had short blond hair, blue eyes, and a tan that belied his Britishness.

“Benny!” Mme. Rumella cried. She flew out from behind the counter and ran to embrace him. She pulled back and looked him over, patting imaginary dust off his coat. “How’s my favorite nephew?”

“I’m great, auntie. I’m on fall break from university. I just got back from my trip.”

“Oh, tell me all about it! But first, how’s my dear sister?”

“Mum’s just fine,” Benny smiled

“And her lovely husband?”

“He’s fine too. They’re on a sailing vacation.”

“Oh my! They’ve been talking about doing that since the late seventeenth century,” she said. She wasn’t exaggerating.

“I know. I told them, since I’m off at school now they have no excuse but to go.”

Mme. Rumella stopped smiling abruptly. “Well, don’t just stand there! Sit down,” she ordered. Benny complied, and Mme. Rumella slipped back around the counter. Benny asked for an incredibly sugary drink. Mary scoffed, but Leila went for the same.

“Where did you go on your trip, Benny?” Mme. Rumella inquired

“Some friends and I flew out to the deserts.”

“Benny, you’re joking!”

He shook his head. The deserts laid near the end of the world, beyond city, forests, and sea, and the only thing more dangerous than sailing there was flying there.

“I hope you at least practiced your flight enchantments beforehand,” said Mme. Rumella sternly.

“Of course we did, auntie. We’re not stupid.”

“What did you do out in the deserts?” a puzzled Leila inquired.

“We hunted the Arradendo.”

Mme. Rumella choked. “Arradendo? As in Arradendo, Beast of the Sands, has killed a hundred men Arradendo?”

“What happened?” Mary asked, obviously intrigued. She still looked away when Mme. Rumella glared at her.

“We found it.”

“And...” Several people prompted.

“We killed it,” said Benny in a self-satisfied tone, and took a sip of his drink

Mary swore under her breath. “I’m impressed,” she said.

“Benny, that is most dangerous, fool-hardy thing-” Mme. Rumella began.

“Come now, auntie, you get in more trouble than I ever could,” Benny rejoined.

“I have lived a very long life,” said Mme. Rumella, “and you are eighteen. If you get yourself killed before your twentieth birthday, I shall be very upset with you.”

“What’s she been up to?” Benny asked.

“Well,” Leila began, “there’s this giant suit of armor, and...” She proceeded to retell all the happenings of the past days, especially the bits with fighting, to Mme. Rumella’s apparent distaste.

“I see,” said Benny, and shot a sly look at his aunt.

* * * *

Grace Owen stepped out of the office and walked down the many steps that led out of San Francisco. As she stepped into the warmer patch next door, she walked straight into a woman in a black dress.

“Sorry!” Grace apologized. “It’s hard to see in all that fog,” she explained

“No trouble, miss...?”

“Owen. Grace Owen,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

The other woman took it. Grace noticed that her left arm was hanging limply at her side. “Delilah Runestone,” the other woman said slowly, for effect

Grace withdrew her hand sharply and plunged it into her purse, seeking her Focus.

“There’s no need for that,” said Delilah, calmly crossing her arms. She had to reach down and pull her left arm over her right. “I’m just here to give you some friendly advice.”

“I’m sure,” said Grace coolly. “Like you did in the coffee shop the other day?”

“Tea shop,” the dark sorceress corrected. “Now I know you were told to look for my house, but you’ll never find it, and I’m really not as involved in all this as your heretofore royal friend seems to think. However, there are a few places I would look, if I were you,” said Delilah and produced a slip of paper. “But be careful.”

“Wait, royal? Who’s royal?”

“Mary,” said Delilah. “Hadn’t you heard of her?”

Grace’s look of surprise denoted that she had not. “She’s not... She’s not Bloody Mary, is she?” Grace asked, concerned

“No, don’t be silly. That woman is dead. She’s Mary, Queen of Scots.”

“No joke?”

“No, no joke,” said Delilah, quickly losing patience. She was a busy woman. “Now take this, and get looking, will you?” She thrust the paper into Grace’s purse and walked away shaking her head.

Grace looked around for any more strange encounters, then turned around and ran back up to her office.

* * * *

The day wore on. Voz hopped on a gondola and made her way down the winding waterway. The River appeared at the center of the city, and wound its way outward, becoming all different rivers in all different times. It was also another way to get around town, though most people just walked. Voz paddled past a few other gondolas as she wound her way generally outwise. No-one knew who placed the gondolas on the River, but there were plenty of them, and there almost always seemed to be one there when you needed one.

Voz lived out in the seventh century. Except for occasional business, it was as far center as she liked to go. Even though the city kept itself green with parks and plants, the center was simply too populous for her tastes. She ran one hand through her bottle-blond/pink/purple hair, brushing is away from one eye, leaving it to fall over the other. There were always people in there who knew who she was, who wanted her to be something she wasn’t.

She passed through a stretch of China, in second millennium B.C. Almost there. The landscape changed to a thick, dark, stretch of forest, which Voz believed to be the ancient Black Forest of Germany. She could see the yellow light burning from a small timber hut. She had no idea who lived back there. Despite her curiosity in the matter, Voz respected their obvious wish to left alone.

The Black Forest halted, and the River continued. The landscape around was sand. Egypt, so long ago the stars had changed. Voz flowed down the river Nile, and pulled off on a small jetty. It looked as though it were falling apart, but she knew better. She had built it to look just that way. She stepped off and into the reeds and grasses on the bank. The air was still hot.

The sun was getting lower. This was Voz’s favorite spot in the city. She summoned a striped blanket, nearly as colorful as her hair, and laid it out, parallel to the bank of the River. She looked out over the Egyptian landscape, only a tiny strip of blue and green, surrounded by desert. Voz could see no buildings, no great pyramids, or Sphinx, but she suspected there was something out there. If not, she reasoned, this place would simply have appeared in the deserts beyond the sea. Voz imagined the buried tomb of an ancient queen, somewhere below the shifting sands.

The sands never left their patch of Egypt, and at the edge, depending on the wind, there was sometimes a bizarre effect where a half a dune would pile up, then suddenly end with a steep drop off into the bordering forest. Likewise, the forest branches could not pass over and would be pushed up or down as though growing against an invisible wall.

Voz laid herself down on her blanket and watched the darkening sky. The desert gets cold at night, and quickly. She wore knee-high leather boots with heels, shorts, and a long-sleeved shirt that exposed her midriff, but the cold didn’t bother her. She let it wash over her. The sky darkened, and the stars appeared. There were no man-made lights for miles and miles.

The Milky Way appeared. In Egypt of this time, it paralleled the great river, directly overhead. Voz spotted the autumn stars of Orion, his belt marking the place where the three great pyramids might have been.

Someone approached. Voz didn’t move. She couldn’t hear the footsteps: whoever it was had used magic to make sure of that. But Voz could hear the magic.

“Good evening,” said a voice behind her.

“I hope you weren’t expecting me to be startled,” said Voz, infuriatingly calm

Women , thought Ruin, but said, “I did go through some trouble so that you would.”

“Try harder,” she replied shortly. Voz did a kip-up to get to her feet, because they looked impressive. She looked the necromancer over. “Do I know you?”

“They call me Ruin,” he said, in his best necromantic voice

A tart smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. “Imagine that,” she said.

Ruin glared. He had heard Voz was difficult, but he was determined to make his proposal. “I’m here-” Ruin began, but Voz jumped in with the precision of much practice.

“I know why you’re here,” said Voz, at her least cordial. “You’re here because you’ve got some brilliant machinations going, and you want my help, and you’re going to promise me power and riches beyond my wildest dreams, or maybe a place as your queen in the and fantastic Kingdom of You that you’re building.”

“Ah, but this is-”

“Different,” they said at the same time.

“It’s always different,” said Voz, giving him the benefit of her one-eyed glare

“Really,” Ruin insisted. “It could-”

“Change everything,” they said in unison.

“Never heard that one before,” she said, the air around her thick with sarcasm. “Take your wide, darkly sorcerous ass out of here-”

“I’m a Necromancer,” he interrupted.

“Whatever,” Voz growled. “Just leave, and never, never bother me again. Especially here.”

“What if,” said Ruin, unctuously, “I forced you to do what I wish..?”

At that point she had had enough. Voz rounded on him. Voz screamed. The air was torn open and a blackness darted upon it. Ruin sank to his knees. He began to bleed from the ears and eyes.

Voz stopped screaming and the world returned to its usual state. Just for good measure, she walked up to him and kicked him in the face.

* * * *

In an alleyway between a manor house and an old Japanese temple, to the casual eye at least, there was nothing happening. To Delilah Runestone, there was also very little happening. One of the perks of the darker sorceries was relative invisibility, when you wanted it. Anyone watching would see a slight flutter of black on black. Delilah saw the black wrought-iron chair on which she sat, and the similar cafe table which held her steaming black cafe au lait mug.

She took a restless sip and leaned back to watch the window above. There hadn’t been so much as a flash from McLenen’s window all night. She gritted her teeth, while the words ‘I am so sick of eavesdropping’ flashed through her mind. It seemed as though this was all she ever did anymore. But there was just so much going on, and so much yet to figure out.

Wyyla was at it too, sitting on the windowsill on the outer side of the recently-replaced glass, and humming quietly to herself. Delilah was worried that if she moved she would be spotted. Sorcerous creatures tended to have special vision.

The rest of the night passed much the same. Evidently, Damon didn’t feel quite up to testing his luck again. At dawn, Wyyla fluttered disconsolately away. Delilah rose, dusted some invisible lint off her dress, and sent her table and chair back whence they came. She had to get back to Suerte headquarters.

Wyyla made her way to Mme. Rumella’s. Sprites were naturally tiny creatures, but had learned over the years to metamorphose themselves to greater heights of up to two feet. Otherwise they’d never be able to pull open doors.

Wyyla grew, and entered the shop, and immediately shrank again. She was always more comfortable in her natural state. She informed Mme. Rumella that she had no information and settled down to a thimble full of tea.

The morning rush came and went. Tina Virtue and Mary, who nearly always arrived around the same time, arrived around the same time. Mary said she had heard nothing from Grace Owen, but then it had only been a day. Tina ordered her hot chocolate, and stayed for a few minutes, since she had no morning appointments.

“I wonder,” mused Mary, “whether Damon and Delilah aren’t in on it together...” The others, being Benny, Mme. Rumella, Tina Virtue, Wyyla, and Jason, all regarded his curiously and waited for her to explain. “It does happen sometimes, two of the dark ones working together. Damon obviously has some sort of device working. It would be pretty thick of us to assume that it’s the Standard, but it could very well be. And Delilah is running around all over the place, warning us away from involvement with the same.”

“And their names pair up so nicely,” Benny quipped. “Damon and Delilah; Dark Sorcerers For Hire.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at him. Benny mumbled ‘sorry’ and went to wipe down the tables.

Tina Virtue remained silent for a moment, then spoke as diplomatic a version of the truth as she could. “It is almost certainly a conspiracy rather than one individual, but it would be a mistake on your part to assume that you know all the players yet.”

Mary narrowed her eyes at Tina. “Do you know something?”

“I know many things,” said Tina truthfully.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” said Tina.

Mary’s jaw dropped. Wyyla fluttered to Mme. Rumella’s ear and whispered, “That shut her up.”

Mme. Rumella excused herself to help a new customer.

Through clenched jaw, Mary growled, “That’s as may be, but if you do know something relevant, you should share it.”

“No. I should not. I take my clients’ privacy seriously.”

“Even in an emergency?”

“It’s not an emergency yet,” said Tina succinctly, and left.

“She drives me absolutely up the wall,” Mary told Jason, who shook his head sympathetically.

Having attended to the customer, Mme. Rumella proceeded to prepare a fresh blueberry scone with jam and a large cappuccino. “Come, Benny, we’re going to visit a friend.”

Mme. Rumella handed him the food and drink, and remembered this time to remove her apron. She threw her Focus in her purse and they exited.

“You’re taking me to the museum?” Benny inquired as they crossed the cobblestone street.

“No, Benny, we’re going to see Leila. No doubt she been scouring the city for information about this mess and hasn’t slept or eaten.”

Mme. Rumella and her nephew entered the museum and asked to see Leila. She was down at her usual place by the card file. She lay slumped forward over her desk. Her pen had rolled from her loose fingers and was hovering precariously at the edge, over the dust bin.

Mme. Rumella sighed. “At least she managed to get her glasses off. I don’t know how she afforded all the replacements for the pairs she broke falling asleep on her desk in the normal world.”

She tapped on Leila’s shoulder. The archaeologist jerked awake, spun round in her chair and pointed her empty hand threateningly at Benny. Then she realized she was no longer holding her Focus. “Oh,” she mumbled and grabbed it off the edge of the desk. “Hello,” she said, when her visitors identities clicked in her brain

“A tad jumpy, are we, pet?”

“No,” Leila lied.

“We brought you a coffee,” said Benny helpfully

“Oh, thanks,” Leila blinked twice, and realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She examined her desk until she found them. “That’s better.” She accepted the plate and the cup and saucer gratefully and set them down. She took a big bite from the scone and launched straight into a report of what she had been working on. “So, I went down to the Mulhoy earlier. There weren’t many people there yet, and they were pretty tight lipped-”

“Perhaps you could swallow, and then speak,” Mme. Rumella suggested. Benny looked guiltily away, as though he had heard the same admonition more than once in the past

Leila complied. “Anyway, they just weren’t talking to me. The atmosphere is pretty tense though. It’s like they’re all in total denial, but just waiting to wig at the first available opportunity.”

Mme. Rumella looked to Benny and mouthed the word ‘wig’? Benny mouthed ‘later’ in reply.

Leila took a gulp of cappuccino. “Ow, hot. Anyway, I went to the Peelers at Old Scotland Yard. The Assistant Commissioner, guy by the name of O’Leary, wouldn’t tell me anything. He said they don’t give out information on missing persons cases. Except to family of course. And he didn’t believe I was the guy’s sister. Or cousin. Or girlfriend.”

“Next time try that last one first,” Benny suggested.

“Yeah. So it’s basically been a total bust for me. I’ve been searching through the records for anything that the Ur neighborhood might have devised as a counter to the Uruk Standard, but the only thing I found was this...” She trailed off and scanned the surface of her desk until she found a notecard.

She picked it up and handed it to Mme. Rumella, who read it aloud: “The Dowsing Rod of Ur. Used to find water in ancient Mesopotamia when the Tigris and Euphrates shifted suddenly.” She paused and looked to Leila. “As they often did?” Leila nodded and Mme. Rumella went back to reading. “Geological samples indicate that the River was much less stable in the early days of the city, as it was comprised mainly of those two rivers at the time. Cuneiform tablature indicates that the River disappeared in its entirety on two separate occasions. Note that the River’s status in the Forest is unknown. Markings on the rod, housed in Green Room Seven, indicate that its origin may not be entirely local.” Mme. Rumella handed the card back to Leila, who tapped it with her Focus. It flew away to reinsert itself in the file box whence it came.

“Interesting,” Benny commented.

“Very interesting,” Mme. Rumella concurred.

“But as for helpful,” said Leila, “it’s not so much.”

* * * *

Delilah Runestone perched under the window to the main office at Suerte campaign headquarters. The candidate himself was not in, but he never stayed away for very long. Delilah produced a nail file and began filing her nails. She held up one hand and blew. It had been a while since she had last had a manicure, she noted. She knew she looked good in black, but could never quite bring herself to go all out with the black nail polish and eye shadow and such. Terribly cliché for one of her type. She registered the office door opening behind her and stopped to listen.

Eight or nine pairs of feet shuffled in. Suerte and his bodyguards, and who else? A chair being dragged. Suerte was sitting behind his desk.

“You,” said Suerte. “How am I doing?”

Delilah stood up until her head was just below the windowsill

“Er,” came a small, threatened voice, “very well. You’re complying with all the rules. People know you’re running, and seem to realize that you’re the only candidate. The dated posters and podiums will evidence your campaign. All you have to do is wait for election day.”

Delilah frowned: she was sure she recognized that voice from somewhere.

“Which is next Thursday?” Suerte asked in the tone of someone who knew the answer to his own question, but still wanted to hear someone else say it.

“Yes, sir. By the city charter, no one actually has to vote for you. Since you’re the only candidate, and the general public knows this, you’ll become mayor by default.”

“Perfect,” said Suerte darkly. “And no one has come to search the city records for anything related to the election?”

“Er, not since the last one, sir,” came the reply.

Delilah’s chest tightened. The man at the front desk of the city records building. Suerte knew she was checking up on him. She fought down her panic, and listened.

“Security man, whatever your name is, have we gotten any communiqués from Holden?”

“Mr. Trainer sent a carrier. He says he has located Miss Lien and Mr. Villa...”

“Viellenave. Waht did Mr. Trainer say?”

“He seems to think they will join. As for the others, he hasn’t gotten a definite answer yet. Apparently they have other plans.”

“Send the bird back to him with a note saying that they should both come talk to me. I will convince them.”

Suerte ordered someone to escort the man back to the Library of Congress building. Then he dismissed all but one bodyguard. Delilah knew he was distracted when puffs of cigar smoke filtered out the window. She took off as quietly as possible over the fence.

Walking casually down the street, she bumped into Grace Owen, quite by chance this time. The private detective stood examining the gates to St. Vrain manor. She pulled on the closed gate. It didn’t budge, but Grace narrowed her eyes calculatingly at it, as though contemplating knocking it down. Delilah grabbed her by the arm.

“Excuse me, miss, but I don’t think you have the right address. This is the campaign headquarters of that man who is running for mayor.”

“I can read the sign,” said Grace, puzzled

“And I don’t think you want to bother him,” said Delilah, her voice heavy with warning. For a moment, Grace said nothing, and Delilah gestured urgently away with her eyes.

“Alright,” said Grace slowly, and continued on down the street.

Delilah continued the opposite way.

Hunter Blue watched from across the street.

* * * *

Grace Owen, still not sure what had just happened to her nonetheless moved on. St. Vrain hadn’t been on the list, just on the way. The next on her list was a few blocks further outwise even that St. Vrain, which itself was already on the early fringes of the manor building era. Today was really a dual-purpose outing, one to do a survey of manors as both her client and Delilah suggested, and second to further familiarize herself with the city. As she walked, she pondered her approach to the case. Normally, she would conduct interviews first. Ignoring the fact that the man had no real friends or family, she knew that interviewing with his coworkers was a logical first step. The truth, and it irritated her greatly, was that she was afraid to talk to people here. She never felt like she had the upper hand, or feltsecure, in the handful of cases she had taken on since arriving in the city. Most of the people she had tried to talk to had threatened her away, or creeped her out until she excused herself. She looked up to find that she had arrived at her destination

Grace’s assistant, Van, had told her about this place. It had no name and was not on any of the maps in the office, but he had passed once, just walking by. It had caught his eye and he remembered it when she had told him about the manor-checking tip. The place had a partial yard, and was set back a ways from the street, but had no wall or gate.

Grace Owen strode up to the house and halted at the base of the small stair that led to the door. It was creepy in a very serious way. The windows were all covered with exterior shutters. She could reach one if she stood near the door. She extended her arm and pulled, confirming her fear. They were nailed into place.

She removed her Focus and leveled it the door. She willed herself to step forward, but it still took a moment for her legs to acquiesce. Grace knocked politely on the door, on the off chance someone lived here. There was no answer, for which she was thankful. She did not want to contemplate the sort of person that would live in this place.

The door opened immediately at her touch, which was unsettling. It swung open. Creaking all the way, naturally

Grace Owen stepped inside against the will of virtually all her instincts and internal organs, which were signaling their displeasure at her decision. The interior was dark. Low autumn light filtered in through the shutters, illuminating the thick swirls of dust. Grace’s throat rebelled, but she didn’t cough for fear of inviting attention. Of course, as she just realized, her knock on the door would have done just that.

She made her way slowly across the entryway, testing each consecutive floorboard with a tentative foot to make sure it didn’t squeak under her weight. The next room was a parlor. The ancient furniture with wasn’t covered with white sheets, which Grace had been expecting, for what she knew was no good reason. One end table had a broken leg and leaned against the sofa. The upholstery of all the pieces was decaying.

She glanced back across the entry way. There was a similar parlor on the opposing side of the house. Nothing appeared to be in there either, from this vantage point. She decided to press forward. On the far side of the parlor, a hallway lined with doors. Most of them must be closets, Grace judged from their frequency. With the absence of muffled cries for help, she decided to bypass the closets for now.

The hallway branched at its end into a large pantry. There were still some items on the shelves, including a few ancient jars of preserves and a few onions which had colonized one corner. The other side of the branch was a large kitchen. Pots and pans hung loosely from the rack. There were a few items on the floor. A skillet lay in the far corner. A dent in the wainscot evidenced its having been thrown to its current position. Hard. Grace was not soothed by this.

She was quite a ways into the house by now. The room beyond the kitchen appeared to be an informal dining room, small, with a hutch for dishes and a table that could fit a tight six for dinner. The room seemed perfectly normal. Grace was beginning to think she would find nothing her, and smiled a little at the thought. The knot in her stomach began to untie itself.

Beyond the small dining room, the hallway branched again. Down the way, Grace suspected, was the larger dining room. Through the doorway, she could just see a stretch of table and a large candelabra The other path was up the stairs. Grace was pondering her choice when something clicked. Something bad.

The candelabra was lit. She clutched her Focus tighter and edged down the hallway. Half way down, she started to hear voices. Thin voices. She frowned. Something was strange about them. She chocked it up to acoustics and moved in closer. After what seemed like half an eternity, she reached the door frame and peered round it into the room

“Hello,” said one of the strange, thin voices. “We were wondering when you would get here.”

Grace’s chest was painfully tight. She had never been so afraid in all her life. Because she had never believed in ghosts. Yet here were two, staring at her with malignant smiles growing like cancers across their faces

They were transparent, dressed in the garb of nobility from hundreds and hundreds of years ago. And they were red. A horrible crimson like oxygenated blood. The woman bore bruises and appeared to have a crushed throat. The man’s chest was riddled with stab wounds. Grace could see the whole scenario in her mind: a battered wife. She finally had enough one day, in the kitchen, where the thrown skillet lay on the floor. She took a knife, and she stabbed him, again and again. But she missed his heart. He didn’t die right away, and with his last breaths, he wrapped his hands around his wife’s throat and crushed the life from her.

Grace began to back away. “You’re ghosts,” she told them. “You can’t touch me.”

Their smiles widened and she knew that she was wrong. They had lit the fires, one of two ways, and neither was a good option for Grace

She turned and ran down the corridor. The husband chased her, floating three feet above the ground. He was gaining. Grace ducked, and went into a shoulder roll. The spirit flew past her as she came back up. He seemed to have disappeared into the wall

She lost traction as she turned without slowing, and nearly fell. She scrambled up the stairs. She didn’t dare go through the kitchen. The wife would be waiting in the kitchen, she knew.

The husband was already waiting in the upstairs hallway. There was a door to her immediate left, but she instinctively knew that’s what he would be expecting. She shouted the Mandarin word for fireworks, and the hallway was filled with thunderous noise and blinding light. Grace clenched her eyes and ran forward, doing another shoulder roll past where the apparition had been. She hoped that even if he couldn’t be blinded, he at least would lose sight of her in the light. She felt out the nearest door on the left hand side. It would be the outer wall, or closer to it than the doors on the right.

Grace groped blindly at the door and threw it open. The fireworks were still causing havoc in the hallway. She opened her eyes, but the imprints of the lights were still there and she could hardly see. She ran until she hit the far wall, and jabbed it with her wand, yelling something as the wall exploded outwards and she fell twelve feet to the ground below. She managed to ride off some of the impact, but it still knocked the air from her lungs. She couldn’t quite manage to get to her feet, but she crawled as quickly as she could off the property. Leaning against the next building, she blinked the tears from her eyes until they could see again.

There was a gaping hole in the wall where she had fallen. She couldn’t see the spirits within. Perhaps they couldn’t come into the daylight. Grace sat for a while. It was late afternoon. She could be to the Nightlight before the rest of the city was dark. She needed a good stiff drink, somewhere in the daylight. On the way she thought about interviews. They’re just linguists, she told herself. There’s no way they could be near that scary

* * * *

Hunter Blue descended from the second story of the building across from St. Vrain manor. Suerte had left fifteen minutes ago on some errand. Hunter didn’t particularly care what, only that he was gone. He did not feel as though he were in a good enough position to confront Suerte directly, not yet. Suerte was dangerous. Plus he wanted the bastard to know what was coming to him, wanted him to stew a while first

Hunter crossed the street at his usual brisk clip, his gun slung casually over his back. The gate to the new campaign headquarters approached. He kicked it, and was very surprised when it didn’t budge. Hunter rubbed at the wiry growth on his chin. He muttered an ancient word for feather and jumped over the wall.

He stalked straight up to the doorway and decided to knock. A large, dark man with a neck the width of an oil drum opened the door and looked down on Hunter, who was not a very tall man. “What?” the man spat.

“I’ve got a message for your candidate,” said Hunter in his gravelly voice.

“You can leave it with me,” the large man replied.

“I’d really rather put it on his desk myself,” said Hunter.

“You’re not going to, so deal,” the man returned.

Hunter ducked in the door before the man knew what had happened, and started for the right-hand side of the building. He inferred it to be the location of Suerte’s office, since it was the place that cute, black-eyed girl was always hanging around, albeit outside and under the window.

The large man was on him in an instant, shouting something along the lines of ‘where do you think you’re going?’. Hunter really wasn’t listening. Lackeys had a limited vocabulary, and even with centuries between encounters, the lexicon never changed. He was sure there was a book that came with the job, and not only that but the only reason the book was more than pamphlet size was that the print had to be so large.

He could sense that the man was almost close enough to reach him, so he launched a spinning jump-heel kick. He caught the man across the face, hard enough to stun him for a moment, though a lot of people, those built more like normal human beings and less like a Kodiak bear, might have gone down all the way. Hunter’s arquebus was in his hands in a flash. He swung the butt upwards, clapping the man on the chin. He swiftly turned it around, placed the barrel against the man’s midsection and pulled. The gun didn’t fire lead balls anymore, but nonetheless the man was flung back against the far wall by an iridescent yellow ball of force. The guard slumped to the ground and remained there.

Hunter continued into the manor. The house was very open for such an old construction. All the doors were closed. Hunter swore harshly and went to the first. Nothing. Down the hall, he could tell by virtue of a lot of shouting that the unconscious guard had been found

He swore again and tried the next door. Nothing. He moved on to the next door. He didn’t even touch the handle before three more guards, all, he noted, in the same black suit, ran into the room. Apparently, they all thought that the average wand wasn’t a masculine enough Focus, as they all clutched black nightsticks. The Peelers would be furious about it if they knew.

The middle one stayed where he was as they other moved to flank him. Hunter couldn’t help but roll his eyes. His gun was up in a flash and he fired on the left-hand guard without looking.

A green orb of force hit him in the chest. Hunter could hear the sternum cracking. He leapt into the air. The feather spell tended to last a while. As he reached the peak of his flight, the guards finally had the presence of mind to look up. Two red orbs, a less powerful version of the same spell, called force-of-light, came flying at him. One knocked him out of the way of the other. Firing or being hit were the only real ways to change trajectory once in the air. The knock was painful, but now Hunter was moving too fast for them to target him.

He, however, was not thrown much. He fired again, green again, and hit one guard in the knee. The man cried out in pain as his knee folded the wrong way and he fell to the ground. The guard on the left had inhaled the contents of a healing vial and was back on his feet. But the trajectory of Hunter’s flight had brought him right over the man, and he landed, bringing the butt of his gun down on the man’s head. He collapsed again.

The right-hand guard charged towards him, firing red bolt after red bolt, shouting the words at the top of his lungs. How they ever got employed when all they seemed to know was this one, low-level bit of offensive sorcery was beyond Hunter. Surely they must have some other tricks. It wouldn’t be any fun for him if they didn’t. He ducked to the ground as the bolts slammed repeatedly into the wall behind it, breaking the plaster away. It flew off in shards. Hunter muttered a word, and the ground under his aim became slick. The guard couldn’t stop, slipped forward from his own momentum, and barreled towards Hunter.

Hunter moved out of the way by the time the man arrived and slammed into his unconscious partner. He was just raising his Focus when Hunter’s heel slammed into his head and he lay still. The other guard lay pitifully on the ground, fumbling with stopper of a vial of smoke.

Hunter crossed his arms and waited for the man to get to his feet before rendering him unconscious.

Guards dispensed with, Hunter went back to the closed door. Within was Suerte’s office. He walked up to the desk. One hand on his arquebus, he held the other, palm out, towards the desk. He spoke several words in an ancient north African language, and grains of red sand flew from his hand, slowly building the image of a desert building. It had existed here in the city, many years ago, from the days before Rome was even founded. It didn’t exist anymore. Suerte knew why. One part of the miniature building was a round tower. Hunter drew a dagger from his boot and sliced into his wrist, letting the blood pool in the top, forming a small round well, before inhaling healing smoke to stop the bleeding. He grinned darkly at his little message and left quietly.

Voice

The new interior of Mary’s barn was coming along well. There was no news on the artifact front, and it was generally concluded that everyone could use another project to focus on. Mme. Rumella had dragged Benny along to help them. The loft was transformed. Benny had summoned a stove and brick oven and ice box. Mme. Rumella summoned a butcher’s block island and all manner of copper pots and a dazzling assortment of knives and other shiny, kitchen-related things, though Mary protested that she wasn’t so a good a cook as to need all that.

“Mary dear, I will come over and put it all to good use if you don’t. You do, after all, need to have a nice house warming party.”

“I suppose,” Mary said, sounding not at all sure

“Of course you do,” said Mme. Rumella, settling the matter

“At the very least, I would feel better if we did it after this whole...whatever it is that’s going in has stopped going on,” Mary said, brow furrowed. Mary was very rarely worried.

Benny was in the sitting area, cycling through chairs. The great thing about sorcery was that almost anything could be summoned, providing it existed. The drawbacks were of course that unless you knew how to prevent it, all your things kept disappearing. Secondly, unless you pictured a specific object in a specific location, a random object of indeterminate quality would be summoned

“Ugly...Ugly...Ugly...” Benny said, each time a chair appeared in his midst. He tapped his Focus against an end table and the chair was dispelled and replaced by a new one. “D’you like plaid?” Benny called to Mary, who gave him an evil look. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and summoned a new chair. “How ‘bout a chaise lounge?”

“A what?” Mary asked.

“One of these things,” he said, indicating the suede-upholstered item

Mary regarded the furniture with some suspicion. “Interesting,” was her only comment. She walked over and sat down, leaning against the large back pillow. “Oh,” she said. “Keep this. Definitely keep this.”

“Alright. You still need a sofa though. Maybe we can find a matching set.”

“Not terribly likely, nephew.”

Benny shrugged. “I’ll just look for something that goes then. I mean, it shouldn’t be too hard, the whole room is brown.”

Mary didn’t open her eyes or move from her position as she informed him, “I like brown.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

Mme. Rumella busied herself arranging the assortment of candles she had brought with her. She placed a few on the conjured hearth. “Do you think there should be a partial wall separating the kitchen?”

Mary mumbled something unintelligible that yet conveyed how much she failed to care. Mme. Rumella frowned, swapped two candles round and went to sit on the sofa.

“Keep this one,” she told Benny

“But look at the color, it’s a like the horrible child of a giant lemon and a putrid lobster.”

“I agree. It borders on tragic, but I like the style. We can cover it with something nice.”

“If you say so,” Benny said, and set to work on a coffee table

Mary had a question on her mind. Her body was too busy melting into the chaise to want to do anything about it, but through some great effort, she forced her lips to move. “Have you seen the Crusader recently?”

“No. He must have worked his way away from the shop, that or he’s actually searching instead of just hassling people,” Mme. Rumella replied. “I wish he were around though. It’s easy to feel safe when you’ve got a seven foot suit of armor at your side.”

“I saw him. What on earth is that?” Benny asked of a plastic table that had appeared.

Mary opened one eye to look. “I don’t know, and I’d wager that if you asked, you wouldn’t find out. No-one would admit to making it. Now get it out of my sitting room please.”

“When did you see him?” Mme. Rumella inquired over the small pop of air filling the space where the coffee table had been.

“Er... Last night. I wanted to see what you were talking about.”

“How did you find him?”

“I flew. It’s not difficult to spot him from the air, you know.”

“I see,” said Mme. Rumella. Benny was very fond of flying. And she knew that he was very good at it. It was still dangerous. A strong gust could knock a person any which way, and in this patchwork world, wind conditions were never consistent. “Did you talk to him?”

“Oh yeah! Very interesting bloke. I told him I was your nephew. He seems to be very fond of you, you know.”

“How... nice,” said Mme. Rumella, more confused than anything.

“Anyways, he told me that he had been looking a lot more places, like this stretch of desert somewhere in the outer city, and the University. Lucky we’re on break, or he would have caused mass havoc, eh?” Benny asked with an evil grin.

“You’re incorrigible,” said Mme. Rumella.

Mary couldn’t help but smile. “You know,” she said, “I could swear I saw him when I was returning that cattle spirit thing the other day, only for a second out the corner of my eye.”

“Near Jericho again?”

“On the way,” Mary said absently. “I am in love with this chair. Have we done the safeguard yet?”

“Actually, we haven’t done any. I fear we should get to it before anything happens.”

“I agree,” Mary mumbled.

“She’s gone to sleep, hasn’t she?” Benny asked.

“So it would appear,” Mme. Rumella responded. “Come Benny, I’ll show you some safeguards.”

“I’m taking safeguards 101 next term, actually,” Benny remarked

“Now you’ll be ahead of the class. The first thing we’re doing is placing an anti-summoning safeguard. We’ll be doing the blanket spell, so nothing from inside the building can be summoned from anywhere outside or within. Levitation is still possible, of course.”

“Right.”

“Come.” Mme. Rumella crossed the loft back to the kitchen area, so they wouldn’t disturb Mary. “This will come in very handy when you have your own place,” she told Benny. “I’ll be doing the spell, but you can mimic me. Place one hand on the wall. Now, take your Focus, and place it to the wall as well.”

Mme. Rumella placed the tip of her wand to the wall, as did Benny. “I wish I had a Focus like Mary’s. It’s way better than a silly old wand,” Benny lamented.

“All in good time, nephew. Now, concentrate. You must picture the entire space in your mind.”

“Alright,” said Benny, squeezing his eyes shut. “Now what?”

“This is one of the oldest sorceries,” Mme. Rumella explained. “I’m not even sure what language the incantation is in. I’m going to sound it out once slowly before I do the actual casting so you can follow along, alright?”

Mme. Rumella slowly sounded out the syllables, and had Benny repeat before saying them at normal speed. There was a sound like stone dropping to the bottom of a dry well.

“Is that all?” Benny asked.

Mme. Rumella nodded. She also set some basic defenses against burglars and the like, though in truth, as she explained to Benny, any thief worth her salt would be through them fairly quickly. They left Mary asleep on her chaise and returned to the tea shop.

* * * *

Mme. Rumella was up early the next morning, as usual, preparing her fresh baked good for sale as Benny made the most of his vacation by sleeping till noon

It was a busy morning. Mr. Markab came in, as ever asking for a medium earl gray, no milk, no sugar. A score of unknowns showed up, along with Tina Virtue, Mary and Jason Oblivion. Mme. Rumella ran this way and that fixing drinks and serving up food.

Voz stood in the doorway and brushed the hair out of her eyes for a second to survey the scene before letting it drop back into place. She walked up to the counter, mouth set in a firm expression of irritation. “I need something soothing,” she said, and everyone who heard believed her.

“Voz! My, how unusual to see you this far into the city.”

“Yeah, but like I said, I need something soothing, so I thought I’d check the herbal tea sitch over here.”

“Of course.” Mme. Rumella prepared a tea ball, turning over her shoulder to say, “I’ll make you my favorite. It’s a specialty the my supplier, Vijay, and I thought up. It’s a green and black combination with chamomile and jasmine.”

“Sounds nice,” said Voz hollowly.

Mme. Rumella went to her with the steeping cup. “Dear, do you need to talk?”

“I don’t know,” Voz lamented.

“Just take a seat here at the bar, alright? Let me take care of Jason and we’ll chat.”

Voz just and sat, staring, waiting for her tea to become ready.

“Refill, lamb?”

“Not a chance!” Jason smiled

Mme. Rumella chuckled to herself as she made him another cup of tea and sent him back to his seat by the window. She walked back to Voz. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“It’s just... Do you ever get sick of axioms?”

“Which did you have in mind?”

“Power corrupts.”

“That’s the abridged version. It’s awful that no-one can be bothered to say it correctly. Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Sounds like the French royal motto, doesn’t it?”

Voz gave her a wan smile. “I’m not sure saying the full version will stop every disagreeable bastard from trying to recruit me to their world of disagreeable bastardness.”

“When did this happen?”

“Most recently? Last night.”

“Really?”

“At my favorite place in the whole city, too. It’s so irritating.”

Mme. Rumella nodded sympathetically. “Who was it?”

“Some necromancer, and, well, you know how they are. He cast some silence spell and crept up behind me, and then he asked me to do his bidding. When I told him no, he threatened to force me. By mind control, probably, I don’t know.”

“What happened then?” Mme. Rumella asked.

“Oh I screamed at him and kicked him in the face. I don’t think he’ll be bothering me again: no-one is that stupid. It’s still bothering me though. Nobody has ever said they would force me before. I was... Scared.” The word sounded alien to her.

“I don’t think you have anything to be afraid of, Voz.”

“I suppose. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to utilize mind control, well except, y’know, my mom. But siren song can’t effect other sirens, so I guess I’m just being paranoid.”

“I see,” said Mme. Rumella, dark thoughts of a rampaging Voz filling her head. Then something clicked. “This necromancer, was he older, graying temples, pointed features?”

Voz shook her head. “No, younger. Huge shoulders, blond-and-blue-eyed type. I’d never seen him before,” she added.

“No, no you wouldn’t have,” Mme. Rumella said distractedly. She scanned the room for Mary, but she had gone. “It’s like they’re all out at once,” she said to no-one in particular.

“What?”

“Well, Lionel the Necromancer is suddenly everywhere, Damon McLenen is up to something, Delilah Runestone is untidying my shelves, And now, Ruin.”

“Ruin?” Voz sounded no more informed than she had been

“The man who approached you, Voz.”

“Never heard of him,” Voz remarked.

“No, no you wouldn’t have...” Mme. Rumella said again. She scanned the room for Mary, but she had gone

* * * *

The conference room of the Grace’s Fever Detective Agency was of considerable size, and had a big impressive table in the middle of it. There used to be a speakerphone in the middle. Once Grace learned there were no phones, she lobbed it out the window and watched as it shattered on the ground a hundred feet below.

One wall was mainly windows, the spaces between the blinds revealing another day of thick fog in San Francisco. The other walls were covered with maps. A few months ago, they had been maps of the San Francisco metropolitan area. And square. They were now mainly circular maps, like most maps of the Woven City and the world in which it rested. One map showed to the boundaries of the city, itself circular and nearly nine hundred miles in diameter. Another included the seemingly endless miles of surrounding forests, and another the sea. Another showed the entire known world, city to forests, to sea to deserts, and finally to mountains. No-one knew what lay beyond the mountains. Whatever it was out there, it was either so terrible or so wonderful that without so much as a rumored exception, nobody had ever returned

There were a few linear maps that showed specific eras of the city, the circular streets uncurled. Grace Owen was pointing out the haunted manor she had visited on one such line to assistant detective Van Jefferson. Van pointed out that he was the one who sent her there, and that was when she punched him in the shoulder. Van was tall and lean with short blond hair and a darker five o’clock shadow that appeared daily at eleven in the morning.

“So in conclusion,” Grace stated, “never go in there never never never ever, never ever.”

“Gotcha,” Van replied, miming a gun with his fingers and making an accompanying clicking noise

“So this case is as fun as a barrel of angry red ghost monkeys. What have you turned up?”

“Not much. As in nothing,” he added. Van paused. “Grace, are you sure we shouldn’t drop this case?”

Grace was uncertain as to the nature of his concern, but decided it was a moot point. She was not going to drop the case. “What, because of a little haunting? Nah,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand

“Grace...”

“We need to change tacks, that’s all. Stick more to our usual plan.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“First, I want to go to they guy’s apartment. I know that he’s supposed to be Mr. Predictable, but maybe he just got sick of his job went on a long vacation without telling anyone.”

“How do we get in?”

“I would say breaking and entering, and if that fails, buttering up the landlord.”

“A world without search warrants...”

“Getting that kid-in-the-candy-store feeling, are we?”

Van simply nodded. Grace smiled.

“After that,” she continued, “we might want to go down to the Mulhoy and ask some questions firsthand.”

“Make it a proper investigation,” Van concluded

“Yeah, I thought we’d try something new.”

The Mulhoy was housed in a South African building from the latter half of the twentieth century, and was not far at all from the Grace’s Fever offices. Grace stopped in quickly to ask where Clement Jones lived, and was off again. They arrived at his apartment complex, a really awful prefab from Thailand, two blocks away, only minutes later.

“This is truly ugly,” Van commented.

Grace nodded mutely as they entered. Jones’ apartment was on the second floor. They walked up the stairs and, out of pure wishfulness, tested the handle. It was locked. The second thing Grace had learned, the first being the Peeler flare, was how to open a basic lock. Unless it had sorcerous defenses, any lock, bolt, combination, or key, would open under the Apriti spell. She removed her Focus from her purse

“Apriti,” she said, in the Italian imperative form, tapping the lock with her wand. Grace was shocked that the Apriti spell worked. “Must be a cheap apartment,” she remarked to Van as they went inside.

The apartment had one bedroom, a combination kitchen/living/dining room, a bathroom and a closet right next to the door. “I’ll take the bedroom,” said Grace as Van opened the closet to peer inside.

“Didn’t take an umbrella,” he noted.

Television didn’t work in the city, or at least, there were not enough people willing to make it work, so more people here had working bookshelves. Clement Jones did not, Van discerned as he walked through the living area. Grace popped her head through the bedroom doorway.

“Luggage is still here, drawers and closet are all pretty full.”

“Are there any bookshelves in there?”

Grace looked back into the room, then back to Van. “No, why?”

“Anything else? A desk maybe?”

“No. Basic sleeping space. Hasn’t so much as put a picture on the wall... Why do I get the feeling that this furniture came with the apartment?”

Van nodded thoughtfully. “This man is so incredibly boring that I can’t even comprehend it,” said Van in his usual deadpan voice.

Grace couldn’t help but smile. Her partner always amused her, though she was never sure whether or not he intended to do so. “It looks like he positively did not make it home and...” She sniffed. “Oh man.” They walked over to the kitchen area. A package of spoiled beef sat out on the counter

“He must have left it out to thaw,” said Van. He tapped the rancid stuff with his wand and sent it away. Out the window.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Grace asked

“Abduction,” said Van darkly.

Grace shook her head. “You know, you’re the only person I know who wouldn’t make a joke out of that question.”

“Sorry.”

“The real question is how do you hide in this city? I mean, you’d have to get where you were going before anyone knew you were missing, which shouldn’t be too hard. And considering we’re in a city the size Libya, there’s plenty of space to get hidden. But then, you’d have to stay inside for basically ever.”

“Grace,” said Van, and summoned up a platter of sushi, which hovered just outside the window.

“Food is not what I’m talking about, Van. I meant that if you were to go into hiding in this city, you’d have to pick a small secluded area and never leave, like for centuries. Or more.”

“Ah.”

“Unless,” Grace said, thoughts formulating, “unless you went into the forests. What if he went into the forests?”

“I’m not going in there, and neither are you,” Van warned her, and dispelled the sushi. “Hm. Now I want sushi.”

“I didn’t suggest that we follow him,” Grace said.

Van crossed his arms and gave her a wan smile. “When you say ‘maybe the person we’re looking for is here’, it automatically means ‘let’s go there and check’.”

“You’re just saying that because it happens to be true one-hundred-percent of the time,” Grace complained.

“It’s kinda why you got shot.”

“Am I ever going to live that down?” When Van shrugged, she shot him a look and headed for the door. “Come on, I’m tired.”

“When are we going to visit the Mulhoy?”

“Later,” she muttered.

* * * *

Mary sat in her chaise lounge. A cup of tea rested on the nearest table, and on her lap, her old journal. It was a leather bound volume, with a circle of gold on the cover containing her seal. There was a combination letter ‘M’ and ‘F’ with a circlet above. She had thought about changing it, making a new seal, but had never got round to it. She really should thought, especially considering that the ‘F’ was for ‘France’, and she’d had nothing to do with France in hundreds of years. Her thoughts drifted back to what Tina Virtue had said to her last week. That she would always be her title and there was no arguing with Tina Virtue.

She loved the city, and protected it with her life. Nobody was king here, and her favorite part of her job was putting down anyone who thought they would be. Still, a small voice in the back of her head kept warning her that the world was going to ask her to do something she didn’t want: to take a crown, in exchange for all the time it had let her live without one. It was why she always visited Fernando. An oracle was someone who knew what the world was going to ask of its inhabitants, or that was how Mary looked at it. And she was always waiting for the day he would tell her that she would again be shackled to a throne.

She took a sip from her tea and ran her hand over the symbol of Mary, Queen of Scots.

* * * *

Voz drifted down the River. The gondola swayed gently beneath her. She wanted so much to go and watch the sun setting over the sands and stare up at the stars of ancient Egypt. To see the river of water reflected in the river of stars in the sky. But her nerves had other ideas. She had never been afraid, not really. Her parents had shown her her strength at an early age, and she knew it would always be enough. She had even heard of mind control, the thrall of the dark ones. It had never frightened her until someone had threatened her with it.

She had no idea whether it would work on her, and that was the worst part. Many creatures, sprites for instance, were completely immune to mind-reading and mental servitude. The particular details that she herself was immune to siren song, and that all known forms of telepathy were lost to ages before the city even existed were not as comforting as they ought to be.

Voz wished she could talk to her parents, but the banshee and the siren lived deep in the forests. Not only did they live with some characters as unsavory as they were, those characters weren’t Voz’s parents, and would probably try and kill her. She may be about the most powerful person in the city, but the forests were another thing entirely. The radius just of the forest ring was over nine hundred miles, and some of the trees of the outer rim made the last ice age seem new. There were stories of dinosaurs out there, and Voz was quick to believe them. She had heard the idea referred to as the ‘inverse square of believability principle’. The more ridiculous, the more outlandish the idea, the more you should probably believe it.

Voz wasn’t particularly worried about dinosaurs. Any pterodactyl that tried to make supper out of her would soon find itself julienned and ready for serving. Unless they were magical dinosaurs... Voz looked suspiciously around her, as though someone nearby might have overheard the thought. In which case, she would have to blush severely

The evil angry gods were what really worried her.

And strangely, at this moment, what comforted her. No-one here in the city, not one person, was as powerful as some of the forest beings. My mom could beat up your mom, she thought bizarrely, and had to laugh at herself.

“Alright, feeling better now,” she said aloud. She stood up proudly, causing the gondola to tip, and falling into the River. Moments later she resurfaced and spat a mouthful of water into her boat. Clinging to the side with one arm, she said, “Good thing this dye is permanent.”

* * * *

Leila had just received a sheaf of ancient papyrus from Egypt with a note attached from the Hall of Apocrypha in the Hagia Sophia. Heard you finally found it. Good work, it read. On the desk before was the Crook of Osiris.

“Son of a bitch,” said Leila to the empty room, for what must have been the dozenth time. You really never know what’s going to turn up, do you?

The Crook, part of a matching set that included a flail, still missing, of course, was discovered in an archaeological dig. Nobody on the crew had expected to find such a treasure. Because the dig was in Boston. Now that the Crook had been discovered, there was much more work to be done. A field agent from the museum was searching through every area of the city of Bostonian origin for clues as to how the artifact made its way there. The Museum projected that the results would come in the next couple of weeks, since any Boston areas would be scattered over the past few centuries.

Leila had to add the Crook to the card catalogue, and sift through the papers from the Hall of Apocrypha to see how much she could include in the official description. Anything that seemed like conjecture, rumor, or blatantly fabricated lies would be included as an addendum and marked as such. Leila tapped her Focus against the desk, and thought of red ink. Her pen could be any color she wanted, and she changed colors a lot solely because it was the only piece of sorcery she could perform without speaking.

She flipped through the papyrus. Somewhere between the hieroglyphics and her eyes, they became English, and a surprisingly descriptive English at that. She again thanked the clever people at the Hagia Sophia. The papers told of the incredible powers of the Crook, and, even having lived here for a year, Leila still dismissed most of it as total garbage. No one thing could do so much, it simply wasn’t feasible.

Besides, as far as she knew, Osiris never existed. There certainly were beings whom most called gods, though Leila had issues with the designation. Whether the ones of myth were real, or the real ones made it into normal-world myths was always tricky to discern. A field agent from the museum had once secured an interview with the Roman goddess Vesta, one of only two Mediterranean gods who took residence in the city. She talked little about her own powers, but commented on her likes and dislikes, and her organization (the Vestal Virgins), shared a few favorite recipes, and provided a laundry list of gods whom she believed never existed. Osiris, the tops in ancient Egypt was on the Vesta List, as it was known in the museum. Vesta had said that she had tried to get appointments with him for centuries, but the real Egyptian gods, most of whom were unimpressive according to Vesta, had given her the runaround for so long she was certain that he was a hoax.

Leila sighed and put down the papers. She removed her glasses and leaned back for a momentary break. The British Museum’s field agents were part archaeologist, part journalist, part power broker, and part cat burglar, and nearly everyone on staff wanted to be one. Not least Leila herself. But it took years to become one, and she was, meanwhile, stuck down here in the basement with the card catalogue. Not that she didn’t enjoy her work, but it was frustrating. Angus Chang had told her that it took him a hundred years to become an agent, and not to worry. Her mind had not adjusted to the time scale around here. Try as she might, she could not imagine the sun would rise and set as normal, or really as a shattered mirror of normal, for hundreds, even thousands of years, and she would still be alive. Perhaps in ten or fifteen years when she still looked twenty-eight, then it would really hit.

Leila told herself that if she got bored, she could always go on a long vacation. She knew she was lying of course. Everywhere in this world of gods and sorcery and walking suits of armor was dangerous as all get out, and she would be there with her fountain pen, trying to sound out some basic incantation, and a giant half-woman, half-eagle would take her head in its talons and rip it clean off.

Mme. Rumella assured her that the Eagle Maidens were good people, but they were all at least six feet tall, and heavily muscled, and had those big, sharp talons. And a penchant for wearing bronze helms, which Leila didn’t understand. There were an awful lot of things that Leila couldn’t figure here. The normal world she basically had down, or so she considered. That’s why she spent all her time digging in the past. The mystery. At least she would never run out of that here, Leila assured herself. Especially being friends with Mme. Rumella, who was the kind of person mysteries came to. Leila was positive that’s why the Crusader was on the streets outside the tea shop. He was inevitably drawn to Mme. Rumella’s freaky intrigue-and-danger vibe.

“Speaking of which,” Leila muttered aloud, and stood. It was after eight: most everyone would have gone home by now, and she was no longer comfortable being in the building on her own. She took her Focus and clutched it tight, hoping she would make it across the street. The abduction of the Mulhoy linguist had made her acutely aware of how much she couldn’t defend herself in this place. The feeling was only made worse by the dazzling slowness of the Peelers, the only thing that passed for a police force here. She would feel much better in Mme. Rumella’s. The fact that the woman lived alone above her tea shop and was never robbed, burglarized, or booted out spoke volumes.

Exiting the museum, she found the cobblestone street abandoned. She paused for a moment at the doors before breaking into a dead run. She flung open the door and skirted inside. Benny was sitting with his feet up on the coffee table, reading the paper. Mme. Rumella was cleaning off the espresso machine. “Oh pet,” she said, “I’m so glad you remembered which way the door opens this time.”

“There was no-one out there, I was just kinda, y’know...”

“I understand pet. Would you like to stay here tonight?”

“Sure. Thanks,” she added.

“Tea?”

“Why not,” Leila shrugged. “May I have a chai?”

“Anything you like, pet.”

Leila sat down at the bar, and, in an effort to make conversation, told Mme. Rumella about the Crook of Osiris.

“How very odd,” said Mme. Rumella.

“I know. Gods creating other gods. They’re like meta-gods.”

“Gods are strange creatures with strange habits, pet, but I think we people can give them a run for their money any day,” Mme. Rumella commented

Leila laughed.

“Don’t laugh, Leila. You’re the one who said I should try to use more modern expressions.”

“I’m sorry,” said Leila and smothered further laughter with a sip of her drink. “Have you heard anything from that detective lady?”

“Mary’s told me nothing. I don’t know what they may have told her. I just hope they find him soon and get him away from whoever has him.”

“I’ve never seen you so nervous.”

“I know you understand, in theory, what we’ll be facing here if someone manages to use that thing, but you’ve never seen it happen.”

“And you have?” Leila asked, knowing the answer

Mme. Rumella nodded. “As you know, most history here in the city before the time of Rome is fairly unreliable.”

“Sure, that’s why it’s all in the Hall of Apocrypha.”

“Precisely. There are people still alive who remember a while into the pre-Roman era, but many of their stories are suspect. Though that’s beside the point. In the ancient near east, writing was mainly economic. When it caught on in Egypt, they began to use it for histories and that sort of thing.”

As Mme. Rumella paused to take a breath, Leila jumped in. “I do know all this,” she said

“Of course pet, what am I thinking? I apologize. Now, as far as I know, there were two incidents of written sorceries in the time of the Egyptians. During Roman times here, no-one never tried it. I’m not sure whether that was because they had learned their lesson, or because they looked on sorcery the same way they looked on the law.”

“As a matter of tradition, you mean? They never wrote down their laws, not successfully anyway, so they never wrote down their magic?”

“Right.”

Leila cringed. “Why do I have the feeling I know where this is headed?”

“After the fall of the Roman Empire, things were in a bit of collapse here as well. There were any number of refugees from all over their territories, all vying for power and influence. And, as in the normal world, most of the books were spirited away into monasteries.”

“Wait, what about the Alexandria Library? That was here then, or it should have been.”

“Oh my, what a mess. It was in dispute for nearly a thousand years. It all started at the very beginning of the sixth, and didn’t end till 1433.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. The original leadership eventually retook its position, but in the mean time, they gave as many of their volumes as possible to monasteries around town. And someone got the idea to scribe some of the ancient sorceries before they were lost from memory. It was at the Monastery of St. Jerome, where-”

“Where’s that?” Leila interrupted.

“It doesn’t exist anymore. The plot of land on which it sat was absorbed into a terrible void, and the rest of the city healed over it.”

“Oh god...”

“No, just men. Stupid ones,” Mme. Rumella added. “I wasn’t there, but I heard about it. It was described to me by witnesses as a sickening red-black, and there was nothing else to be seen or heard, save the endless scream of a single tortured voice.”

Leila tried to block out the horrible picture in her head. It didn’t go very well. “Thanks for the nightmare. I needed a new one. Does anyone know what kind of spell it was that they were writing down?”

Mme. Rumella shook her head. “I can only hope that it’s one no-one will ever see again.”

Leila nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Mme. Rumella continued, “about seventy years later, there was another incident. Someone thought, very wrongly in the event, that surely if he only transcribed minor spells, a book of basics like you requested when you first came here, it wouldn’t have such dire consequences.”

“I almost hate to ask,” said Leila

“Liar,” Mme. Rumella smiled. “You’ve heard of the House of Folly?” When Leila shook her head, Mme. Rumella continued: “It was, before, a Tibetan palace. The man, I can’t recall his name, made half a dozen copies of his volume, and thought it would be best to keep them apart.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“You would think, yes. However, there was a matter of geometry.”

“What?”

“Geometry, pet. It was a... Some geometrical shape, I don’t recall.”

“A polyhedron,” Leila supplied.

“If you say so. Anyway, just like a crystal, or whatever Focus, it amplified the power of the spells. The rooms where each of the books were kept were transformed. The... planes? The planes of the shapes turned into solid minerals.”

“They were probably all diagonals too, huh?”

Mme. Rumella nodded. “They cut straight through walls and ceilings. They’re still there in fact. Since then, no-one has been fool enough to try again. And I’m very afraid of this Standard business. Ancient sorceries tend to be the most powerful.”

“Yeah, why is that?”

“They’ve earned it,” Mme. Rumella replied

* * * *

It was early the following afternoon when Mme. Rumella took Leila to see the House of Folly in person. Leila recognized the building, though Tibet was not her specialty. It was the Potala Palace. The hill on which it was perched rose above the surrounding city. The red and white palaces rose above them, comprised of what appeared to be dozens of rectangular substructures.

“Where to first?” Leila asked as they ascended the long staircase to the entrance.

“The basement,” Mme. Rumella told her

“So we’re going to have to go up then down then back up again?”

“That’s right.”

Leila groaned as another pair of curiosity-seekers passed them going the opposite direction. One of them shot her a look

“So people actually come here to look? Other than us, I mean.”

“Oh my, yes. People still haven’t forgotten this. In fact, I take most new arrivals here eventually, in case they get ideas.”

“Why haven’t you ever taken me here?” Leila asked

“Oh pet,” Mme. Rumella laughed. “Even if you got ideas, you couldn’t magic your way out of a cupboard.”

Leila shrugged. It wasn’t untrue, she supposed. “So what about all the stuff inside? Is there any government stuff going on? What about the religious school?”

“Nobody works here anymore, pet. The transformations make people too nervous.”

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t set up here to charge admission.”

“Someone did once,” Mme. Rumella replied, pointing Leila up to the right as the stair continued

“What happened to him? Or her?”

“I kicked him in the shins,” said Mme. Rumella matter-of-factly

“For charging admission?”

“No, because he got fresh,” said Mme. Rumella, and smoothed her apron.

They entered the building. “This is huge,” Leila remarked. “I for one am duly impressed.”

Mme. Rumella grabbed her by the sleeve and led her to the descending stair. It took longer than Leila had expected for them to come to the room transformed by the lowest point of the polyhedron.

“And here I thought green rooms were weird,” Leila said. After a moment of gaping, she remarked, “And I really sincerely doubt that the original ceilings were thirty feet tall.”

“I would have to say not,” said Mme. Rumella, surveying the room.

The room was roughly twelve foot to a side, with high ceilings. The walls were a dark red clay. Leila touched one. “What’s with the red mudbrick walls? It looks nothing like the rest of the building.”

Mme. Rumella sighed. “Pet, it’s the effect of the magic, just like the ceilings.”

“Are those the planes?”

Mme. Rumella nodded. Appearing to come from the ceiling, but in fact rising from their intersection, the tips of four triangular planes hovered in the middle of the room, fifteen feet up. One plane showed much more surface than its opposite; the shape was tilted at an angle to the building. The point of intersection was aimed at one corner instead of straight downwards.

“Wow. You said minerals, not precious minerals,” Leila said as she wandered beneath the planes like a strange, inverted pyramid. One face was glassy obsidian. Leila saw herself and Mme. Rumella reflected from the black surface. One face was amethyst, another ruby, and the fourth... “Dear sweet mother of Jesus, is that platinum? That sheet must be worth millions!”

“In the normal world. Platinum is shockingly un-sorcerous. It has almost no value here.”

Leila swore

“Language, pet!”

“Sorry,” said Leila automatically

“Let’s move on. I want to show you the rest of the rooms. This one is the least transformed. Unless I miss my guess,” Mme. Rumella went on as they exited, “the effect started here at the bottom, moved along the planes of the, er-”

“Polyhedron.”

“Right, that, then hit the next four books, which were in a square shape, I believe...”

Leila took a moment to realize she was supposed to comment. “Oh, yeah, they would have to be.”

“Even though they were placed on different levels of the building.”

“Ah.” Leila pictured the shape in her mind, and tilted it. “That explains it.”

“And then continued up to the top.”

“So which copy of the book are we visiting next?”

Mme. Rumella showed a bit of a pained face as she replied. “Almost all of them,” she said.

They climbed upward through the palace. A much older palace was contained within the foundations of the white palace, though it had been seriously damaged by the transformation. Mme. Rumella took Leila to one of the chapels. “There are many chapels and halls in the white palace, “ Mme. Rumella explained. “The sorcerer put one book each in four of them.”

The door was large, and oaken, and possessed an arched top and big brass hinges. “Is that the original door?” Leila asked skeptically. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“You’ll see,” said Mme. Rumella. She pushed the door open. Bright daylight spilled into the hallway. She gripped Leila’s arm tightly and pulled her through.

The floors, walls, and ceilings all dropped away into nothing. Leila and Mme. Rumella stood on a patch of sky. Leila looked at the open air and let out a scream.

“Calm down, pet!” Mme. Rumella ordered, keeping her vice-grip on Leila’s arm.

“Okay, that was wierd.” Leila tried to breathe normally and looked around. They were standing in an endless blue sky. There was no ground below that she could see. There were patches of fluffy, reassuring clouds, and then, in the center of the space, Leila saw the source of the light.

“The sun?”

“Or something remarkably like it.”

The fiery orb was not much higher than Leila, maybe six feet in diameter. Taking a calmer look around she saw that the planes, that were minerals below, represented here by thin white lines. In the distance, there were three orbs like miniature planets spinning slowly in place. The ones straight ahead and to the left were higher than that to the right. Leila let out a musing ‘hmm’ and looked above her. Sure enough, there was the fourth planet. The surface was red and covered with craters and mountains and one excessively large trench.

“Mars? How cute is that.”

Mme. Rumella shook her head sadly, smiling as she did it. “Let’s away, pet.”

“Oh, okay. This place is great though! Can you walk out any further?”

“Basic self-preservation suggests that we ought not to try.”

“Okay,” Leila said again, and allowed Mme. Rumella to lead her back to the hallway.

They ascended to the red palace, which was much smaller and sat atop the white. Leila and Mme. Rumella continued up towards the very top, though it was a bit tricky in the middle when a plane of solid silver pierced the stair.

A sudden spiral stairway in the middle of the top floor exited onto the roof, and they followed it there. A dusky purple sky full of stars greeted them, though in reality it was only the afternoon. A white marble floor extended out in all directions, to seemingly no end. The plane of silver, the shortest one here, intersected three other triangular planes, of jade, amber, and, the largest of diamond. There were stone statues all around. Leila looked behind her, expecting and seeing more endless marble. There was also a statue of Athena, and, further on, an Olmec chieftain. Between Mme. Rumella and Leila and the planes was a statue of a man in robes, one foot on the ground, the other up as though running, hands outstretched. More statues appeared in the distance. Rising straight up from the intersection of the planes was a pillar, of sorts. The monolithic structure grew thinner towards the top, and was inscribed with hieroglyphics.

“That looks an awful lot like the Cleopatra’s Needle. “

“It is.”

“Whatever. We’ve got the real one, or the real version from this world, back at the museum. Next to the coffee room. People kept drawing graffiti on the River embankment,” Leila explained

“Some things can be in more than two places at once,” Mme. Rumella observed

Leila narrowed her eyes accusingly at the Needle. “I bet,” she said to Mme. Rumella, “that you’re just waiting for me to ask a flood of questions and point out everything that I think is wrong with that, but I’m not going to do it.”

Mme. Rumella walked forward with a proud smile on her face. Leila followed. They stopped in a few paces to inspect the statue of the running man.

“Here he is,” Mme. Rumella said.

“Er, here who is?”

“The sorcerer who caused this mess, obviously.”

“Oh yes,” said Leila, more than a touch sarcastically, “obviously.”

“Once you’ve lived here long enough, you begin to figure out how things work. Besides, look at him. He’s running straight for the book, or rather where it was. My guess is that he saw the transformation moving up the building, and tried to reach the pinnacle here before it could be completed.”

“Aw, he almost made it.”

“Truth be told, I’m rather glad that he didn’t.”

“What an awful thing to say,” said Leila, taken aback

“Think about it, pet. The sorcery was moving along the lines created by the books. Not to mention that the books were transformed by their own work. If he had removed the last book, what might have happened? Not only would the last book have survived, but the magic here wouldn’t have been capped by the Needle. It could have continued on. It could have transformed the city. It could have risen up and turned the sky to stone, almost anything.”

“I suppose. It’s still kinda harsh, though.”

“If you say so,” said Mme. Rumella in the tone specific to people saying the phrase ‘if you say so’.

Leila was at that moment struck by a thought, and didn’t realize Mme. Rumella’s comment might be considered offensive. “You said these were books of basic spells.”

“I did at that.”

“Basic sorcery did all this?” Leila asked, as though somewhere between her ears and her brain, things stopped making sense.

“I doubt it would have done this much if it hadn’t been for the geometry,” Mme. Rumella admitted.

“I still don’t understand why the math affects magic.”

“Oh, no, pet. It’s not the math. Math doesn’t really exist. It’s the relationship. Everything affects everything, including the orientation of everything as compared to everything else. Describing it mathematically is a matter of choice.”

“You’re getting a bit mystic for me,” said Leila skeptically

“Say what you will,” said Mme. Rumella, turning to leave, “but it’s true. You saw the books downstairs, transformed into planets?”

“Yeah...” Leila said, not following.

“Well,” said Mme. Rumella as they skirted the silver plane on the way down, “I may not have kept up on my math, but I have learned a thing or two about astronomy.”

“You could start making sense any time now.”

“It’s a metaphor, pet, wait till it’s finished. Now, take Venus for example. Now, I’ve never been to our Venus, but in the solar system of the normal world, it’s basically Earth’s twin, isn’t it? A bit smaller.”

“And closer to the sun.”

“Exactly!” Mme. Rumella enthused. “At Earth’s distance from the sun, Venus could be perfectly viable as a home for life. Instead, the oceans boiled off, and created more cloud cover, trapping more heat, boiling off more water, it’s... What’s the phrase I’m thinking of?”

“Positive feedback.”

“Something like that. And the normal Venus is a barren, sulfurous hell, because of its relationship to the sun.”

“That, as they say where I come from, is kinda sketch.”

“Pet,” Mme. Rumella began to sound exasperated, “what I mean is that it’s a simple matter of distance that made two very similar places so different. It’s orientation, it’s the relation of one thing to another. Wait! I’ve got another example. Say you have some magnet, right?”

“Alright,” Leila said, silently impressed that Mme. Rumella appeared to have picked up this much modern science. Of course she had been around much longer than modern science, so Leila supposed she was bound to have learned something

“You take that magnet and a another magnet, and you place them on opposite side of a room. What happens?”

“Probably nothing, unless they’re super strong.”

“Ah, but they aren’t. These are strictly low level magnets that we’re speaking of here. Now, take them and place them, say, six inches apart.”

Leila thought she knew where this was going

“At first they will probably stay relatively still, but they’ll be pulling on each other. And then, they’ll get going, and,” she clapped her hands for effect, “collide. But only because they happened to be placed in a position where they had the right relationship to one another.”

Leila nodded thoughtfully. It sort of made sense. But only sort of. Either way, she didn’t want to argue. Mme. Rumella was almost certainly right. She had been in this world many times longer than Leila. They exited the place known as the House of Folly and walked back center. The River came upon them in its winding course. Most sections of the River were unknowns, unless there was a bridge or some architecture that could be identified. There was a berth ahead of them.

“You know, I’ve never been on one of those things,” said Leila, indicating the gondola docked there.

“You haven’t? We ought to go then,” said Mme. Rumella. The River here was several feet below street level. Mme. Rumella hopped gingerly down to the old wooden jetty and stepped into the gondola, settling down onto the bench-like seat.

“Do you know who put these things here?” Leila asked as she began to row. The general outwise flow of the River reversed itself in a localized eddy below their gondola, helping them in their course

“Some mad Venetian, no doubt,” Mme. Rumella responded, unconcerned.

The color of the water changed slightly, but the back-flow continued. Their breath steamed on the air. It was much colder in this area. Soon enough, though, they were in a new place, and it was warmer, even if it was raining. Mme. Rumella, always prepared, removed an umbrella from her purse and stood so that she and Leila could share.

“Mme. Rumella,” Leila began as the rain ceased, “I’m really worried now.”

“As well you should be, pet, as well you should be.”

* * * *

“Why haven’t you gotten it yet?” Lionel hissed at the linguist

Clement Jones removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, which did nothing to help the dark circles already underneath. “Because this really isn’t my specialty. I can’t tell which are glyphs and which are just pictures. I’m pretty sure this whole scene at the bottom is just there to look pretty.”

“I thought you were supposed to be good at your job,” Lionel fumed. He fussed nervously with his cape and began to pace around the small room

“I am good at my job, but this is not my job. I can read and speak Latin and every language even remotely related to Latin. This is not that. It’s not even anything that looks like letters to me. Some people can make sense out of hieroglyphics and pictograms, but I am not one of them.”

“Really?” Lionel said, in a tone at once disbelieving, angry, and fearful.

“Really. Listen, maybe, and this is a big maybe, if I were at the institute, so I could use all the resources there, I might be able to figure it out. Otherwise, I’ve got no chance.”

Lionel paused before answering. “I’ll think about it.” He swished his cape and exited

* * * *

The Egyptian sun sank in a cloudy blaze on the horizon. Voz lay on her blanket and noted how there were slightly too many stars in the sky for where the sun was on the horizon. It confirmed her suspicion that the sun was not, in fact, in the same place that she was. One of the stranger effects of the city was that it was impossible to see the sun rise or set in the same patch of the world in which you were at the time. However, the setting sun was visible in whatever distant place existed at the limit of your vision. Voz’s vision was roughly the same as the average human, but a creature with better vision would likely not be able to see the sun Voz was seeing at all.

The stars littered the sky, and Voz stared up at them, breathing in the cooling desert air. Voz couldn’t say what the attraction to the desert was. Her parents were both from islands, one in the Mediterranean, not particularly desert. The other was from Ireland. Definitely not desert.

She loved looking at stars she knew weren’t in the same place anymore, but that she could have done in any of the ancient parts of the city. Voz stared up and let millions of thoughts, like stars and sand, drift through her mind.

And then she heard the footsteps. “Ruin,” she called the name Mme. Rumella had supplied her, “if that’s you again, I am so very not letting you live this time.”

The footsteps continued. She listened. It wasn’t Ruin. This person was shorter, or at least had a much shorter stride. And they were lighter on their feet. Voz stood casually, brushing off a few stray grains of sand. She turned to face the approaching person. He was short, with auburn hair and a healthy growth of stubble. He fixed her with a calm blue eye. Voz attempted to return the look, though her hair constantly covered one eye.

“Who are you, and what possessed you to carry a gun?” Voz asked

“Hello, Voz. My name is Hunter.”

“What about the gun?”

“It’s more useful than it looks.”

“Great, but I don’t think it’s possible for it to be less useful than it looks.”

“I have a proposal for you.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Voz growled. “Tell me,” she demanded, “why I shouldn’t scream at you until your teeth come loose and every ounce of blood in your body decides to make a run for it?”

“I knew your mother.”

Voz halted. “Which one?”

“The Irish one,” Hunter grinned.

“How did you meet her?”

“Tried to kill her.”

“And lived?” Voz’s face lit up. “Hunter Blue!” She stepped forward and shook his hand. “I’m so glad to finally meet you! Mom always spoke very fondly you, you know.”

“She’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” said Voz affectionately. “So how did you find me? Look who I’m asking! Sorry. What did you want to talk about?”

“I may need your help with something.”

“Hey, anything for a friend of the family,” said Voz.

“What do you know about the mayoral election?” Hunter asked.

Advice

The muted sun filtered in through the cracks in the barn’s walls. Motes of dust traced the movements of the air. Mary awoke suddenly and uncurled from her position on the chaise lounge. She kept promising herself that she would make it to her bed, but it hadn’t happened once since she acquired the chair.

She folded her blanket and threw it over the sofa. She went back and unfolded it so it covered more of what Benny called ‘the old lemon-and-lobster’: Mme. Rumella had yet to cover it as she had promised.

Mary reached down and picked her journal up off the floor where it had fallen overnight. She glanced ruefully at the seal once more before leaping downstairs for a shower. She still had little faith in the ladder.

She dried off, dressed and left for the day. Scotland outside her barn was damp. Billows of fog drifted around her as she trekked through the heather. It always looked greener in the fog. Much nicer than France, thought Mary to herself.

On a whim, she spun around, not even close to losing her balance as her heel sunk into the heather. The barn was receding into a bank of fog. The city had never felt more like home.

Time to put on my concerned face, Mary thought as she continued on. My personal preference is for the real egomaniacs. They’re always so much easier to spot. And subsequently pummel.

Then again, hadn’t they spotted three different dark ones? Was it possible that they were all working together, Delilah, Damon, and Lionel? The general practice was one at a time. It was almost like professional courtesy, Mary considered. And then again, there were periodic conspiracies. Are we due for one?

And if it is, what are they working on? She found herself wondering about the election as she past a ‘Suerte for Mayor’ banner hovering above a jetty on the River. Speaking of due, is this man just suicidal, or does he have an agenda working as well? He wasn’t dead yet. That fact alone lent Suerte a fair piece of credit in Mary’s book.

And then there was the Standard of Uruk. That sounded like Lionel, but Mme. Rumella didn’t believe it was him. Though the proprietress’s reasons were less than conclusive, she was the one with the knack for mystery.

Mary pulled out her Focus and ran it through her morning exercises as she pondered: single baton, double batons, torch, spear, shield, and claymore. She flicked the unnaturally light claymore over her wrist and returned it to single baton form.

Mary pictured her path, and headed northwest. North never felt like north to Mary, since it was an arbitrary position. Some people referred to it as twelve o’clock. That annoyed her. Either way, she would go up to the Fourth Quarter and then spiral inward towards Fernando Tarrega’s. That should put her there well after lunch time.

* * * *

Tina Virtue fretted over what she was about to do. She did not normally make house calls, to say nothing of un-requested ones. Normally, a client came to her, she performed her services, and that was the end of it. But Tina Virtue could tell that there was too much at stake here not to get involved. It was night, but she paraded down the street almost conspicuously.

The large house loomed ahead of her. To the normal eye, it looked dilapidated, hardly worth the time and effort it would take to refurbish and make it livable. But Tina Virtue saw the truth of the matter. The house was, despite its advanced age, in splendid condition. There was a light burning in one window, though anyone else would have seen darkness. Tina slunk up to the side of the house. Even as she knocked on the door, she could feel the illusion of the house enveloping her. To the casual observer, Tina had just disappeared.

There came a clicking of heels, quick, but not so fast as to tempt fate into toppling the walker down the stairs. The door swung open and Delilah Runestone appeared, Focus in hand. “What are you doing here?” Delilah demanded, eyes flashing.

“I am here to speak with you. Let me in.”

Delilah hesitated a moment, but then gestured for Tina to follow her inside. The burning light was upstairs, but Delilah led her down a ground-floor hallway to a sitting room. With a wave of her wand, the room sprang to life. The fireplace crackled, along with shining candles on every available surface. Tina blinked until her eyes accepted that the light wasn’t going away any time soon. Out the window, Tina could see a black wrought-iron table and chairs in the rear garden.

“Do you want a drink or something?”

“No, thank you,” Tina replied, setting herself down in an overstuffed armchair.

Delilah looked Tina over. Tina’s hair was slightly darker, and her eyes were green rather than painfully black, but other than that, they looked quite similar. She could almost be my sister, thought Delilah, but she said, “How did you find my house?”

“I know many things,” Tina replied.

Delilah wanted to slap her, but could think of smarter things to do. “Tell me what you want and get out,” she finally said.

“It’s my personal belief,” Tina began, “that you should go to Mme. Rumella’s and tell her what you are really doing.”

Delilah looked exasperated. “If you know so much, why don’t you tell them, hmm?”

“I do not reveal information learned in confidence from my clients,” said Tina resolutely. Delilah’s countenance became distinctly embarrassed. “I do suggest that you reveal yourself so that others may help you.”

“They’re already doing what I want them to do,” Delilah rejoined. “Besides... I can’t tell them.”

“You can,” Tina said slowly. “You choose not to.”

Delilah’s eyes flashed. She opened her mouth to argue, but knew that with Tina Virtue, it was futile to do so. “Fine,” she said in a low voice. “But I have my reasons. And I don’t have to take your advice.”

“Many decide not to,” said Tina easily. “They’re usually wrong.”

“I’m going to ask you to leave now,” said Delilah. She was struggling to remain calm. It was a common problem when talking to Tina Virtue, who had the infuriating tendency to tell people what they were doing wrong. The worst part, of course, was that you couldn’t pretend she was lying.

Tina rose gracefully and gave Delilah a cryptic, knowing look as she turned to leave. Delilah followed her silently down the hallway, where she readjusted her silk scarf and stepped outside. Tina knew it was difficult for people to accept the truth, and frankly though it was a wonder that she hadn’t been severely beaten more times in her life for telling the raw truth to the wrong person. However, Tina could take care of herself, and people knew that.

Tina allowed herself a small sigh. If Delilah had gone to Mme. Rumella, things would have worked out better. She was reasonably sure of that, and for Tina Virtue, reasonably sure was nearly always right. Even if she could never say so aloud. Someday, she thought, if she had the energy, she would put together a grand conspiracy, with only a gentle, truthful nudge here and there, just to prove that she could. She was reasonably sure that it would work, but then no-one knows everything.

* * * *

Mary knocked on Fernando’s door. He didn’t answer. Mary kicked in the door. She dodged the impenetrable cloud of incense as it rushed to attack her. Inside, she found the sitting room empty. Down the hall, the bathroom and bedroom both appeared empty. She stepped through into the kitchen and was greeted by the smell of a bubbling pot of soup. Fernando, dressed as ever like a peacock, sat at his small table with a bowl of soup and a crust of bread. He gave Mary a dirty look, even as he raised his spoon to his lips.

“How are you not finished with lunch: it’s after three o’clock!” Mary said in an accusatory manner.

“I was busy. I’m just taking a break. If you don’t stop kicking in my door, I’m going to get the super up here to add extra safeguards to it.”

“And if you’re preternaturally lucky, they’ll hold up for several seconds. I have some questions for you.”

Fernando paused and gave her a look, and in that moment Mary knew she had made a grave error.

She braced herself for incoming sarcasm.

“Oh,” Fernando started, “questions for the oracle, is it? What a shocker. How am I ever going to recover from the shock of someone coming to me with questions? Thank God I don’t have a bad heart, otherwise I could be dead already.”

“Fernando,” she sighed, “what can you tell me?”

Fernando shrugged. “About the same as last time.”

“I think I know who the entity with the mission I should help with is.”

“Your big shiny friend, I’ve seen him.”

“You can see him now? Why couldn’t you see him before?”

“I mean I’ve seen him. When I was out buying vegetables for my soup,” he gestured at the bowl with his spoon.

“Oh.”

“I tried to read him, but I couldn’t,” Fernando remarked, taking another spoonful of soup.

“Right, because he’s a sorcerous being.”

“Right,” said Fernando, a little suspiciously.

“What about Suerte?” Mary asked.

“He’s going to be mayor,” said Fernando.

“You’re joking!”

“No, not joking,” he replied through soup. Swallowing, he continued, “I don’t know how he’s going to do it, but it’s pretty much set in stone at this point. Otherwise, I still can’t read anything about him.”

“Then how can you tell he’s going to be mayor?”

“Because,” Fernando explained as though she were being slow, “it’s not his fate, it’s everyone’s.”

Mary left, feeling more than a little unsettled. It was only four o’clock, but she decided she could use a drink. Remembering the last time she saw Fernando, Mary opted again for the Nightlight. It was past five there after all.

The Nightlight was only a half-century from Fernando Tarrega’s apartment building. The sun moved out of view for Mary. She looked around, but spotted no horizon with a sun resting on it. As she stepped into the small patch of upstate New York, she saw the violet color of the lower sky. It was almost dawn here.

Inside, there was a bored-looking young man in the corner, replenishing the light and smoke effects that occurred when a person entered. Mary couldn’t tell whether it was the same one as before. “Couldn’t you just make the lights permanent and get a better job?”

“Dunno,” he replied, rather dully.

Mary gave an exasperated look. No ambition, she thought and continued, up the stairs to the twentieth floor. There was a mere scattering of people, but then it was early yet. Inside, she saw a gaping hole in the bar. Two men were there, tinkering with measurements for a replacement section. Mary scrutinized the room. There were a few tables in the middle that didn’t match the others. The floor below them was a clutter of random tiles, and the roof above was patched with boards.

She walked up to the bar. The bartender was busily polishing a glass. He must keep a stack of glasses in front of him to polish every second he wasn’t serving drinks. It was all Mary ever saw him do. “What happened here?”

“Clash of the Titans,” said the bartender, a scruffy Danish man with fine, unwashed blond hair and the strange proclivity of always wearing the same shirt, with its wide stripes in many shades of tan.

“Titans?” Mary repeated

“Well, not actual Titans, but pretty damned close. There was a fight up on the roof, and I didn’t recognize the second person was, but whoever it was is powerful enough to knock Ruin through two floors. The nineteenth is still a mess.”

“Ruin?”

“Oh yes. Trust me. A lot of interesting people come through here, and I wouldn’t last long without knowing when to duck when one of them walks in. Or in this case, crashes in from the rooftop.”

“Really? Who’s higher on this list,” Mary inquired, “me or Ruin?”

“Ruin, but only because necromancers aren’t trustworthy.”

Mary smiled. “I don’t suppose you have glasses to go?”

“Take it,” he said, setting the glass he had been polishing down and filling it with Irish whiskey.

“Good memory. I’ll be sure to bring this back.”

“Don’t worry, it’s got an self-summoning spell on it. It’ll return here in half an hour by itself.”

Mary nodded appreciatively and took a sip of her drink. “That’s the way to hold on to glassware,” she said, tossing the bartender a small cube of silver before exiting.

Mary descended the stairwell. The bartender had filled her glass to brimming. Probably because he knew her history with Ruin, she decided. She exited the dawning sky of the Nightlight, and into the patchwork twilight of the rest of the city. She headed outwise, to the eighteenth century and Mme. Rumella’s. She would want to know there was another piece on the chessboard.

Mary had a fondness for chess. She found a fabulous marble chessboard at a shop in that airport in Denver. She found it odd that men could fly without magic, but had heard from younger people, Leila in particular, that flying in one of those ‘airplanes’ was not a particularly pleasant experience. Especially waiting around in an airport for hours at a time only to find that your luggage never made it on to the plane. Mary wondered about the point of normal-world air travel. It was fast, sure enough, but there must be more agreeable forms of travel. People from the past few decades were always in such a rush that they never noticed that it doesn’t matter how fast a person is going if they don’t know where they’re headed.

Mary was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps in the alley behind her.

“Mary, Queen of Scots?” The voice was low, grainy, and distorted

Mary pivoted to look behind her. Standing there was a strange creature, with six eyes and as many legs. Long, black, multi-jointed legs covered in tiny serrated bits that stuck out at intervals. It was only four feet high, but at least seven in length.

“I don’t suppose you’re some sort of giant ant,” said Mary

“Not exactly,” said the creature in its strange voice.

“It doesn’t much matter though, does it? You’re not here to answer questions, you’re just here to kill me,” she added

“I suppose not,” the creature replied.

“Still, for courtesy’s sake, would you mind telling me who sent you?”

“I’m not really supposed to say,” the creature said, almost apologetically. “Only that you should not have interfered.”

“Hm. Dont’ know what I was thinking with that interfering. I’ve got to break the habit,” said Mary caustically

“I don’t write the lines, I just deliver them.”

Mary’s Focus was tucked up her sleeve, touching her arm. She cast the feather spell and leapt into the air. As she flew, she removed her gloves and flicked her Focus into her hand.

The alley was barely wide enough for the creature to turn around in. It had only gotten half way round when she landed across from where she had been. She turned her Focus just the right way and it became a spear, which dripped with liquid fire as she threw it. The spear pierced the creature’s side, but didn’t go as far as she had hoped. She leapt into the air again as the insectoid form reared up, squealing in pain. Her spear dislodged itself. Mary landed on its back. The middle legs immediately flew up to grab her.

“Double jointed! You cheat!”

The legs had attached themselves to each arm. Mary was thankful for her coat, which kept the barbs from sinking into her flesh. But then one leg started to pull. The other held tight and she could feel her shoulder coming out of its socket. She winced, but didn’t cry out. She brought her knee up and landed a side kick on the pulling leg, which made a satisfying crack. After what seemed like an eternity, her spear returned itself to her hand, and she brought the spear over her back. As she pulled it back, it become her favorite claymore, and she sank it into the creature’s neck. The creature screamed, but kept pulling on her arm. Deep crimson ichor ran out on to the ground.

Mary only just managed to dislodge her sword. She shouted the Gaelic words to spell she herself had invented, and swung the sword down in an arc. It made contact with the side of the creature’s neck. Mary heard a muffled pop and felt a surge of pain as her shoulder was dislocated.

But the clever sorcery she had cast on the claymore was working. It made whatever object the sword struck pull itself to the sword just as hard as the sword hit it. Neck pushed on sword, pushed on neck, pushed on sword till the head was severed and fell to the ground. Mary brought her sword around, and removed the grappling legs. She leapt off and touched down a few feet away.

The creature turned to follow her. Mary heard the shuffling, looked behind her, and sighed heavily. The lifeless head still sat on the ground, but the body was advancing on her with its four remaining legs. She flicked her left wrist outward, as her right arm was useless at the moment, and her sword became an unlit torch. She held it in front of her mouth and said Gaelic words that translated roughly as ‘fire which soars’, and exhaled on the torch.

It roared to life, a monstrous, meter-high pillar of flame, which then leapt outward at the creature. It reared up as the flames enveloped it. It tried to rush her, but its legs were quickly consumed by the fire. Mary hoped she wouldn’t run out of breath before it was sufficiently killed. The hulking creature began shrivel and Mary finally ran out of air. Luckily I’m in good shape, she thought.

Then the odor hit her. “Oh! This is horrific,” she couldn’t help but say aloud. She turned and walked away, muttering, “Why can’t they make an evil assassin-creature that smells like vanilla when you kill it? Or cinnamon maybe. Sandlewood would do.” She passed a familiar looking young tree and found herself in the street before the British Museum. “Oh,” she said in surprise. She hadn’t realized how close she was.

She returned her Focus to cartridge form and entered the tea shop to find Mme. Rumella and Benny sitting on the comfortable chairs. Leila Lanstrom was asleep on the couch.

“Evening,” she said.

“Hello dear,” said Mme. Rumella.

“Oy,” said Benny.

“Doesn’t she have a home anymore?” Mary asked, indicating the slumbering archaeologist with a nod.

“She’s worried about walking home alone,” Mme. Rumella explained. She looked Mary over. “Dear, what have you been doing?”

“Assassination attempt. You?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” Mme. Rumella said.

“Got some of that too,” Mary rejoined.

“Ruin is back,” they both said.

“You knew?” Mme. Rumella inquired.

“I found out earlier. There was a fight at the Nightlight between him and someone. Nobody saw whom, sadly. How did you know?”

“Apparently he is up to something, and tried to recruit Voz to his cause.”

“How very... Suicidal. Don’t suppose she killed him?”

Mme. Rumella shook her head.

“Ah well,” said Mary and attempted to shrug. The motion set her right arm swinging limply and caused a terrible pain. “That,” she commented, “hurts.”

Mme. Rumella looked concerned. “Do you need a vial?”

“No, I’ve got a couple, they’re just in my right-hand pocket. I don’t suppose...?”

“Of course, dear,” said Mme. Rumella as she rose form her chair. She reached into Mary’s coat and produced one of the vials, opening it and holding it up for Mary to breathe in

Even sorcerous healing of a dislocated shoulder is unpleasant, but Mary cringed only slightly before thanking Mme. Rumella for her help. She sank gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs, even as she pined for her chaise

“Irish coffee dear?”

Mary nodded mutely, suddenly wondering where her glass from the Nightlight had gotten itself to. Had it been half an hour, or had she simply dropped it in the skirmish and not noticed?

“Do you know who it was?” Mme. Rumella inquired as she brought Mary her cup and saucer.

“An Irish cappuccino? You are a brilliant, brilliant woman.” Mme. Rumella smiled as Mary pondered her question. “I doubt it was McLenen,” she said. “But other than that, it could have been Delilah, though I don’t know much about her particular fighting style.” She paused and took a sip. “Best idea the Irish ever had,” she commented. “Possibly it was Lionel, as payback for our fight. But then the creature said I was interfering in something I shouldn’t, and I haven’t with Lionel, that I’m aware of at any rate. Ruin hates me, but then he has the same problem. I had no idea he was even around until I went to the Nightlight, and then this giant ant thing attacks me minutes later?”

“Maybe he’s just real on top of things,” Benny suggested helpfully

“I’m certain,” said Mary. “I hate this. Not knowing what’s happening out there, I mean.”

“I always think that the middle of the mystery is the most fun,” said Mme. Rumella.

“Yes, but you’re strange.” said Mary.

“Perhaps,” said Mme. Rumella, aloof.

Mary glowered. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking that perhaps Leila here is on to something.”

“What d’you mean?” Benny asked.

“With so many of the dark ones at work, especially Ruin, perhaps it would be best if we all stuck together for now.”

Mme. Rumella nodded thoughtfully. “It would probably be safest,” she agreed. “I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“I don’t mean to sound stupid, but who’s this Ruin bloke you’re all up in arms about?” Benny interjected.

“He’s a necromancer,” said Mme. Rumella. “Possibly even worse than Lionel at his height.”

“Alright...” Benny said, questing for more.

“He’s obsessed with death, as necromancers tend to be,” Mary expounded. “About 1900, he went to the edges of the city, and raised the bodies of over a thousand of the oldest citizens.”

“A zombie army? How, er, frightening?” Benny was obviously unimpressed.

“Many of them he managed to restore to partial consciousness,” Mary said.

“Umbras? Jesus bloody merciful Christ,” said Benny.

“Benny!”

“Sorry, auntie.”

“It’s ‘umbrae’, not ‘umbras’, I believe,” Mary continued. “And not just umbrae, but umbrae with the knowledge, well, partial knowledge anyway, of the ancient sorceries. It was... It was very bad.”

“Masterful understatement,” Benny remarked.

“But thanks to our friend Mary here,” Mme. Rumella chimed in, “he was put down.”

“And hard,” Mary added.

“You fought a necromancer and army of umbrae by yourself?” Benny asked, awed.

“Oh no,” Mary demurred. “I had help.”

“Who?”

“The Life Squad,” said Mary, a little embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense,” said Benny, looking away.

“The who?” Leila asked drowsily

“Good evening, pet,” Mme. Rumella chuckled. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since your nephew blasphemed really loudly,” she responded

“Sorry,” Benny muttered

“So who are these Life Squad people?”

“Calling them people is a bit kind,” Benny said bitterly.

“They’re pro-life fanatics,” Mme. Rumella said.

After a moment’s pause, Leila came out with, “Alright, that must mean something way different here.”

“I’ll put it another way then,” said Mme. Rumella, slightly puzzled. “They’re anti-necromancer. Life is life and death is death they say, and anyone who tries to blur the lines is corrupt.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Leila, pushing herself up onto her elbows

“Yes, but they tend to clarify their position to anyone who asks by, er...”

“Showing them the difference personally with a hammer to the skull,” Mary finished.

“Oh. And you worked with them?”

“There wasn’t much choice. Half the city was cowering.”

“And half of them in my shop,” said Mme. Rumella.

“I couldn’t have done it alone, and the Life Squad’s version of tactics and strategy is, well, a hammer to the skull. They would have gotten themselves killed in a blink without someone to tell them what to do,” Mary told her, trying not to be defensive. They were all quiet for a minute.

“I wish that detective would get back to me,” Mary worried to the room

Mme. Rumella rose and moved for the staircase.

“Where are you going?” Leila asked.

“I’ve got a plan,” she replied.

“What does it entail?” Mary questioned.

“Cookies,” said Mme. Rumella, and ascended the stair.

Cookies

Mary looked down on the street from the fourth story of Mme. Rumella’s building. Mme. Rumella herself had produced linens for her guest beds, and promptly disappeared into the depths of her kitchen, apparently never to return. Mary had asked her to clarify, but all Mme. Rumella would say about her plan was ‘cookies’. It was past midnight, city time, and Mary had risen fairly early. Still, she was too on edge to sleep. The attempt on her life, while not as threatening as someone probably hoped, had nonetheless set her on guard.

She knew they had no evidence to connect Ruin to the Standard of Uruk, the only going-on in which Mary considered herself involved at the moment, but still the attempt made her think of Ruin. It was an ugly ant thing rather than an umbra, but it was very like Ruin to use some sort of sorcerous agent to fight for him. Would he be coming for her after over a century? That’s the thing about living for millennia. Some people use every available minute of time to plot.

“Go to bed,” a voice ordered.

Mary turned calmly to the doorway to see Benny leaning on the door frame with a youthful smirk on his face.

“If auntie doesn’t want someone in this building, they won’t be in it for long.”

“I know,” Mary sighed. It was true, but didn’t slow the theories spinning in her mind. “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Benny’s smile faded. “Are you sure you want to that, considering?” he asked, concerned..

“It’s alright. I can handle myself,” Mary reassuringly replied.

Benny’s smile returned. “Yeah, awright,” he said. “But be careful, okay?”

Mary exited, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Leila was asleep across the hallway. She had neglected to close her door, so Mary went to do it for her.

“Er, Mary, do you know how old Leila is?”

“Twenty-eight, I believe,” Mary replied, a little suspiciously.

“Really? How odd.”

“How do you mean?” Mary asked.

“Well, she looks about twenty-eight.”

“She only arrived here last year,” Mary explained.

“Oh. So she really is only ten years older than me?”

Mary couldn’t control her smile. “That’s right.”

“I was just wondering,” said a defensive Benny.

“Mmm-hmm,” Mary hummed as she left. She went downstairs, pausing on the third floor to enjoy the wafting scent of fresh baked cookies. She was certain Mme. Rumella was headed somewhere with this whole cookie thing. She just had no idea where.

Mary exited the shop and strolled down the street. She placed her hands in the pockets of her knee-length coat. Her left hand was on her Focus at all time. The night air was cool around her. She didn’t mind, but thought she may as well head for somewhere warmer. Mme. Rumella’s supplier was just around the corner, and Mary found herself wondering what the weather was like in India this time of year. She walked up the curving block and took a right. Vijay’s small house was quiet as Mary passed it by. She continued down the radial road for another few blocks. Walking always seems to take longer when you don’t know where you’re going, Mary noted.

Which was just as well. It may take a while for her pursuers to find her, but she had no doubt that they were out there. That was the thing about nasty assassin creatures: they tended to travel in herds. She wondered if they even let people hire them one at a time, and then how they would pay them. She could hardly see a giant ant-thing traipsing into a bank to make a deposit, but she didn’t picture them being paid in buckets of rolled oats either.

She went down the radial street that would bring her out round the block from Mme. Rumella. It was less than three yards across here, and poorly lit. She suspected this would be the place, even before she heard the scuttling noise behind her.

“Oh my,” she said theatrically, preparing her Focus all the while, “it sounds as though I am being pursued. Whatever shall I do? I cannot run, for they would surely catch me.”

When she turned, she saw two ant-creatures, one the same size as the one that accosted her earlier, and one much larger, stepped into the meager light. One bared a pair of pointy white fangs and hissed at her.

“I’m Mary,” she introduced herself. “You’re the ant-like assassin. Or six-legged spider assassin now that I look at you. Either way, I believe you have a communiqué for me, something of the ‘your meddling is not wanted, now die! variety, perhaps?”

“Well,” said one, in a polite British accent, “that is the gist of our message, that and then we kill you, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Mary agreed. She gestured with her head towards the larger ant-spider-thing. “Doesn’t he talk?”

“Not a skill which Master was able to teach him I’m afraid. He’s more than a bit thick, but he gets the job done, you know.”

“He looks as though he might,” Mary remarked. “So that’s Master? As in not Mistress?”

“What difference is it to you?” the creature inquired.

“Wouldn’t you like to know who killed you?” Mary asked.

“Yes, I suppose, but we’re under rather strict instructions not to reveal too much, on the chance you live,” the ant-spider replied, and chuckled.

“Yes, that would be funny,” Mary said evenly. “I suppose we’d best to it, then,” she suggested. She leapt high into the air, nearly reaching the tops of the buildings. The word for this spell was the word ‘feather’ in an old African tribal language, one of the forest tribes who used it to leap from tree top to tree top. The speaking creature said something to the effect of ‘no sense in putting it off’ as she flew. She shouted the Gaelic words for ‘two fires which soar’, a twist on the spell which Mary herself had come up with. Twin jets shot from the tips of her dual batons, pushing her higher into the air. The smaller ant-spider proved fairly maneuverable, and scuttled out of the way, but one fire scorched the rear section of the larger creature before he could move out of the way. His two rear legs and part of a third shriveled beneath him and he sank to the ground.

Mary was slowly coming back down. The smaller creature maneuvered itself into position below her. There was only one way she could think to change her trajectory now, and it wasn’t a bad one. She conjured the fire again, one baton pointing at the ground, the other horizontally away from her. The smaller creature scuttled out of the way again, with one slightly singed leg. The fire consumed the air, and new air rushed in to take its place. Mary was pushed up and over to the nearest rooftop.

She quickly put both batons in one hand, turned them just so, and they were her spear. After a moment’s hesitation, she whispered the word ‘poison’, in a language so old no-one knew what it was. Her spearhead glowed a sickly green, and she threw it at the larger creature as it tried to drag itself away on its forelimbs. The creatures hissed and writhed in pain as the sorcerous poison spread. Mary saw the terrible greenish color spreading through its oversize blood vessels even at this distance. Her spear removed itself from its target and flew back into her hand. It took her a moment to locate the other one, crawling at her up the side of the building. With alarming speed, it was suddenly there on the rooftop, coming at her with fangs bared. She swept her spear in an upward motion even as it entered her hand, and it became her shield. The ant-spider’s fangs broke against it and it hissed in rage.

“You’re much less talkative when you’re angry,” Mary informed it, as she jumped back, and leapt once more into the air. She rolled her shield over her wrist. By the time it was back in her hand, it was a baton. A jet of flame scorched the roof where the creature had been standing, and pushed Mary a little higher. The feather spell was so ubiquitous, Mary was surprised that the creatures weren’t built for jumping. Her arc through the air had brought her down in the curving street. The ant-spider threw itself off the roof behind her, landing on the spear-like ends of its legs. It wobbled a little thanks to its burned leg. Mary launched a spinning crescent kick, almost falling when her leg jarred on the creature’s sturdy exterior.

The kick seemed to have thrown it at least as much as it had her. She raised her baton and fired a bluish-white ball of energy straight at the creature’s face. It broke through just above its mouth. A faint glow from the point of entry traced the sorcerous projectile’s path. It ran out of energy part way through, but it had done its job. The creature fell lifeless to the dirt surface of the road.

The force-of-light spell was a common offensive spell, its power increasing according to the spectrum. Many people could only cast the red version, which was akin to a good, hard punch. Mary had the whole spectrum down so pat she could cast all of them without even saying the words

Mary sighed disconsolately and headed back down the dark alley, emerging on the other side and taking another right turn, back to the tea shop. The fight lasted a while longer than would have liked, but that was the problem with low level sorceries. More powerful sorceries tended to have a lot more collateral damage. Mary tried to avoid them whenever possible, though she herself was possessing of several of the Alta-Signas, the highest sorceries, which could be conjured but not always controlled. There were several Alta-Signas from each order of sorcery, though of course, no-one knew how many exactly. It was one of the many details of sorcery that were obscure, Mary suspected, for the sole purpose of keeping life interesting.

A couple of ant-spider...things could hardly be expected to rattle me , Mary thought, much less kill me. Unless someone didn’t really know much about me.

Or unless that was the point, to not rattle her. She had spent nearly four centuries gaining her reputation, and most people knew it. Maybe it was Ruin. Toying with her. She tried not to be angry, he would want that. She succeeded in being only mildly irritated.

She entered the store to find six platters of baked goods hovering over the counter. “Does that keep them fresh?” Mary asked of Mme. Rumella, who was just tucking her wand back into one of her apron pockets.

“Perfectly fresh, dear. How was your walk?”

“Not as informative as I’d hoped,” Mary sighed.

“Pardon?”

“I was attacked again.”

“Oh my.”

“As I expected.”

“I see,” said Mme. Rumella in the tone of those who don’t quite see

“But the one ant-spider creature that was smart enough to talk was also smart enough not to say too much.”

“How sad. They’re ant-spiders now are they?”

“They do look more like spiders, only with six legs.”

“How odd.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve also been thinking that there can’t be too many people out there thinking I would be taken by giant insecty minions.”

“Then why send them?” Mme. Rumella inquired.

“I think whoever it is may be taunting me,” Mary explained.

“That’s not very clever of them, is it?”

Mary shook her head. “No, it really isn’t.”

* * * *

Aside from the regulars, it was fairly slow at Mme. Rumella’s. Leila had only gone to work to fetch the Osiris papers, and was sifting through them over cappuccino at a table in the corner.

“Time to go, pet,” said Mme. Rumella, rounding up her platters. They hovered before her as she moved over to Leila’s table

“What?” Leila asked distractedly.

“We’re going to the Mulhoy.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“To talk to people, see what we can figure out.”

“Alright, but won’t the detectives Mary hired do that?”

“Probably. That’s no reason why we shouldn’t go as well. They may tell one of us something they wouldn’t tell the detectives.”

Leila paused a moment before continuing. “I don’t think they’ll be too happy about the uninvited guests, do you? I mean, I went poking around there by myself, and got nothing. We’ll need some sort of pretext.”

“Leila, you’re a member of the academic community. Surely a visit by someone from the British Museum wouldn’t be too unusual.”

“Well, no,” Leila replied. “As a matter of fact, the Mulhoy uses our resources all the time. Someone was over just a few days before that guy was kidnaped. But what about you?”

Mme. Rumella smiled. “Cookies pet,” she said as though Leila were missing something obvious, “cookies.”

* * * *

The Mulhoy was in the Fourth Quarter of the city. Mme. Rumella decided to cut inward to the right ring of time along the radial streets, then followed the curved street counterclockwise to the institute. As they approached the building, two figures approached them from the street. They all walked up to the door together. The woman was slightly shy of Leila’s height, and had a mass of auburn curls. Her companion was tall, thin, blond, and clean shaven. Almost. There was a question hanging on the air. Leila, one hand on the door, was the first to ask it.

“Are you... Are you the detectives?”

“Yes,” the woman replied, almost relieved. “You must be the friends Mary told us about. Grace Owen,” she said, extending her hand.

“Leila Lanstrom,” Leila introduced herself, taking Grace’s hand.

“Dr. Leila Lanstrom,” Mme. Rumella corrected. “And I’m Mme. Rumella.” She flicked her wand from right hand to left in order to shake Grace’s hand. The cookies bounced in the air but didn’t topple.

“Van,” said Van with a small wave

“Lovely to meet you sir,” said Mme. Rumella. “Shall we?”

Leila held the door. At the front desk, they all introduced themselves and split up to speak to people. Mme. Rumella went last.

“I am Mme. Rumella,” she told the receptionist, “of Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. I have dozens of delicious, complimentary cookies to share with you and the rest of the staff.”

The receptionist blinked. “Why?”

“Advertising, my dear, advertising.”

“Uh... Okay. Got anything with chocolate in it?”

Mme. Rumella smiled, “I do indeed.”

* * * *

Leila herself had never been to the Mulhoy Institute before the (alleged) kidnaping, and, having only recently become a citizen, was curious to find out exactly how you could run an institute for imaginary languages. The two branches of study were divided into separate wings. Seeing as the building was originally a vocational school, the Imaginary Languages Wing contained an automobile repair bay, which had been converted into storage.

Leila wandered through the offices and classrooms and lab rooms. She heard a woman talking, and peeked in through the slightly-ajar door. As Leila had suspected, she was talking to herself. She knocked on the door and said, “Excuse me, I was just wondering-”

The woman turned, looked at a piece of paper on her desk, on which a pen was busily writing. “You ruined my dictation,” she screeched. “Get out!” Leila froze. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Leila rediscovered mobility and bolted down the hall

* * * *

“My name’s Grace,” said Grace lightly. She set herself down on a spare chair amidst a bank of desks that had replaced the student desks in a converted classroom.

The middle-aged man sitting at the desk was examining an old scroll through a magnifying glass. “Uh-huh,” he said

“Do you have a name?” Grace asked with an easy smile

“Probably,” came the curt reply.

Grace was used to being treated as a nuisance, and pressed on. “Listen, I heard about this guy, Clement Jones, and-”

The man tightened. The tension was so obvious Grace stopped talking. “Go away,” he said.

* * * *

Van Jefferson walked down a hallway in the Extinct Languages Wing. He saw a rather attractive young woman, and an old cliché about birds and stones passed briefly through his mind

“Hi,” he called to her.

The young woman stopped. One arm was full of books. She smoothed her long skirt with the other. “Hi,” she replied. Van couldn’t place her accent, but he liked it.

“How are you?”

“Good,” she replied. “You?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m Van,” he said.

“Tricia,” she replied.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled. “You know, I’m looking for a friend of mine, do you think you could direct me to his office?”

“Sure, I’ll take you right to it,” Tricia smiled back. “Who’s your friend.”

“His name is Clem Jones,” Van started, and before he could continue, Tricia’s face darkened. She turned on a dime and trotted off down the hall as fast as her skirt-wrapped legs would carry her. Van just stared for a moment before following. “Tricia! Tricia, wait a minute!”

* * * *

Mme. Rumella swung her floating horde of goodies around a corner. There was a muffled ‘oof’ sound, followed by a heavy thud.

“Oh my,” she mumbled as she followed the trays around the corner to find a man, apparently in his thirties and wearing an Ethiopian flag pin over his heart, lying on the ground.

He stared at the cookies in a scrutinizing manner. “Would you mind terribly explaining something to me?”

“I’m so very sorry,” she apologized, offering her hand. The man was much larger than the squat Mme. Rumella, so the gesture was more symbolic than anything. The man brushed off all manner of invisible dust from his clothing as Mme. Rumella told him her name, and that she was here to promote her tea shop, and subsequently offered him a cookie.

“Are these macadamia nuts?” The man crunched through his cookie with relish. Mme. Rumella apologized again and offered him another. “You are very kind,” he told her

“I just thought you could use some cookie comfort down here, what with all the recent goings on,” she replied. “You must be on needles and pins around here lately!”

The man studied her. In the pause Mme. Rumella handed him another cookie. “As I have said, Mme. Rumella, you are a kind woman, but it would be best not to ask questions. Nobody here wants to admit what happened to themselves, and they certainly do not want to talk about it. I for one have no information to offer as I did not know Mr. Jones well at all; he was not a social person.”

“Thank you very much anyway, sir,” said Mme. Rumella, pressing another cookie into his palm. “One for the road,” she said with a wink

* * * *

Leila had stopped by two more offices and been rebuked both times. She saw an Asian woman sitting on a sofa in a small lounge area created by the intersection of two large hallways. She had learned not to lead with the subject of the missing man. The second person she had visited had left an impression. It was on the far wall, where the paperweight hit. She thanked heaven for her dodging abilities, honed over the past year of working at the museum, where there were always objects being levitated from around the building whizzing by.

She collapsed in a chair opposite the Asian woman, who appeared to be in her late forties. “Hi,” she said.

The woman, sipping coffee from a mug marked ‘Suki’, set down her cup and returned the greeting.

“I’m Dr. Lanstrom from the British Museum,” Leila introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you,” Suki said with precise and deliberate speech. “I am Dr. Suki Marion. I work here,” she added.

Leila wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be a joke, but she smiled politely as she told Dr. Marion her first name. “I’m here to shake hands and meet people, that sort of thing. The British Museum is proud of the relationship we have with the Mulhoy Institute, and we would like to express our solidarity.” It was a clunky transition, she knew, but at least the subject was out there.

Suki Marion raised an eyebrow. “Solidarity?”

“Yeah, with this whole kidnaping thing. We know you must be outraged, and nervous too. Hell, I’m so nervous I’m sleeping at the tea house across the street.”

Suki laughed politely. Leila smiled. Now she was getting somewhere.

* * * *

“Did you see a cute African girl in a long skirt come by here?” Van asked.

Grace shook her head.

“I was trying to question her,” he explained

“I don’t think ‘what’s your phone number’ qualifies,” said Grace, leaning up against the nearest wall.

“I did not ask her for her phone number.”

“Only because there’s no phone service here,” Grace rejoined

“That and she ran away before I could get that far.”

Grace laughed. “Back to business, though: do you get the feeling that people here are frightened out of their wits.”

Van nodded. “And these are the brave ones,” he commented

Grace frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there are an awful lot of desks covered with stationary and personal belongings with no people behind them. I’d say this place is running at half capacity. Everyone else probably opted for a sudden extended vacation.”

“You’re so observant,” she said lightly.

“One of us has to be.”

“If I had the energy I would so elbow you in the ribs.” Neither of them said anything for a moment. “I hope the others are having more luck than we are.”

* * * *

“Personally, my interests lie in the imaginary, but I did have some contact with Clement. I am currently working on a thesis about the creation of the Vestal language,” Suki Marion explained.

“The Vestal language?”

“Yes. It only exists here, in our world, and it is only spoken by the virgins, the followers of Vesta, and of course, the goddess herself.”

“So Vesta just invented her own language?” Leila inquired, fascinated.

“So it would appear,” said Suki. “It is related to Latin, though there are only formal tenses, and there is a great tendency to elide. Sometimes whole sentences are strung together into single words.”

“So if you wanted to speak informally to someone, you would have to speak in another language?”

“Just so,” said Suki.

Leila got the vague feeling she was making fun of her for saying ‘so’ so much. She shrugged mentally. If she was teasing, it was obviously good natured. “How long have you worked at the Mulhoy?”

“So long ago that we were housed in a semi-sedentary lean-to,” Suki replied, and Leila had to laugh.

“This is fascinating. What else have you worked on?”

Suki paused to think. “One of my old favorites. Well, as I’m sure you know, there is Cantonese and then there is Mandarin. There exists a volume, it is kept in your museum, as a matter of fact, and it is written in a form of Chinese called Taiping. It was discovered in the nineteenth century. In the normal China, there was a rebellion that involved a rather strange Christian sect who had named themselves the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. I believe that the volume was written here, by their leader, and returned here upon his death.”

“Murdered?”

“Illness, actually. The museum showed me the volume when they could make no sense of it. It took me ten years to finally decipher it. Both the alphabet and the language itself is the strangest blend of old Mandarin and ancient Hebrew.”

“That’s bizarre. Incredibly cool, but bizarre.”

“I agree.”

“So what’s in the book?”

“The leader of the Heavenly Kingdom believed himself to be the second son of God.”

“Of course he did,” Leila interjected.

“That much he revealed to his followers, but the book, which I have dubbed the Taiping Manifesto-”

“Great name.”

“Thank you,” said Suki and resumed her original sentence. “-Is full of his further revelations about the nature of God and Jesus and some very creative doomsday prophecies.”

“Fun.”

“Yes,” Suki smiled.

“You know, that reminds me of something I’m working on now,” said Leila, who had been very preoccupied with the Standard of late. “There’s this thing called the Standard of Uruk.”

Suki’s smile froze and fell away. “Dear lord,” she said. “How did you hear about that?”

“Wait, you know of it?”

“Of course I know of it. I wrote an entire dissertation on it!”

Leila’s jaw dropped. “Go ahead and explain that, please.”

“I’ll assume you know something of its purpose,” Suki began

“That it was an attempt by the early Uruk neighborhood of the city to gain power and influence.”

“Right. It was the first attempt at written sorcery. Unlike attempts since, something about the Standard’s construction kept the sorcery contained, unless someone used it.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. But do not forget: the sorcery contained within the object is not only ancient, but one of the ancient Alta-Signas. It is quite possible that it chooses to contain itself.”

Leila swore under her breath.

“The Standard was stolen by the Ur neighborhood when they learned of its existence. I suppose that the people of Uruk expected this, because they did not use the symbols of any language that existed.”

“They invented one,” said Leila slowly.

Suki nodded slowly. “They could not read it, and so they hid it, buried it in fact, right under the noses of Uruk, so to speak.”

“Jericho?” Leila asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” Leila replied, thinking of the conversation Mme. Rumella had told her about with the Jericho cattle spirit.

“It remained below the wall for many years, until it was discovered by the monks of St. Jerome’s.”

“Oh no,” said Leila.

“Oh yes,” said Suki. “They were being pursued by the faction vying for control of the Alexandria Library, and so they fled to the edges of the city, and burrowed beneath the wall to hide. They found the Standard hidden there, and they came to me. I told them I could not read it, but I would work on it. It was not long before I confirmed their suspicion, that the symbols were in fact the words of ancient Alta-Signa.”

“And they believed that if such powerful magic could be contained safely in the Standard, that they should be able to write down some of the old sorceries that were being lost in the post-Roman chaos.”

Again, Suki nodded. “You seem to know how that affair ended.”

Leila nodded mutely.

“I continued work on the Standard for some time, careful to translate as much as I could, while writing as little of the spell down as possible. It was a few years before the Crusader came.”

“Wait, Crusader? Big, nothing-in-shining-armor type?”

“Yes. Now how did you know that?”

“He’s back in town.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but continue.”

“There is little left to tell. The Crusader came, demanding the Standard be turned over to him so that he could take it somewhere safe. If you have seen him, you know why I did not argue. He never told me where he was taking it, or for whom. So why is he back?”

“You’re probably not going to like this...”

* * * *

Mme. Rumella had received little more information, though she had given out many more cookies. She was on the lookout for someone brazen. She scouted through the offices and old classrooms, making her way to the Extinct Languages Wing, until she found her target: a blond woman sitting with her feet on the desk, drinking coffee from a cup that informed the world ‘I’m blond, I’m angry, and I translate’, and poring over a piece of parchment that looked as if it had been assembled from scraps. Mme. Rumella found the mug extremely distasteful, but thought this woman was likely to talk to her.

“Hello, dear,” said Mme. Rumella, as pleasantly as she could, and gave her pretext for being there.

“Nice. Don’t suppose you brought any coffee with you? The stuff in the break room isn’t fit to burn. Actually it kinda is, which is even more worrying.”

“Combustibility isn’t a desirable trait in coffee, I hear. But no, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Ah well,” said the woman, taking another sip of her swill. “Cookie’s good though.”

“Well, I thought you could all use some comfort food,” said Mme. Rumella for the fifth time. “You must all be on edge after the abduction.”

“Oh yeah, it’s terrible,” said the woman through cookie. “Actually, I feel kinda guilty.”

“Oh?” Mme. Rumella said, unobtrusively.

“Last week, there was this Count Dracula type in a big cape outside, asking me if I was an expert on the ancient Near East, which I am, right? But I was creeped out cos he was all creepy, so I’m like ‘no, I do western Europe’. So the guy asks whether I know anyone who is, and I’m like, ‘sure, that guy in there,’ cos you can see Clem’s office from the road. I just want him to leave me alone, and I could swear Clem slept at his desk. I said the first thing that popped into my head. So I leave, but creature of the night sticks around. I thought it was weird, but I never thought the guy would kidnap Clem.”

“Of course you didn’t, dear,” Mme. Rumella murmured sympathetically, handing her a stack of cookies. “You take care.” She turned to leave, but then asked, “Could he do it?”

“What?”

“Could this man, Clement, translate something of a Near-East origin?”

The woman chewed thoughtfully before replying. “Maybe. I mean, he is pretty bright, and basically every language in the eastern hemisphere is related on some level or another. He’d have to be here though. There’s nowhere else where he could get enough reference materials, since he’d pretty much have to teach himself the new language.”

“I see. Thank you,” she said, and exited.

Mme. Rumella headed back to the center of the building. The receptionist respectfully requested more cookies, which Mme. Rumella gave. Grace and Van walked in from the depths of the building. They were talking quietly. Van remained impassive, but from the distressed curl of Grace’s mouth, Mme. Rumella deduced that they had little luck. They greeted each other, at which point Mme. Rumella declared she would wait for Leila to announce her findings.

They wait wasn’t a long one. Moments later Leila came rushing up the hallway from the Imaginary Languages Wing.

“We should watch the building,” she said breathlessly

“What?” Grace and Van both asked.

“I said I think we should watch the building. Especially at night after everyone leaves.”

“I was having the exact same thought,” Mme. Rumella interjected. “Another of the linguists described the kidnapper as a ‘Count Dracula type’.”

“Lionel,” Leila said plaintively.

Mme. Rumella nodded.

“Did she inform the police?” Grace asked.

“Why bother?” Leila asked.

“She also said,” Mme. Rumella drew them back to the subject, “that he could translate the Standard if he could use the resources here. That is why I was going to make Leila’s suggestion.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that,” said Leila. “I met this woman downstairs, Dr. Marion, who wrote an entire paper on the Standard. It’s still here in the archives. If he had it, it wouldn’t take long at all.”

“Oh my.”

“You girls go home. I’ll take the first shift,” said Van.

A Return to Old Haunts

The women agreed and dispersed. Leila and Mme. Rumella returned to the shop to find Mary pulling on the door frame

“You’ll never get it out, dear: it’s attached to the wall.”

Mary looked to the pair. Her eyes were strangely wide, and watery. She blinked twice, much slower than normal. “I’m trying to locate your safeguards. I wanted to see whether I couldn’t add to them. Impressive as they are,” she added

“And you’re doing that by jiggling the door frame?” Leila asked

“I’m in an Incantrance,” Mary told her. “It allows me to see spells, but only spells in motion.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t it be more useful to see all spells?”

“Yes, and when you find someone who can do it, be sure to tell me.”

“Oh.”

“Mary, let’s go inside. We’ve much to discuss.”

“Alright,” said Mary, shaking off her trance. She led the way into the shop, where Mme. Rumella prepared a round of coffees while they told her of the revelations gained at the Mulhoy Institute

“Lionel? I knew he was up to something,” Mary steamed.

“I feel like such a fool. Perhaps the Standard of Ur was an unrelated incident?” Mme. Rumella suggested. “Because I still believe that Lionel no longer possesses the resources to hire underlings, especially ones that are actually good enough to pull off a normal-world robbery.”

“He could just be working for someone else, you know,” Leila told them.

Still, they both discarded the idea, saying it was a matter of pride on Lionel’s part.

“Then again, if he where getting something spectacular enough for himself,” Mme. Rumella mused.

“Since he’s back in the game,” Mary submitted, “perhaps we should check on-”

“By which you mean break into,” Leila interjected.

“-his old haunts,” Mary finished.

“He mainly worked out of that fortified temple,” Mme. Rumella recalled.

“A temple? He must have been powerful to hold on to a temple, right?”

“Well, it isn’t huge, and it’s rather remote.”

“It’s no Versailles,” Mary added.

“How remote?”

“Seventh, B.C.”

“What kind of temple is it?”

“It’s Greek. The Temple of Poseidon, if I’m not mistaken.”

“The Sanctuary at Isthmia? Oh my gosh, you’re joking! I didn’t know that was here in that city. I have to see it! Let’s go. Let’s go now.”

“Do you think she specialized in the Mediterranean area?” Mary asked, cheekily

“Something tells me yes,” Mme. Rumella remarked.

“But you said mainly,” Mary noted. “Did he operate from anywhere else?”

“There was a large house, very old. Well, not Hellenic old, but still, I would say it was British, somewhere not long after the fall of Rome.

“A temple and a mansion? That sounds a bit excessive. Hey, I don’t suppose King Arthur was born there?”

“No, pet, I believe that he was born in a castle.”

“That was joke, y’see...” Leila trailed off.

Mme. Rumella and Mary exchanged a look. “We don’t get it,” Mary said to her

“I take it King Arthur isn’t fictional then,” said Leila.

“Oh my no.”

“He used to live out in that part of town,” Mary expounded, “but he disappeared some time ago.”

“Not that that means he isn’t still alive somewhere,” Mme. Rumella added.

“Of course not,” said Leila.

“Which do we check first?” Mary inquired.

“I say the temple,” Mme. Rumella said. “He did only use the mansion for the one thing.”

“The thing you stopped him doing?” Leila asked.

“The same. It had immense safeguards on it, and may still. In which case it would be frightfully dangerous, but we ought to check it.”

“Um, why?’

Mary decided to field the question before Mme. Rumella could reply. “Because that’s where he went to perpetrate his last ancient-power grab and it appears that he’s working on a similar scheme now.”

“Can we go to the temple first?” Leila asked.

* * * *

Hunter Blue and Voz walked through the forests. They were at the very edges and could still see the city. It was the furthest that anyone even mildly concerned with living would go. Hunter and Voz had both been further. Today, right now at least, they were not looking for a fight, so they stuck to the rim. The forests were arranged much like the city: patches of land from here and there, all forest, all older than the most ancient buildings of Uruk or Ur. A pine forest fell away behind them and was replaced by something more deciduous.

The moving-walkway effect of the city didn’t exist in the forests. It was one careful step after another through all eight hundred miles of foliaceous diameter for those who would travel it.

“If Suerte is really as dangerous as you say,” Voz argued, “maybe you should get extra help.”

“No-one needs more help than you,” Hunter replied

“Come again?”

“I meant that with you as help, no other help would be necessary,” Hunter clarified.

“Oh. Still, I think you should talk to Mme. Rumella. You haven’t seen her in centuries: I think she’d want to hear from you.” Hunter shrugged. Voz pressed on: “Even if she is already busy on some other caper—”

“Which she probably is.”

“—she could still help. You said it yourself, that you still don’t know what he’s up to with this mayor thing. Mme. Rumella is practically famous for getting in the middle of things like that.”

“Maybe,” said Hunter.

“Come on. She’s your friend. You know you want to talk to her.”

Hunter had a particularly low tolerance for pestering. With a lot of people, he would have opted to break their nose with a quick back-fist to the face, but this was Voz. He only just met her, but already it felt as though she were his favorite niece. That and she would just hurt him back, really badly. “Alright, we’ll go.”

Voz smiled girlishly. “Come on,” she said and grabbed him by the arm.

* * * *

Mme. Rumella had collected Benny and the four of them had set off purposefully for the Temple of Poseidon. Leila desperately wanted to see the intact temple, but still insisted on being neither first nor last should they ever have to walk single file. At the moment, they were walking two-by-two, with Mary and Mme. Rumella in the lead. Their Foci were already drawn, even though the were just crossing through the nineteenth. They had started out in the same century, but the temple in question lay in the city’s Third Quarter and they had to cross forward in time before they could go back.

“You notice who’s been conspicuously absent from our lives the past few days?” Mary asked. Mme. Rumella waited for her to answer her own question. “Delilah Runestone.”

Mme. Rumella paused and thought of the events of the past few days. “True,” she finally said.

“You would think that if she were serious about our not getting involved in this, she would do more than warn us once.”

“She did show up in that ridiculous disguise the next day,” Mme. Rumella pointed out.

“Alright, but it’s still not a great follow-up, is it?”

“No, and in fact I’m beginning to think that she was exercising a bit of reverse psychology on us.”

“You think she wants us to get involved? Why wouldn’t she just say so?”

“If a dark sorceress came to you and asked you for a favor, would you grant it?” Mme. Rumella inquired.

“I see your point. I just wonder what her part is in all of this.”

“Perhaps she knew of Lionel’s plan, and wanted to set two of the city’s notorious trouble-makers onto it,” Mme. Rumella suggested and they shared a smile.

Leila glanced briefly into the lowering autumn sun. She had paid to have her glasses enchanted so that they changed tone immediately depending on the light. Much quicker than normal-world glasses, but then it could be disconcerting when your field of vision kept getting brighter or darker depending on where you looked.

She and Benny walked a few paces behind the other pair.

“I’m beginning to think I should have stayed behind,” Leila said. “I only seem to get in the way during these things.”

“These things?” Benny repeated

“Yeah. Admittedly I’ve only done these things twice before, but both times I was un-useful.”

“When was that?”

“Did your aunt tell you about finding the Standard of Ur at that Spanish villa?”

“I think she mentioned it, yeah.”

“I basically did nothing before I was rendered unconscious. The last time was when I first came to the city. I dropped right out of the air—”

A small safe popped into existence ten feet above the ground, and crashed to the ground. Benny and Leila side stepped it with practiced ease

“Like that,” Leila continued.

“I wish people would be more careful when they dispelled things,” Benny commented.

“Well, I landed right on the sidewalk outside the tea shop. Twisted my ankle pretty bad. Mme. Rumella came out to help me, and she was in the middle of some caper—”

“As ever,” Benny interjected.

“—and I got roped into it.”

“What was it? Robbery, theft, murder, arson?”

“Murder. We finally tracked the bastard down. The Peelers were no where to be seen, of course. We broke into his place, he was behind the door with, get this, a frying pan. He knocks me out, and the next thing I know, I wake up in the shop, and the murderer is spirited away to wherever the Peelers put murderers. I don’t even know how she did it, and now I’m walking into a necromancer’s castle? I can only hope all I get is unconscious and not undead.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’ll protect you,” said Benny

“You’d better,” said Leila.

The temple loomed ahead of them as the afternoon dwindled. It rested on a slightly raised piece of earth. There was daylight ahead, but the sky above was already tinged with orange. The triangular top of the temple was just visible over the perimeter wall.

Mary stopped them at the wall. There was no gate to speak of. “I’d better run a check,” she said, hefting a small stone of the path and throwing it over. It landed with a clacking noise on the path within

“That’s running a check?” Leila asked incredulously.

“Did you hear anything happen to it?” Mary asked in answer

“No, but... Ah whatever.”

Mary flicked her wrist outward. The baton she had been carrying became a torch. She cast the feather spell and leapt over the rustic wall. Mme. Rumella followed suit.

“I so can’t do that one,” Leila said ruefully.

“Not to sweat,” said Benny, as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. He removed his wand from the pocket of his flight jacket and pronounced, “Icarus.”

“Wait, that’s not the same spell.”

“No,” was Benny’s only reply.

The pair lifted slowly up from the ground until they hovered about a foot above. Then they shot up, over the peaked wall and into the air above the courtyard of the temple. Mme. Rumella and Mary were walking cautiously forward, Foci out and ready for any sign of trouble. They looked up as a rush of air announced Benny and Leila’s arrival.

Mary shook her head and muttered ‘idiots’ to the floor.

“Benny! Get down here right now!” Mme. Rumella pointed her wand and called, “Catena!” A length of chain burst forward impossibly from the Focus to wrap itself around Benny’s ankle. Mme. Rumella ordered the chain to retract, and Benny was dragged to the earth as each link disappeared back whence it came.

“Hey!” Benny protested.

“No,” said Mme. Rumella. “Don’t. You can show off for Leila another time, one when we are not doing something dangerous. A basic tip that will keep you in good stead: when breaking into the necromancer’s fortress, being conspicuous is incredibly stupid.”

“Sorry, auntie,” he mumbled.

“Mme. Rumella, I’m sure he didn’t mean-”

“Not now, pet. Come on, two at a time until we reach the door,” she ordered and turned away.

She and Mary lead the way again. “And stay sharp. Usually when there are no outer defenses, it means the inner ones are twice as deadly,” Mary advised.

Their path remained quiet on the short distance to temple. There were half a dozen pillars on the short wall, and a small space before a solid wall.

“The opening is around back,” Leila explained. She looked at the inner side of the defensive wall. “There sure are a lot of porticoes,” she noted. “Actually, I expected that: they were excavated in the normal world a while ago. But how can you tell which one leads to the normal world?”

“That one,” said the others, pointing.

Leila said nothing, just walked off down the length of the building. She rounded the wall into the antechamber and stood staring. The original open doorway had been closed of by a giant set of black lacquered doors with iron handles that reached all the way to the ceiling.

“That unbelievable bastard! How could he do this to an ancient Doric temple. How? This is horrible,” Leila fumed as the others appeared behind her. “And tacky. This isn’t vegas.”

Everyone looked the door over. Mary tapped four points around it with her Focus. “Stand back,” she warned. “Apriti Inferno,” she said, and the door exploded inward in a thousand shiny, black fragments.

“You need to teach me that,” Benny announced after a moment’s stunned pause.

“Some other time,” said Mary, blowing on her torch to light it.

“You know that sort of sounded like you were opening the gates of hell,” Leila remarked as they stepped through burning debris of door.

Mary’s only note came in the form of a ‘hmm’ as she pressed forward into the temple. Leila choked on the smoke of the burning lacquer. Benny was behind her, glancing over his shoulder every so often. Leila had removed her fountain pen from her breast pocket. For all the good it’ll do, she thought bitterly.

They looked around the interior space. There was a large altar at the far side of the room. The temple was fairly large, but open and it didn’t take much of an inspection to reveal it as empty.

“This is beautiful,” said Leila. “The only thing on this spot in the normal world is like three columns and a bunch of rubble. The site is on an isthmus, hence the name Isthmia. There were some fortifications here in the 12th century, B.C., but the site was abandoned because twelve-to-eight hundred B.C. was basically the dark ages for Greece. The country was seriously depopulated, and they hardly built anything, but then there was a population boom, and they built this Temple of Poseidon. The Isthmian Games started here in the five hundreds, but it looks like the temple appeared in the city before the sports complex was built. Which is too bad, since I’d really like to get a look at-”

“Leila!” Mme. Rumella whispered urgently. “Could you please be quiet? We don’t know what may be waiting for us round the next corner.”

“I’ll tell you what. Dust. That’s all we’ve seen so far, dust and that broken chair in the corner. It’s obvious that nobody has lived here for a while. If they ever did. Are you sure this is even where that Lionel guy lived?”

“Certain,” Mme. Rumella replied. “Look down.”

“Oh no,” said Leila. There was a large Oriental rug on the ground. “If what I think is under there is actually under there, I’m going to be vein-burstingly angry.”

Mme. Rumella grabbed one corner of the red and gold carpet and Leila another. They threw it off to reveal the trap door.

“Never let me near him,” Leila said through gritted teeth, “I will tear him limb from limb I swear, I swear I’ll do it. That, or get him a job decorating at the Luxor.”

The space below appeared to be a castle dungeon. Mary lit her torch: the ones on the wall were out. There was a living space and a large bed with black linens that Mary cracked jokes about whenever she got the chance

There were several cells along one wall. One was occupied by a trio of cobwebbed skeletons. Leila closed her eyes and asked aloud, “Those are real, aren’t they?”

“Probably, yes.”

The space below appeared to be a match in dimensions for the space above, and just as devoid of necromancers. There was another Oriental rug. Leila kicked it aside, but there was just a stone floor beneath it.

“There’s nothing here. We should go,” she said.

“I fear you’re right. This place has been uninhabited for some time. If Lionel moved, it must be for a reason,” Mme. Rumella mused

“Maybe he couldn’t pay the rent,” said Leila. Everyone looked at her. “Okay, joke.”

“I should hope so, pet.”

“So what now?” Mary inquired.

“I don’t know,” said Leila, “but I’d be grateful if we could discuss it elsewhere.”

Mme. Rumella agreed, cast the feather spell and leapt from the nearest window. The others followed.

* * * *

Delilah Runestone cast the feather spell and leapt over the fence at St. Vrain manor, heading to her favorite window. Tina Virtue’s advice was still ringing in her ears from the previous day. Perhaps it would be easier if she weren’t doing this alone. They might believe her, after all, she had a reputation for being dangerous, but it was nowhere near as bad a reputation as Mary, Queen of Scots’ was. And she was a good guy. Plus, she had no evil schemes on her record as yet. Still, she had her doubts. There was a small voice in the back of her mind, telling her that she must do this alone. As much as she wanted to tell it to shut up, it rang true, and Delilah had resigned herself to that truth, to this course.

In her distracted walk across the garden, she had almost walked straight into the wall. She barely stopped herself, and quickly ducked into naked bushes under the office window. The street nearby was already dark, but the sun was only now setting. She could see no sun, fairly usual in the city, but the sky above was tinged orange and cooling rapidly.

Delilah settled herself in to listen. Suerte would be mayor in a matter of days, that she knew. The thing that was bothering her, to the point of distraction, was that she had no idea what he was up to. Other than a rather flashy death wish, she saw no reason why someone would want to be mayor of the Woven City. There must be something she was missing. When in doubt, eavesdrop. Or at least, that was Delilah’s current philosophy. She hoped Suerte would say something specific about his plans. He had received a report from what sounded like somewhere outside the city, from a ‘Mr. Trainer’. Deiliah wondered if it was Holden Trainer. She hoped that, if it was in fact him, he wouldn’t be showing up for a while yet. Trainer was a top-flight professional bad guy, and there were enough of them on the scene already.

The Spanish-accented voice came out through the window as the candidate whisked into the office. He sounded upset. His voice was overloud and layered with anxiety. “Are you sure there wasn’t a woman with him?” Suerte demanded. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“We’re sure,” came a second, beefy sort of voice. “It was just the one little guy.”

Suerte uttered something in Spanish that, Delilah was relatively certain, was terribly rude. “That’s not a hell of a lot better,” Suerte spat at the other man, tripping a little over the colloquial phrase.

Delilah frowned. What was he talking about?

“Listen,” said the second voice impatiently, “the Service sent over two full dozen more guards. Half of them are top rated, and know a lot more offensive sorcery than the rest of us, but it’s going to cost you.”

“You’ll be paid when I am in office,” Suerte assured him

The man didn’t reply, not verbally at least. Suerte wasn’t talking about his plans for that office, but suddenly Delilah was more interested in the mysterious ‘little guy’ who had the candidate so rattled.

“Care to join me in a drink?” Suerte asked over the clinking of glass.

“Just one,” said the second man.

They were quiet. Delilah wondered whether she should wait and see if something else would be said. Her question was answered for her as a cry went up and half a dozen large men in dark suits appeared, rushing around the side of the building, nightsticks in hand. Each one had a small gold star pinned to his lapel. These must be the top rated men she had heard of. Delilah had tucked her Focus back up the sleeve of today’s black dress, but there was something she could do without it. Her eyes flashed and the world became painfully black. The guards we immediately lost and disoriented. Delilah alone could see the blackness. Suerte rushed to look out the window. From the outside, the blackness was a strange amorphous shape, with jagged edges everywhere. Some jutted into his house, and the walls there ceased to exist. He swore and ran like hell.

Delilah flicked the wand from up her sleeve. She said an old Japanese word, the infinitive ‘to bind’. Sorcerous ropes of a twisting blue-black leapt from her open hand to one of the guards. They were still running, albeit in a scattered fashion now. The ropes secured themselves around his hands and feet. His momentum carried him forward and he planted his face in the withered grass. In the darkness, he appeared to be floating. His surprised shout set off a volley of force-of-light orbs from the others. Red and yellow orbs flew this way and that. One guard managed to hit another in the face with a yellow one. He flew into what Delilah could tell was the mansion’s wall and slid to the ground. She quickly bound the guard who had fired the shot.

From the spring in her step, she could tell that the feather spell had yet to wear off. She leapt towards one of the other guards, carrying easily through the air. Approaching, she pointed the heel of her boot towards his face. It made contact with a satisfying crack as the guard was pushed to the ground. Delilah landed softly with her heel still on his temple, then stepped off and kicked him in the back of the head for good measure. She could sense the blackness beginning to weaken. It could only last for so long, she knew. She quickly bound the last two, recast the feather spell, just in case, and leapt away from the scene. The blackness flickered out, and she had to close her eyes for a moment before she could survey the scene. The six top men lay fallen all about the yard, four still awake and struggling futilely against their bonds. Delilah smiled wickedly and leapt away along the rooftops into the waning light.

* * * *

On the walk back, the Mary and the others had already decided to call it a day. It was getting dark. Dark was no time to sneak into the necromancer’s manor if you didn’t have to.

The tea shop came into view as they entered the curving street a short distance away. Mme. Rumella noticed two indistinct figures sitting at the bar. As they came into focus, she recognized the first as Voz. And the second.

Mme. Rumella rushed to the head of the group and entered. There he was. “Hunter Blue!”

“Hi,” he said, with what could be considered a sheepish wave.

She shuffled across the room and gave him a big hug. “Well, blue-eyes, what brings you back to town? Have you heard about Lionel?” Mme. Rumella inquired, puzzled.

“Lionel? No,” Hunter replied as Mary silently shepherded the others to the far side of the room.

“Just here to visit me, are you? I knew you couldn’t stay away forever,” Mme. Rumella said slyly.

Hunter grinned. “Actually that’s not it. I’m here for Suerte,” he revealed

“The mayoral candidate Suerte? Why?”

“He was the one,” Hunter said.

Mme. Rumella appeared puzzled once again. “The one who...?”

“He killed her. He killed Annalisa.”

“Oh, Hunter so he was the other person in the manor.”

The others looked on from the far corner while pretending not to look on from the far corner. A wooden chess set that was intended to stay in the far corner, but often found itself on other parts of the floor, lay in front of them. Leila absently arranged the pieces in the proper initial order

“What’s their deal?” Leila whispered to Mary

“Hunter was one of the people who helped Mme. Rumella stop Lionel last time. He disappeared afterwards,” Mary disclosed. “Do you play?”

“Um... Sure,” said Leila.

Mme. Rumella broke off and attempted to straighten out Hunter’s shirt. “Would you like a cookie? I have some left over from this morning,” she offered.

“This morning?” Hunter inquired.

Mme. Rumella quickly explained the situation and this morning’s trip to the Mulhoy, as well as the temple search from which they had just returned.

“So he’s out of the temple?”

“Not just out, but long gone as well. There was dust an inch thick in there.”

“Temples get dusty,” Hunter shrugged.

“Perhaps,” said Mme. Rumella. “Would you like to help us with this?”

Hunter’s mouth twitched. “Maybe,” was all he said.

“Come on: ancient, written sorceries. It’s bound to be dangerous,” she enticed.

Hunter grinned again. “Alright, but I’m still busy with Suerte. I don’t want to risk that one woman getting to him before I do.”

Mme. Rumella frowned. “What woman is that?”

“I don’t know who she is, but she’s been eavesdropping under Suerte’s window often enough. No idea what she’s up to.”

“What does she look like?” Mme. Rumella asked urgently

Hunter told her.

“Won’t you excuse me for a moment? And do help yourself to cookies,” she said, summoning them. The safeguard prevented instantaneous summoning even within the building, but on command, the leftover cookies lifted themselves off the counter of the upstairs kitchen and flew downstairs. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried across the room. “Mary!”

“What is it?” Mary asked, pondering her next move on the chess board in front of her.

“Hurry up,” Leila implored.

“Patience,” said Mary.

“It’s Delilah, Mary,” Mme. Rumella intoned

Mary looked over her shoulder at Mme. Rumella. “Where?”

“Outside Suerte Headquarters, apparently.”

“What’s she doing out there?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” said Mme. Rumella. “But it is something to think about. As I earlier suggested, perhaps her point in telling us not to get involved was in fact the opposite. Perhaps she wants us to work on finding the Standard for her while she does other work.”

“Like crouching in the brush?” Mary asked, skeptical

Mme. Rumella shrugged. “Something to think about,” she said once again, and returned to Hunter, who had polished off nearly a dozen cookies in her short time away. “You’re going to ruin your diet.”

“I’ve been eating game for the past three centuries. To hell with my diet,” he said through cookie.

“So may I ask how you came to be here with Voz?”

“Suerte is dangerous. I thought I might need help.”

“Well, you certainly picked the most helpful person in the city,” Mme. Rumella remarked. “How did you get her to work with out?”

Hunter explained. “It’s like I’ve been her favorite uncle forever, even though we’ve never met.”

“And how is that?”

“Nice,” said Hunter, as though the word were foreign to him. “Weird, but nice. She’s the one who convinced me to come visit you, actually.”

“You weren’t going to come?” Mme. Rumella asked.

“Er, well...”

“Hunter, honestly. You disappear for centuries, then come back and don’t even want to say ‘hello’? For shame.”

“Sorry, Mme. Rumella.”

Mme. Rumella nodded satisfactorily. “You know, Hunter, if Suerte is who you say, there’s still something I don’t understand: No-one in the city has ever heard of him. How is it possible that he’s been here for that long and word never spread to anyone?”

“He was very careful. He managed to become a major underworld figure without anyone knowing it. Maybe he worked through agents, maybe he simply planted the command to forget him in everyone’s mind. Personally, I think all his years distributing sorcerous merchandise was just leading up to this election.”

“But what could anyone do with the post of mayor?” Mme. Rumella asked

“I don’t know. But you can be sure that with Suerte, it’s not his civic pride.”

Mme. Rumella announced that she needed some time to think, and prepared tea for everyone. Mary trounced Leila at chess, and Hunter and Voz were invited to stay at the shop, for purposes of security. They accepted, and Mme. Rumella made up two more guest beds. As she was slipping on a pillow case, Leila caught her arm.

“Mme. Rumella, can I ask you something?”

“You may,” she replied

“What’s the deal?”

“Pardon?”

“With this Hunter guy. Mary told me he helped you stop Lionel, then disappeared.”

“First of all, pet, I told you that last week. It is true though. He disappeared into the forests immediately afterwards, and only just returned.”

“But why? What was he doing?”

“Hunting,” she smiled. Then, more seriously, added, “For Suerte apparently.”

“The mayor guy?”

“The same. You remember the crystals that where the Focus of Lionel’s spell? Well, he had to get it somewhere, and his supplier happened to be none other than Mr. Suerte. When I smashed the first crystal, someone appeared out of nowhere to take the second.”

“What happened?”

Mme. Rumella closed her eyes. “I heard that it was a terrible struggle. Mr. Suerte, it would appear, is far more dangerous than he looks. Hunter got there a moment too late to save Analisa, and Suerte escaped.”

“Annalisa? That was his wife?”

Mme. Rumella nodded. “Annalisa Da Cartagio. She was... Amazing, actually. She truly was. And she and Hunter were so in love. After Lionel was defeated, Hunter went after Suerte. I suppose he couldn’t find him in the city, and so he went into the forests.”

“Da Cartagio? Kind of a funny name.”

“Well, she was originally from ancient Carthage.”

“How ancient?”

“You’ve heard of Dido?”

“That’s pretty ancient.” Leila paused, deciding, and finally asked the question on her mind. “I... I don’t want to sound all Machiavellian or anything, but... Why didn’t you just kill him? Lionel, I mean.”

“Who says we didn’t, pet?”

“What?”

“He’s a necromancer, remember. The lines between life and death can get a touch blurry when one deals with that ilk,” Mme. Rumella informed her.

“So he’s dead?”

“You saw him last week in Teo,” Mme. Rumella reminded her. “Did he look dead?”

“No... So he’s alive.”

“Relatively speaking.”

Leila glared at her. “I’m going to go and find Jason Oblivion. Even he would be less opaque than you.”

“Ouch, pet, that really stings!”

“Shut up.”

* * * *

The next day dawned, and streams of customers poured into Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. Hunter and Mary were the first of her house guests to rise, followed by Leila, then Voz, and finally her young nephew. During a break, Mme. Rumella walked over to them, all hanging about in the back corner.

“Would you break it up a little, please? You look incredibly suspicious and you’re garnering attention.”

Jason Oblivion walked up behind her. “I barely noticed you,” he said

“Hear that? If someone is watching us, they would know that we’re all working together. Now please disperse,” Mme. Rumella ordered and returned to the bar.

“If someone with any sense in their head is watching us, they’d see me, Hunter, and Mary together and run for the mountains,” Voz remarked.

Hunter gave a wry smile and Mary snickered lowly.

“Still, maybe we should,” Leila suggested. “Why ruin the surprise? I’m gonna run across the street and grab some work,” she said and did

Mary challenged someone to a game of chess, and Voz accepted. The morning was uneventful until Grace Owen appeared.

“Hey guys. Remember that whole ‘maybe we should watch the building’ idea from yesterday? Perhaps one of us, meaning one of you since Van and I have already taken long shifts, should go do that.”

Mary volunteered and stood to leave. “Only because you’re losing,” Voz taunted.

Mary bent down and moved her sole remaining knight. “Check.”

Voz glared at the board and moved her king to the right. Mary slid a rook down the board. “Checkmate.”

“Damn,” said Voz. “Should have seen that coming.”

Grace walked with Mary to the Mulhoy, since her building was nearby. “I’ll tell you what Van told me: nothing happened. You’re probably going to wish you’d brought a book. In fact I was thinking that Lionel probably wouldn’t walk in there in broad daylight, so maybe we should just wait until dark to watch the place, that way we don’t have to waste our time sitting around all day.”

“No,” Mary disagreed. “It’s best that we have someone there at all times. Lionel, however much it may pain me to say it, is fairly crafty, and might just find a way to get in without being noticed.”

“The place is swarming with people,” Grace protested. “People who all know and work with Jones.”

“New kids,” Mary sighed.

As the Mulhoy came into view round the bend, Mary and Grace said their good-byes and Mary leapt up to the vantage point Grace had pointed out to her. The next building was a hotel from Israel, and taller than the Mulhoy, but not so tall that it was impossible to see in the institute’s windows. Grace had pointed out the fire escape. Mary laughed at her and promised to teach her the feather spell at a later date.

Mary regretted not having brought a coffee, and in five minutes was completely bored. She summoned herself a chair and glanced occasionally down at the Mulhoy as she examined fabric swatches. She still had yet to cover the ‘old lobster and lemon’ couch. Mary herself liked the red, but the yellow was blinding and the pattern gave her a headache. In the end, she did go with a good, bright red, since the room in general was so sedate.

It was early afternoon. Mary wished they had discussed how long the shifts were to last, and fervently hoped Mme. Rumella or that nephew of hers would come to relieve her. She thought of the new wrinkle they had learned of the previous night: Delilah Runestone eavesdropping on the mayoral candidate. Would he become mayor as Fernando predicted, Mary wondered, supposing she would learn after election day. When is election day, though?

Her thoughts drifted back to Delilah. She tried to see the connection between the Standard and the mayor, and the only thing she could think of was Lionel. Perhaps they were in league together? But why would Suerte, even if he had been, as Mme. Rumella informed her, Lionel’s old supplier, join forces with him now that Lionel’s star had faded? Mary shook her head. She had no idea what Suerte was up to, or what he wanted, so she could draw no reasonable conclusions. Every time they seemed to figure one thing out, something or someone new would arrive on the scene and render all their theories obsolete. Or in this case a whole group of things, including Suerte, Delilah Runestone, Hunter Blue and Voz. A part of Mary didn’t trust Voz. Usually she took no interest in events, and that suited Mary fine. Why would she suddenly join up with Hunter? Because he had attempted to murder her mother? Even in this world, that explanation was highly suspect. Or maybe I’m being paranoid, Mary suggested to herself.

* * * *

Leila wanted to take the day off of intrigues and finish wading through the morass of the Osiris papers. Benny wanted a little actual rest on his vacation. Hunter was anxious to get to Suerte Headquarters and keep watch, so that he would be close enough to act when the moment arrived. Voz had no specific preference, but thought perhaps that they should all listen to Mme. Rumella, as she seemed to have a sense of these things.

“I’m telling you,” Mme. Rumella insisted. “It’s been, what, ten days since the Crusader first arrived, which means it’s been that amount of time, plus however long it took him to travel from wherever it is he came, plus the time it took for the people guarding the Standard to notice it was missing and send him. It’s all coming to a head, and soon. We can’t afford to wait round any longer. We’re relatively sure that Lionel is the one with the Standard, and soon the means to use it. If that’s true, he’s almost undoubtedly at the mansion. We need to go and find whether it is, and hopefully stop him today.”

She looked around her.

“I agree,” Voz piped up. “Let’s you and me go, at least.”

“We’re off then,” said Mme. Rumella, unfastening her apron

“Wait, auntie, I’ll come too,” Benny said

“Yeah okay,” said Leila. She tapped the Osiris papers with her pen and they zoomed across the street to the museum to deposit themselves in the proper place. Or so she hoped

Hunter nodded gruffly and they exited, Mme. Rumella quickly snatching her purse on the way.

The mansion was a few centuries out. Not as old as St. Vrain, for example, but equally abandoned as that place had been a few weeks ago. Memories tended to stick around in the Woven City, and people still recalled what had happened here centuries ago. It had been here only a few months when Lionel took it over. He had wanted somewhere central.

Mme. Rumella mused that she was acquiring more assistance on this caper than was the average. Come to think, the last time this many people had gotten involved with her ventures was back when she was last at the very mansion she now approached. Leila again caught her arm.

“I know this is off topic,” she began, “but you said your nephew was eighteen, right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, he’s big, but looking at his face, I would have to guess he was maybe sixteen.”

“Children grow at different rates, pet, especially here. He’s as old as he could hope to look at his age. You should see some of his university friends: they look twelve.”

“Thank God I didn’t come here till I was in my twenties,” Leila declared.

Mme. Rumella chuckled. The mansion finally came into view. The smile fell from her face as she examined it. They were still in sun, but she could see the dark clouds looming in the sky above the house. They stepped into the patch of land on which the mansion sat, and the world darkened. Leila shivered despite herself. “It’s just a creepy mansion with dark storm clouds. Nothing to be worried about,” she quietly assured herself.

“Now that’s a pathetic fallacy if ever I saw one,” Benny announced. Everyone stared at him. “Sorry, we were just talking about them in English...”

They examined the place with a mix foreboding, suspense, and contempt before climbing the small staircase to the front door. Mme. Rumella announced that she wished Mary were here to perform an Incantrance, so they could look for safeguards.

“I can only hear a few,” said Voz, “but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a whole lot of quiet ones.”

“You can hear magic?” Leila asked, incredulous

“Yes.”

“And I wish you would stop calling it ‘magic’ instead of sorcery,” Mme. Rumella chimed in. “It sounds so tacky.”

“It doesn’t really make sounds so much as little vibrations, but that’s what sound is, basically,” Voz expounded. “Not all sorceries do it though.”

“So what, the big ones are louder and the little ones are quieter?” Leila asked.

“It had nothing to do with size or complexity. It’s just the nature of the spell.”

“That’s helpful.”

“I can’t explain it any better than that, so you’ll have to live with it,” said Voz crossly. She pointed at the door. “There are a couple on the door. I can’t tell what they do, but it’s bound to be bad.”

“So do we fly through a window?” Benny suggested.

“It’s always flying, isn’t it?” Mme. Rumella asked.

“No, I’ll get it,” said Voz. She leaned down and removed a poorly cared-for wand from her leather boot. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone what I’m about to do.”

“What are you about to do?” Leila worried

“Protect you,” she answered. “It’s actually pretty simple. However sorcerous, my voice still needs a medium to travel through. If I create one field-of-force around you, then another exactly on top of it, and then expand the outer one, my voice can’t penetrate. Just...don’t look at it too closely.”

“A vacuum,” Leila said, catching on. “Clever.”

“Thanks,” said Voz, and performed the spells. Then she rounded on the house, and screamed. The air tore open. Something black appeared, from nowhere, from the space between spaces. Leila was glad to see that it came nowhere near them. Instead, it hit the large double doors which, along with a fair section of the front wall, was blasted to splinters. Wood and plaster rained into the entryway.

Voz stopped screaming and cancelled the force fields.

“We sure know how to make an entrance,” came Leila’s dry remark

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hot when you do that?”

“Benny!” cried Mme. Rumella and Leila in unison, Leila slapping his arm and Mme. Rumella hitting him with her purse.

Benny was still smiling as he drew his Focus and started forward. The others followed suit. There were no light sources inside, and the heavy cloud cover let little sun through. They crept forward cautiously into the gaping hole. In classic fashion, they split up to search the house. Hunter’s arquebus was in his hands, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He and Voz quietly ascended the stair.

Hunter leapt into the upstairs hallway, sweeping left and right with his gun. Voz casually peeked her head round from behind him to observe the empty hall. All the doors were open, save the one at the far right of the hallway, facing them.

“I’ll take the left,” said Hunter economically. He stuck the barrel of his gun into the first room on his side of the hallway. Empty. There was a large armoire on the far wall. Hunter crept forward and flung open the door to find nothing but a moth-eaten dressing gown.

Voz gingerly peeked in each room, but could tell they were empty. If someone were so much as breathing within, she would have heard them. She waited for Hunter by the final door. “Took you long enough,” she said. He shot her an unimpressed look and gestured to the closed door with his chin. She stepped to the side as he kicked it open. They peered within.

“Dear lord,” said Voz. “Who ever thought that paisley curtains were a good idea?” she asked, indicating the decaying articles flapping in the breeze of the open window.

Hunter ignored her. “Must’ve just been the wind. Come on.”

Voz followed him as he exited.

* * * *

“This is it,” Mme. Rumella informed the others as they reached the bottom of the long stairwell.

“It’s two stories tall. Kind of excessive for a basement, don’t you think?” Leila asked to the room.

“What’s with all the knickknack shelves?” Benny inquired

“That’s where all the assorted sorcerous objets d’art were placed,” Mme. Rumella informed him. “And here,” she said, indicating a small wooden table with a round top, “is where the crystals went.”

“So how did you get close enough to smash the big crystal?” Leila asked.

“Like so.” Mme. Rumella tapped on the wall directly behind the wooden table. It sounded hollowly. “Apriti,” she said, and tapped it with he wand. The false wall came open with a push. “He put the crystal into place and the spell began. Lionel assumed he would be safe within the sweep of the spell. He was nearly right. The others tried to break in. Especially poor Hunter,” she added sadly. “I made my way round the edges and smashed the crystal.”

“How?”

“Like so,” she replied, and her wand became a ten-pound sledge. “Nothing so extravagant as Mary’s, I’m afraid, but nonetheless effective when you want something smashed.”

“Nice,” said Leila appreciatively.

Mme. Rumella returned her wand to its normal form as Hunter and Voz entered. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Voz answered.

Leila sighed. “And to think,” she said, “I was all excited about there being no such thing as a breaking and entering charge here. If we break into one more empty building, I’m gonna hit something fragile with something heavy.”

“I don’t know where else he might be,” said Mme. Rumella despairingly.

“Back to the shop?” Benny suggested.

“Barring a more useful idea,” said Mme. Rumella and they all turned to leave.

* * * *

As they entered the shop, Leila voiced a question that had been bothering her. “I know we’re watching the Mulhoy- and it makes sense- but are we doing anything to find the other evil types?”

“Pet, we’ve returned from doing that,” said Mme. Rumella, frankly a bit puzzled.

“I know, but watching the Mulhoy and breaking into the mansion and stuff, they were both for Lionel. What about Delilah Runestone or that other dark sorcerer guy?”

“The thing about dark sorcerers,” said Mary from a chair where no-one had noticed her, “is that they know how to disappear.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hello. Since none of us know where Delilah lives, it’s nearly impossible to track her,” Mary continued.

“Sounds like a challenge,” said Hunter.

“Good luck,” said Mary.

“Luckily for us,” Mme. Rumella added, “Wyyla the sprite knows where Damon McLenen lives, and in fact is watching him for us.”

“As for Ruin,” Mary concluded; “he would be the most likely to kill a person if he so much as suspected that he was being followed.”

“Oh,” said Leila, defeated, and crashed into the nearest comfortable chair.

“By the way,” Mary said, “Van is taking another shift at the Mulhoy, but he would ask that another one of us watch it tomorrow, since I was there all day, and he and Grace have split two night shifts.”

“I fear I’ve been neglecting the shop,” said Mme. Rumella. “Benny?”

Benny, who knew instantly that he was going to do it, groaned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come hang out, keep you company,” said Leila. “I would do it myself, but I’m next to useless.”

“Leila!” Mme. Rumella cried in protest

“Unless you need a reasonably accurate guess on the date of something old and don’t have time to wait for a carbon dating test,” she added

Mme. Rumella sighed resignedly and offered to make tea.

* * * *

Benny and Leila rose early the next morning and headed center and round to the Mulhoy Institute. There, they were greeted by bleary-eyed Grace Owen. Benny summoned up a second chair for Leila to sit upon and the settled in for a long day of watching. Around midday, Mme. Rumella ducked quickly over with a steaming soup of winter vegetables and a coffee for each of them.

“Perfect thing for a fall day out,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but it’s frightfully busy back at the shop.”

“We understand,” said Leila. “Thanks for the food.”

“Anytime, pet, anytime,” said Mme. Rumella as she wandered away.

“Check it out,” said Leila as they ate. “There, in the third floor hallway.” She pointed and Benny saw there a man and woman, berating each other and gesticulating wildly with hands full of what were hopefully not important papers. “Lovers’ tiff?”

“Professional disagreement,” Benny proclaimed.

“Care to wager one of those little silver cube things on it?” Leila asked as the argument continued.

“You’re on.”

The woman slapped the man with her paper-free hand.

“I think you’ve just won,” he said.

“Unless he broke her favorite coffee mug. We academic-types are very attached to our mugs,” she added.

They chatted idly for the rest of the day. Nothing so eventful as the fight happened down in the Mulhoy, at least nothing that the pair could see from their vantage point. The autumn air grew steadily chillier as the sun over their building lowered itself steadily down. The Mulhoy was maybe an hour or so earlier in the day, and it was barely sunset there when the building which Benny and Leila sat atop was completely dark. “Great for skulking,” Leila remarked, and Benny agreed with her. There was a strange scraping, rustling sort of noise as Grace Owen struggled up the fire escape in a heavy coat.

She pulled herself onto the ceiling and collapsed for a moment, breathing hard.

“Someone really needs to teach you how to fly,” Benny told her.

“Don’t I know,” Grace gasped.

“There’s a little left over soup here, if you want it,” he offered.

“That’d be great,” she said, not moving. “So how’ve you all been? Good, I hope.”

“We’re fine,” said Leila. “Why are you back? Shouldn’t Van be taking a shift?”

“He told me he had a headache,” Grace answered, finally picking herself off the ceiling. “Personally I think he has a date, but he never tells me.”

“Why not?”

“My guess is because I tease him mercilessly every time,” said Grace.

“That would explain it,” said Leila. “Anyway, we’re going to jet if you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Grace replied.

Leila smiled. “I’m so happy that I’ve finally found someone who knows what I mean by that.”

“This place does take some getting used to,” said Grace.

Leila and Benny set off back to the tea shop. Mary, Hunter, and Voz were all there. Voz lost another chess match to Mary while Hunter habitually polished his gun.

“Nothing?” Mme. Rumella asked from her place behind the bar

“Nothing,” Leila sighed. “Maybe Grace will have better luck than we did,” she said with false hope.

* * * *

Clement Jones set down his notes and gave the Standard of Uruk an appraising look. The man, the strange, Count Dracula-looking fellow who never bothered to introduce himself, definitely seemed convinced of its importance. Clement had asked for information: where the man had gotten it, why he wanted it translated. Clement told him that most of the time, when someone found an ancient letter or tablet, or in this case cylinder, inscribed with ancient words, usually it was something mundane. Letters to friends, sales records, some interesting dynastic history if you were lucky. But his kidnapper, when he would appear, kept mumbling mostly-incoherent phrases like ‘will change everything’ and ‘life and death’. That, and threatening Clement with bodily harm.

Clement was by all accounts a low-key sort of person, but he was beginning to get irritated. He hadn’t had a shower or a decent meal in days, he was in the middle of examining some very unusual inscriptions on some Etruscan statuary, and he was getting absolutely nowhere with this stupid, duress-full project.

He took off his glasses to give his eyes a rest and leaned back in his chair. It made a precarious squeaking noise. From outside, Clement suddenly heard voices. He slipped over and pressed his ear to the crack in the door (which despite its fair width he had found impossible to pry). His captor was speaking with someone. And he sounded very distressed. Clement was ambivalent. He enjoyed his captor’s discomfort, but worried it would roll down onto him.

“He says he can’t do it without going back to the institute,” his captor said.

“It’s dangerous. They’re bound to be watching the place. What if they catch you?” The other voice sounded darker, more dangerous, and a touch angry.

His captor replied with a bit more backbone than before. “I can handle them.”

“I doubt it,” came the other voice.

“We’ll be careful,” his captor hissed. “But if you want this thing done, we must go,” he pronounced.

“Fine,” the other voice replied. “Do it. I’ll provide...a little distraction,” said the other, euphemistically.

Clement frowned as he pondered that last announcement. He pondered the identity of the ‘they’ to whom the unknown other had referred, and what he meant by ‘distraction’. It didn’t sound pleasant. At the sound of footsteps, Clement retreated to his chair.

“Come on,” his captor ordered. “We’re going.”

* * * *

Wyyla, in her normal, barely macroscopic size, perched on Damon McLenen’s windowsill, wishing she needed to sleep more hours of the day just so that she could have an excuse not to be here. Keeping watch was unendingly boring. She raised one tiny hand and considered going to a manicurist.

Below, at a wrought iron garden table, with matching chair, Delilah Runestone sat, thinking similar thoughts, with the exception of the part about the manicure. Nobody had bothered filling her in on how much of intrigue was waiting.

At the same time, she felt the increasing pressure that often accompanied a decrease in options. She hadn’t returned to Suerte’s place since her encounter with his private security force. She didn’t dare return to the city Hall of Records, since it was obvious that the place was monitored by his people. If anymore communiqués had come in from his people in the field, Delilah had failed to find and intercept them.

So she came here, and looked on from somewhere outside the range of sudden bursts of blue flame, or so she hoped. She had been wondering what Damon was doing out by St. Vrain Manor. The sinking feeling in her stomach whenever she thought about it suggested to her that it wasn’t a coincidence. He certainly did his best to be conspicuous. But did he think any harm would come to me by drawing attention, or was he just being a jerk? That certainly wouldn’t be out of character.

Above, the bluish light came forth once more from the window. Delilah noticed it was not a direct ray, but a more diffuse glow. Slowly, she rose from the ground to peer in through the window. She cursed the cabinet doors that obscured the object from view, and then gasped at the sight within. Wyyla perked up and glanced around for the source of the sound. Delilah made herself very still and the sprite turned back to the window.

Damon McLenen, in true dark sorcerer fashion, was laughing maniacally as comets of white light with blue tails swirled around the room, apparently under his control. He held out his hand, and one leapt into it. He laughed a little louder, the and Delilah was suddenly very ashamed of being a dark sorceress, and especially of knowing Damon. She hoped she never looked like that, even when she was messing around with Alta-Oscuras, the little-known, highest dark forces.

She narrowed her eyes at the sorcery moving itself around the room within. Something about didn’t feel right. It was unfamiliar. It was certainly no Alta-Oscura she had experienced before. Perhaps it was an Alta-Signa from another order... Or the unknown power contained within the Standard. She cursed despite herself. Wyyla looked around again, then fluttered away, centerwise. Delilah steeled herself and sank back down to the ground.

Wyyla flew like mad. There was something new about that sorcery, something different, but still it was dark, and Wyyla was frightened. She reached Mme. Rumella’s in record time and tapped on the glass. No-one noticed her. She grew to two feet tall and pulled the door open.

“Wyyla, what news?” Mme. Rumella asked as the sprite failed to pull herself onto one of the bar stools.

Wyyla shrank back to her natural size and fluttered up, explaining what she had seen.

“That sure makes it sound like he has the Standard,” said Leila, once Wyyla was finished explaining. “But I thought Lionel had it.”

“So did I, pet. And he may. This could be something else entirely.”

“Or they’re in it together,” Voz suggested.

“I doubt it,” said Mary

“Maybe the woman at the Mulhoy just gave you a bad description?” Leila suggested uncertainly.

“Entirely possible. Either way, we should keep an eye on it. A dark sorcerer with an unfamiliar power is... Unfortunate,” she decided to say.

“Amazing how this new information fails to solve anything,” Leila said acidly. “We need to know more if we’re going to figure out what the hell is going on. Maybe I could go to the museum and, oh, who am I kidding? There’s nothing there.”

The others didn’t comment. Hunter and Voz began to whisper back and forth.

“Do you think?” she asked. Hunter nodded. “We’ll be back in a little while,” Voz announced, and they exited.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know,” said Mme. Rumella, “but it’s bound not to be constructive.”

“Alright, what about this,” said Benny suddenly. “Lionel, the has-been, and Damon McLenen, the relatively minor sorcerer, go in together on their bid for power. They hear about the Standard: Lionel knows about this ancient stuff, right? They find it, and abduct the Mulhoy linguist to help them use it. They break back into the Mulhoy while we’re watching it, with the cunning use of disguise, get what they need, and now they’ve accessed the Standard.”

“I didn’t see Lionel at the house,” came Wyyla’s alto voice

“Maybe Damon disposed of him now that he has the Standard and doesn’t need his help any more.”

“It would explain why Lionel’s places are both abandoned,” Leila chimed in

“I don’t know,” said Mme. Rumella. “It doesn’t sound right.”

“I like it,” said Benny. “It’s all intrigue and betrayal. Which is fun.”

“Right,” said Mme. Rumella absently. “Fun.”

“Did anyone hear that?” Wyyla asked.

* * * *

The night was chilly. Grace hugged her coat to her body and for once was thankful for her thick head of curls, which in the humidity could often prevent her from walking through narrower doorways. She wondered what the air was like by the Mulhoy. She had heard it was from Africa. It was bound to be warmer there, but then she might not be able to see the approach of suspect persons.

The girl Van had been chasing exited, looking all around her. It was hard to see in this light at this distance, but Grace believed that she was clutching her Focus, sweeping it this way and that. The few people still there after dark had all done the same thing.

Within, the janitor swept through the place, whisking away dust and debris with the tip of his wand. The fact that cleaning took so little time here was one of the things that endeared the Woven City to Grace the most. A swarm of crumpled papers from waste baskets hovered on the air behind him. In a few minutes he was done, and exited the building, as watchful as anyone else.

It was only a few minutes later that she heard the sound of footsteps. She cleared the woolen cap and hair away from ears, the better to listen. One pair of footsteps was uneven, as though the person were being pushed along. There was a sudden pressure in Grace’s chest as she fought to keep her breath even. And quiet.

In the alleyway between the Mulhoy and the building Grace was currently atop, a man in a cape, Lionel the Necromancer, from Mary’s description, and the missing linguist appeared. The necromancer was giving the usual warnings about not trying anything. Grace always considered that a bit too broad of an order.

The building was locked, but Clement was allowed the momentary use of his Focus to open it. Grace scrambled down the fire escape, trying to make as little noise as possible. She moved quickly through the shadows as Clement and Lionel entered the building. As they entered, she rushed forward to grab the door and launched the red Peeler flare. She hoped that her compatriots at the tea shop would notice it as well.

In the normal world, some of the lights would probably be off, but the everlasting flames that Grace so enjoyed in her own office afforded her little cover. Lionel and his hostage were ahead of her, heading to the right-hand wing of the building. Grace ducked to the left and to the nearest short hallway, deftly removing her thick coat and cap. She saw Lionel turn and look in her direction and pressed herself to the wall. If he noticed her, he was letting her go, for the moment.

Grace listened carefully. Unless she missed her guess, they were heading down the nearest stairwell. She peered, cautious, round the corner to find the lobby abandoned. “Time to creep,” she whispered to herself, and proceeded to creep across the room. She passed behind the receptionist’s desk towards the imaginary languages wing. A quick look revealed an empty stairwell. Grace slipped down as quietly as she could. Paying more attention to the doorway than the stair in front of her, her boot slipped and formed a loud click that echoed up and down the stairwell. She mouthed a dirty word to herself and dove through the stairwell door into the office across the hall, which had thankfully been left unlocked.

Apparently, she had garnered the attention she had hoped to avoid. A distant voice said demanded something indistinguishable, and an accompanying set of footsteps started towards her. She clutched her wand close and crouched below the desk, which had been set so the occupant would be facing the door.

The doorknob turned. As quietly as possible, Grace pictured an office down the hall and whispered the Mandarin word ‘fireworks’. An explosion of light and color lit the hallway. She could see the boots in the doorway. They weren’t leaving.

“A distraction. Obviously someone nearby thinks I’m an idiot. I do wonder where they might be hiding...”

Grace aimed her wand at Lionel’s shins and whispered the words for the force-of-light spell. A sphere of lava-like redness fired from her wand and struck. Grace fervently wished she could do the more powerful versions of the spell, and fired twice more as the necromancer cried out in pain. She jostled herself out from under the desk, avoiding minor head injury by virtue of her cushion of curls, and fired another bolt. She had hoped to hit him in the wrist, but instead hit on the upper arm. Luckily, it had a similar effect. Lionel cried out as the strike knocked the feeling from his arm and it, and his Focus, dropped. Grace barreled out of the room knocking him back. She didn’t think to pick up his Focus, just charged away down the hall. Her fireworks were trailing off, having set fire to the carpet and picture frames. The fire suppression system, in the form of randomly-appearing globes of water, burst into action. The flames fizzled out and smoke and steam filled the hallway.

Grace ran through the cloud and emerged to find a bespectacled man peering intently into it, trying to see what was happening. “Clement?”

“Yes...”

“I’m Grace Owen. Let’s run away together,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “Are those sorcerous ropes?” Grace asked, indicating the articles that bound his wrists.

“They look normal enough to me,” Clement replied as they ran

“Apriti,” said Grace, and tapped the knots with her wand. They fell open. “Wow, now that’s pure luck,” she said as a ball of white light slammed into the wall near her head. Bits of sheet rock flew outward and a nearby painting crashed to the ground. She and the linguist both used the occasion to swear. The steam still clouded the corridor, which is why, Grace surmised, the shot had missed. She set off another round of fire works and hoped they would set the bastard’s hair on fire. She tapped Clement’s shirt and said, “Proteggere,” before repeating the process with her own shirt. They both glowed faintly blue.

“Better than bullet-proof,” said Grace.

“You hope.”

“Yeah.” They continued to run down the hallway. Grace randomly fired red force-of-light orbs behind them. “I assume we’re running towards the nearest exit,” she said.

“Stairwell at the end of the hall,” he said. “We can go back up, or to the rear exit downstairs.”

“Down is faster,” Grace noted.

“Okay,” said Clement.

There were no more signs of fire from behind as they reached the end of the hall. Grace allowed herself a small measure of relief, but they still had to make their exit and make it to the safety of the tea shop, which Mary had assured her was quite secure. Grace only hoped it was true.

They leapt down the three flights to the bottom of the stairwell and out into the bottom floor hallway. Lionel was waiting for them. He fired a white orb at Grace’s chest and she flew backward several feet. The proteggere spell dissipated most of the force. She fired back even as she flew through the air. Her aim was off again, but she still hit him in the chest, though high in chest. He rocked backwards but regained his footing quickly as Grace scrambled to her feet. Lionel fired another orb, but Clement jumped in its path, catching it on his protected torso.

“Venga a me!” Lionel cried. Grace’s Focus was ripped from her hand and flew into his.

Foci were all very personalized things, so odds were wouldn’t be able to use it, but it still angered Grace, even beyond the fact that she was now unarmed. “You cheat!”

“Shut up!” Lionel roared and leveled his Focus at her head. He fired and Grace leapt out of the projectile’s path. “You can’t do anything without your wand,” he said. “Stop fighting and I,” he sighed as if to say ‘this is so gauche’. “I promise your death will be quick and painless.”

“Said the necromancer, and she chose not to believe him,” said Grace walking slowly forward. Lionel eyed her suspiciously and spirited her Focus into the depths of his cape. “But there’s one thing you’ve forgotten,” Grace continued, right in front of him now.

“And that is?”

She didn’t reply, save to slap the Focus from his hand. As it clacked onto the opposite wall and fell to the ground, she stomped hard on his foot and brought her knee up into his groin. Lionel gasped in pain and doubled over. Grace pegged him in the head with the heel of her boot until he fell over. “People from the normal world don’t always need a wand, you arrogant son of a bitch,” she shouted, and kicked him once in the ribs for good measure. She turned to Clement, just now picking himself up off the floor. “You want a piece of this?”

Clement shrugged, walked over, and kicked the unconscious necromancer in the ribs as well. A sudden thundering announced the belated arrival of the Peelers, a half dozen of whom, armed with nightstick Foci, came forth from the stairwell. One called back up, and the Chief Investigator appeared.

“Over here,” Grace called to them. “This is the kidnapper,” she said.

“Well, well,” said C.I. Gregor. “Lionel the Necromancer. Been a while since we seen him around here.”

“Take him away, chief,” said Clement. Grace shot him a look. “Come on, how many chances am I gonna get to say that, huh?”

She rolled her eyes and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Clement called after her.

“Not sure,” she replied. She looked to C.I. Gregor. “Can I stop by later to question him?”

“If you like.”

“Great.” She paused to think and realized that she needed to go to Mme. Rumella’s, and Clement needed to come with her. “Come on,” she said to him. “I’ve got some questions for you, too.”

“Alright, but can we get something to eat first? I’m starving.”

“Don’t worry, there’s food where we’re going,” she said as they set off.

Distractions

It wasn’t long after Wyyla’s sensitive ears picked up a strange noise that the ant-spiders attacked Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. The proprietress and the sprite, along with Leila, Benny and Mary were within when the first creature smashed into the window. Six others slammed themselves against the glass in the seconds following

Mme. Rumella tsked and commented, “They’d have better luck with the door.”

Which she proceeded to cross the room and lock. Everyone but Leila remained calm. Leila had never been in this sort of situation, and though she had heard the shop was secure, the crushing wave of giant angry things with fangs tended to put a hit on her confidence. “Aren’t you going to do anything?” There was an edge of panic in her voice

“Tranquility, pet. They’ll tire themselves out soon enough. Would you like something herbal and soothing?”

“Sure.”

Mme. Rumella set some water boiling and poured Leila her tea. Leila still jumped sky high as the first creature crashed down on the roof. Mme. Rumella frowned. “They must be jumping from the auditorium next door,” she remarked. “I assume,” she turned to Mary, “that these are the ‘ant-spider things’ to which you earlier referred.”

Mary nodded. “They could climb up the walls of the shop if they wanted. They’re probably just trying to frighten us.”

“That or break in through the roof,” said Leila.

“Not bloody likely,” said Benny

“But if they just keep piling up and pushing in, something’s gotta give,” Leila insisted. “I mean, doesn’t it?”

“It already did,” said Mary. “And I think it was your nerve.”

“Hey!”

“Since we appear to have some time on our hands, we’d best have a good think about our situation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to scan the horizon,” Mme. Rumella announced, thenshe promptly exited up the stairs.

“Alright then,” muttered Mary. “Let’s all think: someone is attacking Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop. They must be thick.”

“Not necessarily,” Benny spoke up.

“Really? Do you have another explanation?” Mary asked.

“No, but it’s what my aunt would say,” Benny replied.

“True.”

A few minutes passed in silence as Benny and Mary stood around looking thoughtful, and Leila sipped at her tea. Wyyla hovered in the windows. The creatures seemed to have fairly acute vision, as the ones nearest the windows kept snapping at her diminutive form. She could see that a few of the creatures had been crushed under the weight of the others, and were lying motionless on the ground.

“Come to think of it, these things didn’t attack me till I was barely a block away. Perhaps it was confirming that the shop was the center of things on our side. It did ask me who I was. Maybe I was just on a list of names.”

“What does that mean?” Leila asked her.

“I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “But I can’t imagine why anyone who knew we were involved would not know that you can’t break into this place. Ruin would know, I think, and Lionel certainly.”

Leila paused a moment before voicing her thoughts. “I hate to point out an obvious and glaring piece of idiocy on the part of everyone involved, but what about the people- or powers or gods or whatever- who sent the Crusader? He never told us who they are. Dr. Marion from the Mulhoy Institute ran into a Crusader years ago, and that one didn’t say anything either. We have no earthly idea, hell, we don’t even have an unearthly idea who sent him, or why. We’ve all let our curiosity get the better of us, and assumed, somewhere in the back our brains anyway, that their intentions are pure. What if they want to use the Standard themselves, and the only thing that has prevented them from doing it is that they could never figure out how to read it? Maybe they set this whole thing up to find out. Or maybe they didn’t, but either way, the Crusader knows we’re involved, and knows that we’re here. If he sent word back that we’re close to finding the thing, and they didn’t like that, they could send, for the sake of argument let’s say an army of ant-spider things, to send the message that our prying is somewhat unwelcome.”

She looked around and everyone avoided her gaze. As if in answer, there came a pained hissing from outside. They all rushed to the window to look out. At the rear of the swarm of creatures stood the Crusader, stamping and punching and swinging his longsword. The creatures did not appear happy with this turn of events. They watched in fascination from inside the shop as the Crusader fought on. More and more of the creatures turned to fight him and he was soon lost to view

“I think one knocked him over,” Leila said sadly. “He can’t last long on the ground.”

She was proven wrong by the tip of the Crusader’s blade as it forced its way into view, right through the middle of one of the ant-spiders. The creature squealed as the Crusader kicked it off of his sword. The Crusader got up onto his knee as another creature attacked him from behind. He reached, grabbed it, and threw the creature, long as he was tall, bodily from the scene. It landed some yards away on top another.

Mme. Rumella descended the stair. “He’s doing quite well for himself, isn’t he?” she commented. Leila and Benny jumped at the sound of her voice. “Calm, children. I believe I know why they’re attacking us.”

“Why?” Mary was the first to ask.

“It’s a distraction. From the top window, I noticed a red Peeler flare. From the center of the city. From, if I’m not mistaken, the Mulhoy Institute.”

“Lionel must have brought the linguist back,” said Leila. “What about Grace?”

“I’m assured she can handle herself until the Peelers arrive. And I think she’ll have to,” said Mme. Rumella.

“Not necessarily,” Benny disagreed. Mary and Leila shot him a look

“What is it, Benny?”

“Well, I could fly over there and see if she needed some help.”

“Always flying,” said Mme. Rumella, shaking her head

“It could work,” Mary defended him. “He could leave from the third story. It’s likely out of range of both the ant-spiders on the ground, and the ones on the roof,” she added before Mme. Rumella could say anything.

“We’d have to open a window. One could come in while it was open. One could jump on him from the roof,” Mme. Rumella pointed out, gesturing to the numerous creatures leaping from the roof to take their turn with the Crusader.

“I can give him cover,” Mary said, securely.

“I don’t like it.”

“Auntie, Grace has barely been here a month. Mary said she was a natural, but even so, you would leave her to fight Lionel the Necromancer until the Peelers showed up?”

“They do tend to be a bit slow,” Leila added.

“It’s so irritating when you appeal to my humanity,” said Mme. Rumella, crossing her arms. “Come on,” she said, and walked away up the stairs.

Benny and Mary followed her to the third of the four levels, into the guest room Mary was occupying at present. Mary produced her Focus and rolled it over her wrist twice until it became her pair of metal batons. Benny removed his wand from the pocket of his flight jacket. Mme. Rumella nodded and opened the window. Mary leaned out and creatures from each direction began hissing angrily, trying to reach her. She fired blinding white force-of-light orbs each way, killing the two nearest creatures before clearing the area with twin jets of fire. She ducked back in.

“Hurry,” she said as Benny moved forward.

He maneuvered his tall frame through the frame of the window and leapt. “Icarus!” he shouted, and stopped falling. He barely dodged a creature leaping from the roof. Three of them tried to catch him from below, but he was too high up. In a few seconds he was across the street, flying at full speed towards the suspended Peeler flare. He glanced behind him to see half a dozen of the creatures scaling the walls. The window slammed shut and they pounded harmlessly against it

Turning his eyes back to the path ahead, they were assaulted by the autumn air. He blinked away the tears the wind forced from them and scanned the ground below. Small clusters of people walked this way and that, headed home or to clubs or the theater, or possibly to try and destroy the world, you just never knew with this place. A few blocks from the Mulhoy, he saw Grace’s bulky white coat and her hazel curls spilling from under her woolen cap and descended to street level.

“Grace,” he called. “Grace!”

She looked up and followed Benny with her eyes as he touched down, a little roughly. “Hi. Nice of you to show up now, by the way, after I fought the necromancer.”

“You fought him?” Benny asked in surprise

“Yeah. Note the rescued person to my right,” she said wearily

“Hi. I’m Benny.”

“Clement Jones. You can call me Clem.”

Benny frowned. “Do I have to?”

“Benny, we’re headed back to the shop for a sit down and some sandwiches. I’m sure your aunt has a lot of questions for Clement.”

“Yeah, about that... The reason I’m only getting here now, and we didn’t come help... There’s rather a giant swarm of half-ant/half-spider looking creatures swarming all over the tea shop. I barely escaped by flying through the window.”

“Jesus. What about the others?”

“They’re fine, it’s just a bit of a trick to get out.”

“Funny that you happened to be tied up just as Lionel came to the Mulhoy.”

“Yeah,” said Benny, “funny that.”

“So what now?”

“The Crusader is hacking away at them as we speak. I think it’s safe to wait nearby until he’s through.”

“The Crusader?”

“Yeah, showed up out of nowhere.”

“Hmm... It’s safe to say that I’m suspicious of everyone and everything at the moment.”

“That’s about how life is here.”

“Fun.”

* * * *

Hunter showed Voz his perch in the building across the street. Suerte Campaign Headquarters swarmed with new security people. “They’re everywhere,” Voz remarked, even pushing the hair away from her eye to take it all in.

“Two by the gate, one in practically every window, a dozen roaming the grounds,” Hunter rattled off the list. “He must be scared as hell.”

“They’re not going to help him now.” Voz turned to him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Sure,” said Hunter.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I know this was my idea, but... It’s so juvenile. I mean, really.”

“You know you want to,” Hunter said, egging her on

Voz’s face opened into a smile. “I admit it, I really do. I’ve always wanted to try this.” She opened her mouth and emitted a loud, clear note. Across the road, the cadre of guards all looked around for the source. Voz shook her head. “Needs to be higher. Like an octave. I’d tell you to cover your ears, but I don’t think it would help.” She sang again, higher, louder. Hunter winced despite himself. The guards on the lawn winced as well, and shouted things back and forth, things that were lost under the swell of the single note from Voz.

It was only a matter of seconds before every window in the mansion shattered.

Voz stopped singing and smiled. “I can’t believe I waited so long to shatter glass. I hope Suerte was pouring himself a glass of wine just then.”

Hunter laughed. “We’ve had our fun,” he said. “We should get back.”

“Right. I wonder if anything’s happened, or if they’re all still sitting around.”

Hunter shrugged. They set off centerwise, leaping easily from rooftop to rooftop. It took a while for them to reach the nineteenth. The night was chilly. Hunter never minded the weather, and despite never being spotted wearing anything but midriff shirts, Voz appeared not to either. They leapt through a warm patch of Jordanian desert. In the distance were a couple of Peeler flares. One was close to the center of town. The other was small, far distant, and only visible when they were at the peak of their arcing jumps.

“D’you think?” Voz called to Hunter.

“Yeah,” he answered before she could finished her question.

“Where to then?”

The nearer of the flares disappeared from view, which meant the Peelers had made their arrival. “Tea shop,” said Hunter

As they approached, Voz’s sensitive hearing picked up the sounds of a struggle. “Careful,” she warned. “There’s trouble ahead.”

They touched lightly down on the roof of the neighboring church of St. Pandelemon next door. A dozen strange looking creatures attacked a walking suit of armor below. Around him several times that number of creatures, unmoving. The armor was covered with blood of a deep burgundy color, but it didn’t appear to slow it down any.

“Hey!”

Voz pointed instantly to the source of the sound. It was Mme. Rumella’s nephew, waving to them from the roof of the British Museum. With him were two other people. Voz leapt over to them. Hunter drew the arquebus from his back and fired. Between him and the Crusader, the few remaining creatures fell in seconds.

Mary opened the shop door and exited to the street. Hunter leapt down beside her. “How was the view?”

“Shut up, Hunter. I didn’t want to tire myself out. We’ve got work to do tonight. Look yonder,” she ordered, indicating Benny, Grace and the others across the way.

Benny and Voz each took hold of Grace and Clement, respectively, and leapt off the museum roof. They touched down lightly, but their arcs were much smaller than the usual feather spell effect.

“Hi,” said Grace to the group. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. Let’s get inside. And you might want...” She trailed off as she looked around for the person she had wanted to address: the Crusader. He was gone. “Where did armor guy get himself to?”

No-one had an answer. They went in and sat down. Clement ate far too much despite Mme. Rumella’s warnings not to do so.

“So it was Lionel?” Mme. Rumella asked.

“Definitely.”

“How did you defeat him?” Mary had to ask.

“I put my knee in his groin and my boot in his face.”

“Impressive,” said Mary.

“The Peelers arrived seconds afterward, if you’ll believe it.”

“They’ve always had impeccable timing,” Mme. Rumella commented.

“With Lionel arrested, perhaps this whole ordeal is winding down.”

“It’s more a thing than an ordeal,” Leila interjected.

“I hope so,” Grace said to Mme. Rumella. “I’m no expert, but... What part of England was he supposed to be from?”

“That question has plagued me for years, Grace,” Mme. Rumella replied. She looked to Clement Jones, currently demolishing his third bowl of soup, and asked whether he knew where he had been held.

He just nodded till he finished swallowing. “It was a Spanish-looking villa, five, maybe six centuries outwise.”

Mme. Rumella and Leila exchanged a look. “Would it, by any chance,” Mme. Rumella inquired, “be over in the First Quarter?”

“Mmmhmm,” Clement acknowledged as he lifted the bowl to his lips

“Oh my,” said Mme. Rumella, equally distressed by that action as she was the location in which the linguist had been held.

“And the Standard,” Leila asked him, urgently, “was it there? Were you working directly with it?”

Clement wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I could have brought you a napkin,” said a disconsolate Mme. Rumella.

“I was.”

“Let’s get the hell over there before someone else does,” says Leila, leaping to her feet. She drew her fountain pen Focus from her breast pocket. “Come on.”

Mary laughed as she stood from her chair. “Look who’s Miss Action all of a sudden.”

Everyone rose except Grace. “I’ll stay here and, you know, keep watch. That kind of thing.”

“Do you have a shower I could use?” Clement asked

“Third floor,” Mme. Rumella replied. She glanced around the room. “Wyyla, are you coming?”

“No,” came a voice from the hanging light fixture. “I’m going to get a little rest then head back over to McLenen’s. I have a bad feeling.”

“Bless you, small one,” Mme. Rumella said as the rest made their exit.

Leila and Mme. Rumella took the lead.

“Don’t you think we should have taken the guy with us?” Voz asked.

“We know where we’re going,” said Leila. “We’ve been there before.”

“Vacation?”

“Fight scene.”

“Right. Of course.”

“I must say,” Mme. Rumella chimed in, “that I feel much better about this time round. We may not have the Crusader, but with Mary, Hunter, and Voz with us, no couple of young, er-”

“Damn kids,” Leila supplied.

“Just so, pet. No ‘damn kids’ will give us any trouble.”

“Damn kids?” Mary inquired.

“Um, let’s go ahead and not speak of it,” Leila suggested. “I’m sufficiently embarrassed just thinking about it.”

No-one pressed them. The villa came into view ahead of them. Leila was about to stride boldly into the courtyard before Mme. Rumella grabbed her shoulder.

“What?” Leila complained.

“Caution, pet,” Mme. Rumella whispered.

Leila whispered, grudgingly, “Why? Lionel’s been arrested. Why can’t we just walk in there are take it?”

“Oh honestly,” said Mme. Rumella.

“It’s alright,” Voz assured them. “We’re the only ones here. I hear nothing else.”

“Now we can go,” said Mme. Rumella.

The walked beneath the overhang to the far corner, and ascended the stair. One door was ajar. Light spilled through to light a trapezoidal slice of the exterior walkway. The door the Crusader had destroyed on their last visit had been repaired and replaced in its proper position. Leila pushed the door all the way open and looked with in. Within were a table and chair, and a blazing torch on a stand. And nothing else

“It could be in one of the other rooms,” Leila said without much hope.

The seven of them split up for a quick search and met back in the courtyard. As no-one came hefting a large cylindrical object covered with symbols, no questions were asked.

“I feel a headache coming on,” said Leila. “A very, very large one.”

“I agree that it is more than a touch frustrating,” said Mme. Rumella. “But Mr. Jones is bound to have more information for us.” The group turned to leave. Mme. Rumella continued: “Our questioning was hardly complete. We got ahead of ourselves, that’s all.”

“You mean I got ahead of myself,” Leila mumbled.

“Not at all, pet. Any one of us, including Mr. Jones himself, could have stopped and waited to learn more, but we all went along.”

Leila said nothing. The trip back was quieter and less urgent than the trip out. Clement Jones was showered, but was forced to re-dress in his old clothes. When they arrived, he stood looking over the cases of baked goods, which were always fairly picked over by this time of night. Grace had fallen asleep on a couch.

“There’s only so much free food I’m willing to give to strangers, Mr. Jones. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea? Would anyone else?”

Hunter and Mary both agreed to cup and Mme. Rumella went about preparing it.

“Now Mr. Jones,” she spoke clearly from behind her counter as she set the tea service on a tray, “we have a few more questions for you.” She hefted the tray and set it on the table around which the others had gravitated. “When we arrived at the villa, we found that there was nothing there.”

“Are you sure it was the right one?” Clement asked

“Spanish, Fist Quarter, fifteenth century-”

“Fourteenth,” Leila corrected

“Fourteenth century, lovely mosaics, expansive courtyard.”

“Sounds right.”

“There was a room, up the stairs, to the right, the third door. There was a table and chair and torch.”

“In the front of the room, right hand corner as you walk in the door?”

“Precisely.”

“That sounds like it, alright.”

“Yes, I believe it was the right room. We simply arrived too late. Now I wonder: might there be anyone who would know the Standard’s location well enough to have taken it and absconded before we arrived?”

“The voice,” Clement said heavily

“Excuse me?” asked Voz

“There was this voice. I never saw who it belonged to, but Lionel- that’s what you called him, right?- was arguing with someone, like his boss or something.” Grave looks darted across the room like lightning. “I said I needed to go to the Mulhoy if I had any hope of ever doing what he wanted. The voice said it was almost certainly being watched, which it was, thank God. And you, too, Grace,” he said to the sleeping detective. “Anyway, the voice said it would create a distraction. I didn’t really know what he meant, but then I saw all those... Those things.”

“Damnable ant-spiders,” Mary muttered to no-one in particular

“I guessed that’s what the voice was talking about, seeing as how you all were the ones who rescued me.”

Mme. Rumella poured four cups of tea, and added the proper amounts of cream and sugar to three. “Cream and sugar, Mr. Jones?”

“Please.”

“Two lumps, I’ll assume.”

“Good guess.”

“Guess nothing,” Mme. Rumella rejoined. “Now this voice of which you speak: was it a man or a woman?”

“It sounded like a man. I’m sorry I couldn’t see anything. I tried, but that old peeking through the keyhole trick wasn’t working for me.”

“No need to apologize,” Mme. Rumella assured him, sipping her tea. “And the owner of said voice sounded more in-command?”

“Oh yeah. That Lionel guy was always nervous when he had to talk to him.”

“Someone more powerful,” Mme. Rumella mused.

“So in the past few centuries... Anyone?” Mary pointed out.

“At least we know that Lionel was working for someone, and that it was a man. That pretty much puts Delilah out of the running,” Leila observed.

“And I do believe that my original theory about Lionel hiding the Standard briefly in the Street of the Dead holds up again,” Mme. Rumella announced.

“The real question,” Mary drew them back to the present, “is whether the voice belonged to Damon McLenen or Ruin.”

“Or someone else entirely,” said Benny, mostly because he hadn’t contributed anything yet

“It had better not be someone we don’t know about. I’d be pissed,” Leila proclaimed.

“Automatically? How does that work?” Benny puzzled.

“She means she’d be angry, nephew.”

“Oh. That makes much more sense.”

“So,” Voz prompted, “what now?”

“I can leave after I get a little more sleep and watch McLenen, like I said,” Wyyla suggested.

Everyone looked around for the source of her voice. Only Voz found it immediately. “Alright, but what about Ruin?”

“We do not want to go looking for Ruin unless we are absolutely sure that he’s involved,” Mary warned. “The last thing we want is a mighty battle with him to deplete our energy, and possibly our numbers, with the Standard, and the power within that, I might remind everyone, we do not understand at all, still waiting out there.”

Voz growled. “I’ll deplete his ass down to its component molecules, that son of a bitch.”

“Well that was unconscionably vulgar,” Mme. Rumella remarked.

“And we still don’t know what we’re going to do,” Benny reminded them

“Hunter?” Mme. Rumella asked. “What do you think?”

Hunter, who sat quietly with arms crossed, when he wasn’t sipping his tea, said, “I don’t care. I’m here for one thing. Once this Standard business is over, I’m going to finish my own. Just point at whatever you want me to shoot.”

“Hunter! You’re too clever to be speaking that way, and I, if anyone, know that,” Mme. Rumella admonished.

Hunter didn’t reply.

“I know what we could do,” said Mary, pensive and not meeting anyone’s eyes. “We could take McLenen out. Take him out and if he doesn’t have the Standard, we’ll know it was Ruin.”

“Process of elimination,” muttered Leila harshly.

Mme. Rumella stood. “We’ll sleep on it.” When nearly everyone asked her what she was talking about, she continued: “This whole business has been very trying, and we all need our rest. And, sadly, I cannot think of a better idea than Mary’s. There are ten people in this room, and if none of us can think of a better idea by morning, then, perhaps, we will have to act. We will, of course, try to leave the man alive,” she said with a sideways glance at Hunter. “But now to bed.”

Everyone rose in an uncomfortable silence and began to filter up the stairs, leaving Grace asleep on the sofa.

“Would you,” Clement started, “would you mind if I stayed here? I don’t want to walk home.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Mme. Rumella said. “We’ll see if there’s still an empty room here in my boarding house which occasions to serve tea.”

Sorcery, Extra Dark

It was still dark when Wyyla rose, perhaps an hour and half after the others had gone to bed. She had been resting during their excursion to the villa, but they had awoken her upon their return. She sat up from her place on the modest chandelier and stretched her tiny arms. Standing, she tested her wings and swooped down to the doorway. Wyyla sighed. She doubted that anyone sleeping upstairs had left their window open after what had happened earlier. The door opened outward. Wyyla pushed on it with her surprising strength, without having to worry about reaching the handle, before winging away into the night.

She perched on the same windowsill as she had the past few nights. The room was abandoned, but only for a moment. Damon McLenen reentered, looking as though he had been away too long. He opened the cabinet and looked within with a widening smile.

There came a knock at the door. Damon’s ebullient look faded into disappointment as he closed the cabinet once again and exited to answer the door. Wyyla flew around to the front of the house. There at the door was the dark sorceress herself, Delilah Runestone, standing insolently on one hip. Her arms were crossed, one hand tucked lightly up a sleeve. The surrounding night paled against the blackness of her eyes. She did not look happy.

The door opened. Wyyla buzzed a few feet out from the wall. Damon McLenen appeared in the doorway. Neither looked Wyyla’s way.

“Delilah?” McLenen asked, sounding confused.

“There’s the surprised look I’ve come to love,” said Delilah. Her words were easy but her tone was frosty.

“How did you know where I live?”

“I know a lot of things,” Delilah replied, silently cursing herself for talking like Tina Virtue. Then she fixed him with a look that informed him she wasn’t going to wait very long for whatever it was that she wanted.

“Listen, you shouldn’t be here.”

She said nothing

“What do you want, Delilah?”

“I’ve been watching you Damon. From right outside that window,” she said, indicating the side of the house.

Wyyla gasped. Delilah looked at her out of the corner of her eye and the sprite disappeared with haste round the side of the house. Was it true? If it wasn’t, how would Delilah have spotted her tiny form so easily? How could she have missed Delilah? And, more importantly, what the hell was going on?

Wyyla slipped over to the nearest window. It showed the spacious entry way with its marble floor and curving staircase to the next level. Delilah stepped inside like she owned the place. Damon said nothing, just stood there looking confused.

“Can I do something for you?”

“Where is it?”

McLenen suddenly looked nervous. “Where is what?”

“Nice acting Damon. I always thought you should be on stage. Where is the Standard of Uruk?”

“Seriously now, what are you talking about?” Damon sounded confused.

“I said I’ve been watching you. That thing in the bedroom upstairs. It’s the Standard of Uruk, isn’t it?”

“Er, no, it’s definitely not that. In fact, I really wish you would tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Is it up these stairs?” Delilah asked, gesturing with her now openly-drawn wand. She didn’t wait for an answer before setting off. Wyyla hurried to the window from which she, apparently they, had witnessed Damon’s rather unsettling displays.

She pressed her ear to the glass and the heard the approaching footsteps and McLenen’s further protests and inquiries. Delilah stopped. Wyyla guessed she was checking the next room. In a few moments, satisfied that there was nothing there, Delilah opened the door to the correct room. In the time it took Wyyla to blink, the cabinet had vanished. Delilah saw the empty room and was about to move on. Wyyla couldn’t tell why she wanted to warn her, but went with the feeling and began rapping on the window.

Delilah gave her an imperceptible nod and began looking more closely around the room. Wyyla crouched safely in the corner of the window, wondering how Delilah always seemed to know exactly where she was. She was so small as to be practically invisible to most people. The sorceress must have very acute vision.

Delilah began tapping on the walls. She came to the place where the cabinet had been. Apparently it was still there: something stopped her hands before she could reach the wall. “Since when were you an illusionist?”

Damon shrugged. Delilah went to open the cabinet. A blue light shone from within. Delilah examined the object. It was a rectangular frame. Bathed in its own light, it was difficult to discern the nature of the material, but Delilah guessed it was silver. For some reason, silver was often a helpful material in the dark sorcery. Fitted within the silver frame were slivers of stained glass, mostly violet, held together by tiny black filaments. And in the center, an orb, emitting the blue light. It crackled out in fits along the rest of the instrument.

“What the hell is this?”

“Well it’s not the Scabbard of Whoever, anyway,” Damon set moving to close the cabinet.

“Then where is it?”

“I don’t even know what it is, much less where. And I can’t imagine why you thought I had it,” said Damon, a little crossly

Delilah was nonplussed. “When you...when you came up to me when I was at Suerte’s Headquarters.”

“What, crouched in the bushes there?”

“Yes. I thought... It seemed like you were trying to draw attention, and I... I didn’t really believe it was a chance encounter. I thought you were there for a reason.”

“Just passing through, D.”

“Don’t call me D.”

“Whatever.”

“Alright then, so what is this thing? I saw it scorch the wall across the alley.”

“Yeah, and they were none too happy about that, let me tell you. I told them it was an accident, though. Which it was,” he hastened to add. “Believe me. It gave me a right scorching, too. I was coughing up soot for three days.”

“Rampant exaggerator,” Delilah accused

“Yeah.”

Delilah thought. He had closed the door, but it didn’t stop her from sensing the object. It was definitely dark, she could tell, but that thing in the middle. Now that she was closer to it, it seemed familiar and strange both. “What is that thing, then?”

“It’s just a little project I’m working on,” said Damon evasively

“I,” said Delilah, “am a very good dark sorceress. And even if I weren’t, I could still be able to sense that thing in there. Come on, Damon. Professional courtesy. Tell me.”

“Well, for an old colleague like you. I haven’t thought of a cool enough name for it yet,” he confessed. “But it’s pretty brilliant.”

“I see,” said Delilah, clearly skeptical, and quite concerned. “And that thing in the middle, putting out the dark sorcery vibe... I’ve never felt anything quite like it. But I have a pretty good idea what it is.”

“Oh. Well... Good work then.”

“Damon,” she said, shaking her head sadly, “tell me you’re not. Tell me it’s not a Sorcery Core.”

Damon avoided her eyes

“Damon! Those things are dangerous. You don’t know where they come from. You can’t possibly know everything they can do!”

“Not exactly, but I don’t have to.”

“Oh Damon, don’t talk that way. You know what you’re sounding like, don’t you? I really thought you and I were something alike.

Neither of us started out in the dark sorcery with the intention of being like the others, yet here you are with a Sorcery Core talking like you’re about to start a war of attrition.”

“Come on, Delilah, I never said-”

“Stop it, Damon! You and I used to be friends. Don’t you remember? I remember the sweet boy who used to pick me flowers from my mother’s garden. The one who joined me after... After... Who joined me in learning the dark sorcery, and I might add, joined me in a pact never to be like the dark ones, with all their ridiculous machinations. And then you started disappearing from my life. I’ve hardly seen you in how many years? And now this. What are you doing? Just tell me, please.”

Damon took a steady breath. “It’s a device based off a Sorcery Core. The Sorcery Core amplifies my power, but that’s not the really brilliant part.”

“You were always good enough,” said Delilah.

“Yeah, you’re right D. I was always good enough, and that’s all. You were forever ten steps ahead of me, and I could never catch up.”

“That’s no reason...”

“You don’t understand. You’re still the same dumb kid you always were, Delilah. Sure, we made a promise, but that was before we started ever learning. I see the potential of the dark sorcery now, and it’s way beyond what you wanted.”

“What we wanted, Damon. Both of us. You know how helpless I felt after...” After so many years, Delilah could never bring herself to speak out loud about what had happened. The incident that brought the painful darkness to her eyes, and opened the world of dark sorcery to her. “And you did too, because you couldn’t help me. That’s why we started.”

“Right. We started using dark sorcery to protect ourselves from dark sorcery. And this,” he gestured to the cabinet, “is the ultimate defense.”

“But it’s more than that,” Delilah rejoined. “With a Sorcery Core in it, it has to be, and you can’t pretend. You can’t-”

“Just shut up, Delilah! Or better yet, grow up. You’re capable of so much more than you do, so much more than I ever could, without this,” he stabbed the air next to the cabinet. “And you don’t do it. And it’s pathetic.”

“I don’t do it,” Delilah shouted back, “because it’s the wrong thing to do! What’s pathetic is spouting trite garbage like ‘grow up’ when I’m trying to talk with you! Just because you’re a dark sorcerer doesn’t mean you have to get all evil and go for mad amounts of power. Dark sorcery is just a name.”

“No it isn’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t tell me you don’t hear it speaking to you. Every night, in your sleep. Telling you to open up. Telling you to use it, use it for all it’s worth.”

“Oh, Damon, that’s not the sorcery. There are people in the normal world, where all the sorcerous orders are completely dormant, who have those thoughts. Everyone has the potential to do bad things, and everyone thinks about doing them, sometimes. You don’t have to do them, no-one can force you. Nothing can force you.”

“You’re wrong,” said Damon, his voice a dead whisper

“I’m right, Damon. You know why I was always better than you? However afraid I may have been of the people who used the sorcery, I was never afraid of the sorcery itself. I knew it could never force me to do anything. It can’t. It can’t,” she repeated. “And I can’t let you do this.”

“You don’t have a choice, D.”

“Core or no core, Damon, you don’t want to fight me.”

“What a great idea,” he replied sardonically. “Then I can go back to being the lamest sorcerer in town, and we can meet every week for lunch and talk about our feelings.”

“Now you’re really starting to irritate me. I’m trying to help you, idiot.”

“You’re trying to hold me back.”

“Same damn thing.”

“Get out, Delilah. Before I hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she replied firmly. “Don’t think I don’t remember the time when we were climbing in that tree, and you accidentally knocked a bird’s nest off its branch. There were three eggs in it, and one of them broke, and you were absolutely inconsolable. You placed the nest back in the tree.” She started giggling, “And then, you left a note for the mother bird saying how sorry you were.”

Damon glared. “I was nine.”

“You were sweet,” she countered. “And that boy is still in there, or so all the modern psychologists tell me.”

“I’ve changed.”

“You still couldn’t hurt me,” she said

“I killed two men putting this device together. Are you still so sure I wouldn’t harm you?”

“Oh, Damon,” she said.

“Stop saying that!”

“I’m taking your...your whatever it is, and I’m destroying it. And we’ll think of something. You’re not that person, that clichéd, power-hungry dark sorcerer. I won’t let you be.”

“You don’t have any choice,” he informed her

She shook her head. Her poor friend. Poor Damon. She raised her wand and sent ropes of twisting blackness to bind him. He raised his hands and they dissipated in a flash of blue-white.

Delilah gasped. “You don’t even have to be touching it? How cheap. I want one.”

Damon ignored her. With a gesture, a crackling beam of energy, blue in the center with white arcs all around, blew out the door to the cabinets and slammed into Delilah. She was thrown across the room and into the opposite wall. The effect snapped off. Delilah hauled herself to her feet. She looked at Damon, and at the device, glowing from the ruined cabinet.

With a gesture, she filled half the room with fire. Even before he extinguished the flames, she could tell they weren’t hurting him.

“See? That’s the brilliant part! Who can match a powerful dark sorcerer? Only another of the dark ones, and now, they can’t touch me. Not you, not anyone.”

Delilah’s mind raced. How could he cancel out dark powers with a device built from the same? “The stained glass,” she said aloud. “Oh no, you didn’t... You got it from a church?”

“The priest was a bit reluctant to bless the shards once I blew out his window, but he acquiesced. Eventually.”

Delilah closed her eyes, just for a second.

“I never thought you where stupid enought to go all supervillain. You know you’ll be killed, right?”

“Sure,” he smiled. “Wait and see exactly what happens. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Voice of truth!” Delilah yelled. A point of light, like a star from the night sky, issued from the point of her wand and hit Damon in the chest

“So you learned a little sorcery from the other orders. Nice. But do you want to know the reason why that didn’t work either? It’s because I’m not under a spell. This is me now, D. Funny that you should bother to learn the ‘voice of truth’ spell. How many people can even do mind control these days?”

Delilah didn’t reply, save to say ‘cry of Anubis’ in the language of ancient Egypt. Outside, Wyyla shielded her ears, but nothing happened.

“Keep trying, D. Nothing’s going to work, but you can keep trying.”

“Stop calling me ‘D’,” said Delilah, trying to ignored the searing pain that took her every time she inhaled. She feared her impact on the wall had broken some ribs. Her mind cycled through all the spells she knew of the other orders. Most people knew a little of each, without even knowing which spell came from which order. But Delilah had chosen to specialize the dark callings early in life, and most of the other sorcery she knew was probably too basic to be effective. Force-of-light. What was that? Nature, most likely. Delilah had suddenly developed a pounding headache. It was getting difficult to think. She raised her wand and said the words, and a green orb shot at him. It was the most she could manage.

Damon hadn’t been expecting the ubiquitous spell, and it hit him on the shoulder, spinning him around. She fired again and the orb hit him in the back. She hated herself for her joy at the sound of her old friend’s ribs cracking as the force of the light threw him into the wall. He threw up his hands and the Sorcery Core fired another beam of light. This one was easily a foot larger in diameter than the last, but Delilah still dodged it, firing again.

She hit Damon in his right shoulder blade, and his arm went limp. He turned around and said, in ancient Egyptian, the words ‘take of the Nile’. Delilah tried to jump out of the way, but was unsuccessful. From overhead, water appeared. Not normal water, but a darker blue, tinged with black like jets of squid’s ink. It crashed down on her as she jumped, forcing her to the floor. She landed hard on her knees and then flopped to the ground as the water rushed away. Her wand slipped from her hand. Damon turned to her and said the Cantonese words ‘deadly palms’.

The shadowed suggestions of hands appeared from the corners of the room and rushed at Delilah from different directions. She launched herself at her wand, which was being carried away by the retreating water. She barely managed to get her fingers onto it before it slipped through the doorway. The first palm struck her in the thigh. She was familiar with the spell. She had never used it, but knew, theoretically, how to perform it, and what it should be. The second palm slammed into her side, below her rib cage, and another to her hip, knocking her into the wall.

“You’re pulling your punches,” she cried just before a palm hit her in the side of the face. “Ow.” She used the wall to brace herself as she stood. It would do no good to dodge the palms. The came a dozen per spell, and they would have to be cancelled by another spell. One clapped her on the temple, adding to her already tragic headache. What was that spell she had been thinking of? A shadowy palm found its home in her solar plexus and knocked the breath from her lungs. She gasped. “Clouds,” she sputtered, and a shadowy veil surrounded her. The remaining palms struck it and dissipated. She fired another force-of-light orb at Damon as he was distracted, doing something.

It hit him in the stomach, but didn’t do her a whole lot of good. Her protective veil of shadows disappeared. “You cancelled it didn’t you? You dirty cheat.” She charged across the room and kicked him in the same spot the orb had hit. He gasped, but wasn’t distracted for long. Her eyes flashed and the room turned black. A spiky, amorphous darkness was the only reality.

Wyyla was trapped in it as wall and window evaporated. She was suddenly and intensely disoriented. She fluttered this way and that for a moment, and began to chant. The words were in her own language, the language of sprites, the language of nature, the order of sorcery that lived within her. A small globe of reality, only a few inches in diameter, glowing with a warm yellow candlelight, and more than sufficient for Wyyla, appeared around her. Within, Damon didn’t seem to be affected much, and Wyyla decided she should step in. Delilah appeared to be losing. Damon laced his fingers and swung his arms around, hitting her in the face. Delilah faltered. Wyyla rushed forward and hit the wall. She couldn’t see it until she was right next to it. She fluttered along it to try and find the window.

“Sanguina!” Damon shouted. He brought is fists down on Delilah’s back. Hard.

The fabric of her dress began to rip in a pattern like a spider’s web, and so did the skin underneath. She gasped. Blood began to drip from mouth. The enveloping blackness began to flicker in and out of view.

“Sorry, Delilah,” Damon spat. In an instant, he grabbed his creation from the ruined cabinet, shouted ‘Icarus’ and took to flight. Wyyla ducked as he burst straight through the window and shards of glass bigger than she was flew everywhere.

Delilah lay choking on the floor. Wyyla was a tiny streak as she flew to the woman. All over her body, the cutting web spread and the blood leaked slowly out. “Delilah!” she cried. The dark sorceress tried to say something, but only succeeded in making a pained choking noise. Wyyla began to chant, but the wounds would not heal. Nature was the order of life, of healing. Wyyla was a sorcerous creature, without need of the Foci humans required to tap the capacity within them, but the wounds would not heal. Perhaps if she were a sprite, Wyyla could help her. Wyyla had no practice with humans.

Wyyla tried to lift her. Her strength was sufficient, but her grip was not. She quickly grew to her maximum two feet and lifted the dying woman from the ground. “Don’t worry,” she assured Delilah in her soothing alto tones. “Don’t worry.”

Delilah tried to speak again, but Wyyla didn’t know what she meant to say. Her wings buzzed and they lifted from the ground. She maneuvered them through the window and flew to the Persephone Hospice. Wyyla moved as fast as she could, all the implications of what she had just witnessed announcing themselves in her mind. As they flew, a trail of red points formed itself behind them.

A Chase on the Air

Delilah Runestone was resting comfortably. It took six of Persephone’s finest healers to stop her bleeding. They said if Wyyla hadn’t been there, and so quick, that Delilah would have bled out and died. She was semi-conscious and mumbling sad things about the loss of her friend. Wyyla desperately wished to stay with her, but realized that she had to leave.

She assured herself that Delilah would be safe here, even if Damon somehow realized that she wasn’t dead. The Persephone Hospice was neutral territory, and the rule was strictly enforced. Anyone who thought otherwise quickly found themselves the occupant of a very secure hospital room.

She made for the tea shop with haste. Generally, she liked to wing between the buildings, for the entertainment value. Now, she took to the air above all the surrounding buildings, taking in as much of the great city as she could see. In the normal world, the curvature of the Earth limited how far a person could see on land. Here, the world appeared to be flat indeed and many miles of the city would spread out before anyone at a sufficient altitude. Especially a sprite whose eyes were as sharp as her ears.

Sadly, she found exactly what she was looking for. A flickering storm of blue and white, some miles away. Wyyla didn’t know what Damon McLenen was firing at, but stabs of blue like the one he fired at Delilah, appearing smaller at this distance, tore into the ground below. She could already see three patches of fire glowing a dull orange in his path. The only thing missing was the maniacal laughter.

She noticed that there were not, as yet, any Peeler flares in the air. Wyyla surmised that the neighborhoods he was raining fire upon were, at present, not very nice places. The thought failed to console her much as she made her way to Mme. Rumella’s Tea Shop.

She fluttered in front of the door. She tried to pull on the handle from her position in the air, but couldn’t get a sufficient grip with her near-microscopic hands. The shop was always open to late-night, self-service customers, but it was abandoned at the moment, and everyone appeared to be still in bed. Except Grace Owen, slumbering on the sofa. Wyyla knocked frantically until she caught Grace’s attention. The detective woke with a start, then looked blearily around her. Seeing nothing, and convinced she awoke because of something she had dreamed, the detective closed her eyes and began to settle into a more comfortable position.

“Grace!” Wyyla called at the top of her voice.

Grace emitted a shout of surprise and looked all around.

“Grace! It’s Wyyla! I’m at the door!”

“Oh!” Grace sounded relieved. She went and pushed the door open. Wyyla darted inside, but Grace held the door and scanned the area outside it. “Are you in?”

“Yes,” Wyyla replied by her ear.

“Ah! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry! Quickly, we have to wake everyone! I’ve got news.”

“Good or bad?” Grace asked, fearing the answer.

“Ummm,” Wyyla buzzed. “Lots. Lots of news.”

She flitted away up the stairs as Grace followed behind. Soon, all were roused and arrayed in the first floor seating area. Wyyla described what she had seen, as briefly as she could manage.

“It’s built around a Sorcery Core,” she concluded, as everyone who had been in the city long enough muttered oaths, “and it makes him invulnerable to the dark sorceries.”

“Only dark sorcery?” Hunter asked. “Then that’s not so much trouble,” he said, as a blue-white beam cut in the street next door and left a lingering fire on the cobblestone. “I may be mistaken,” he amended.

Mme. Rumella analyzed the direction of the beam. “Oh my. I fear the auditorium next door may be on fire. I’ll go and check.”

“And I’ll go take care of this McLenen guy,” said Hunter, removing the arquebus from his back.

“Do you sleep with that thing?” Leila asked, unnoticed.

“You’re not going alone,” said Voz.

“I’m going,” Hunter returned.

“But not alone. Do you know exactly which order all of your spells come from?”

“Er, no,” Hunter admitted.

“Then you might just be in trouble. I’m going with you and don’t you try and stop me.”

Hunter shrugged as he, Mme. Rumella, Voz and Wyyla exited.

The auditorium was indeed on fire. The beam had carved up a cut of street, and continued into the building. A thin stretch of the high front wall was burning, and spreading rapidly. Mme. Rumella sighed and readied her wand.

“Don’t bother,” said Wyyla. “I’ll get it.”

“As you please,” Mme. Rumella responded tranquilly.

Wyyla began a short chant, and clouds appeared, and rain from them.

Hunter cast the feather spell on himself as Voz simply rose into the air. They spotted McLenen from their new vantage point and took off in his direction.

“How can you do that?” Hunter called as leapt along below the floating Voz.

She grinned as the wind whipped the hair from her eyes. It seemed light, almost ethereal. The tattered suggestions of black and gray veils flew out all behind her. “You’ve seen my mother fly, haven’t you?”

“Right, but she’s only half-corporeal, isn’t she?”

“And I’m half-banshee,” Voz replied.

“Does that make you a quarter incorporeal then?”

“Don’t be cute,” she called over her shoulder: “it doesn’t suit you.”

Ahead of them, the dark sorcerer poured down more blue-white energy upon the city below. A pair of red Peeler flares erupted into the sky.

* * * *

The fires put out, Mme. Rumella and Wyyla reentered the shop. The others waited with a minimum of patience.

“Hospice, jail, and havoc,” said Mary. “That would appear to knock three of our four main suspects off the list.”

Leila turned to Benny. “This is one of those times you wish you had all your suspects up on a big white board. Y’know, so you could cross the wrong ones off and make a big red circle around the right one.”

“So what happens now?” Grace asked. “Do we go after this guy?”

Mme. Rumella looked at Mary. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds catastrophically frightening,” Leila remarked

Grace laughed. “You sound pretty nonchalant about the whole thing.”

“Well,” Leila explained,” I used up my daily share of freak-out during the ant-spider thing.”

“I take it there’s no chance of waiting?” Benny asked hopefully

“No,” Mary told him. “There are still resources at the Mulhoy, and who knows where else, that he could use. If he learns to read that thing, it’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose. And you do realize I’m being literal here. Hell. Breaking.”

“But couldn’t we at least wait for Voz and Hunter?”

Mary looked insulted.

“What? Is it really that urgent?”

“I don’t like waiting,” said Mary

“Besides, why wait?” Grace asked

Benny told her about Ruin as Mary had told him

“Then again, waiting does have its merits...”

“I don’t think so,” Mary insisted. “There’s still too much we don’t know. Waiting is not something we could afford. If Delilah had good reason to suspect McLenen, perhaps he was involved, and perhaps his running around now is just another distraction.”

“That’s a little too far on the fetching scale if you ask me,” Leila said, adding, “far...far fetched.”

“I admit it could be coincidental, but that’s not often the way things work around here. I say we go now.”

“I’ll leave a note for Hunter and Voz,” Mme. Rumella said, fetching pen and paper from a drawer.

“Nice inkwell,” said Leila. Mme. Rumella gave her a puzzled look.

“So, are we at least going to get the Crusader on our little suicide run?”

“You know what would be comforting? If you didn’t call it that.”

“No-one is asking you to come Grace,” Mme. Rumella assured her

“I’m coming,” she said. “I just like to think I’m coming back.”

Mme. Rumella grabbed her purse and filled it with every smoke vial she had. “Right then, we’re off. Wyyla, Benny,” she said grudgingly, “it would be most expedient if you two looked for the Crusader from the air.”

Benny’s face lit up.

* * * *

They were gaining on him. Voz had the unsettling feeling that he wanted them to do just that. She was sure Hunter was having the same thought, even though, while she wore a distrait grimace, Hunter’s face tore open in a grin that scared even Voz. Though he nearly killed a woman and was currently setting the town ablaze, she almost pitied the sorcerer. Almost.

“Hello!” Damon McLenen called. The silver-framed device Wyyla had described was suspended in place over his chest. “The first of the city’s erstwhile defenders. I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Voz scoffed. Hunter shot him.

Damon was ready. A black veil of clouds appeared and absorbed the force-of-light orb. Hunter swore as he descended. It was difficult to tell, but Voz believed McLenen was looking at him, about to strike. This probably won’t be too healthy for Hunter, she thought, but it’s better than the alternative.

Voz screamed. The air split open. A black something darted upon it. The dark sorcerer faltered, but managed to cast something. Voz found herself in a swirling globe of the same inky clouds that surrounded the sorcerer. While they protected him from attack, they confined her. She kept screaming but the clouds would not break up. She flew forward, beating her fists against her spherical cage. The clouds did not feel hard against her hands, but they still failed to give and she only succeeded in propelling herself forward a few feet. She concentrated on her less-corporeal state and tried to pass through, but the clouds wouldn’t let her. She swore and kicked at the cage again. “I’m just not Irish enough.”

Hunter touched the ground below. Just to test, he fired three more shots into the air. The all stuck McLenen’s veil of cloud, but did no good. The momentum forced him quicker to the ground and he leapt up again at a shallow angle over a low building nearby. He landed by catching his foot on the ledge of the far side of the roof. He turned and looked at the sorcerer and the encapsulated Voz. A beam of energy angled downward from McLenen’s chest and towards Hunter. He dodged.

But only just. The sorcerous energy hit the roof, sending snatches of molten slate spraying all around. Hunter shielded his face. A gob of hot slate hit the back of his neck and sizzled. Hunter growled. The slate was, rather incongruously he thought, on fire. Hunter took a step to his left, the effect of the feather spell carrying him several feet, aiming all the while.

Hunter, having done a fair share of hunting in his day, knew more offensive sorcery than anyone he knew. Except maybe Mary. She had moods. He uttered the words ‘spider’s web’ in Middle French. The spell, a by-product of Anglo-French feuding in the middle ages, should, cloud shield or no, ensnare the dark sorcerer and bring him down. Hunter watched, thwarted, as the web evanesced, became nothing. The spider web must be a dark spell. He hadn’t even thought about it. He leapt to another rooftop as the sorcerous energy struck his last position.

Most of the buildings this far outwise were fairly short, but this one was a good six stories. McLenen didn’t rise farther into the air, but came forward to meet him. Hunter’s mind cycled hastily through the many spells he had learned over the years. He realized that much of the offensive sorcery he knew must be dark. But McLenen had put on a defensive spell when he fired the force-of-light orb rather than dissipate it, as with the spider web.

Nature spells...Having spent centuries in the forest, Hunter had absorbed some of the sorcery there. As active as sorcery was in the city, in the forests it was practically ambient. Hunter raised his gun and whispered a word that meant ‘sun’, though not in any of the languages of man.

A knife of searing, burning gold erupted from the arquebus and struck McLenen. The sorcerer was pushed back a few feet. Hunter hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking on his part that the veil of dark clouds surrounded his opponent seemed to be dissipating.

A crackling blue began. It sprayed around the edges of the sun beam an cascaded down. Hunter could feel the force of it already. His gun slid onto the middle of his chest as he strove to keep it steady. Half of his ray was already swallowed, and the force on the arquebus was making him lean back. If he didn’t move soon, he would lose his balance and be... He didn’t know what. Crushed? Cooked, maybe?

Hunter swept his right foot to the left, sending him into a spin a few inches above the ground. The sun ray snapped off and the blue-white beam crashed into the roof, setting it afire. Hunter had expected to move further. The feather spell must be wearing off. He quickly re-cast it, and leapt into the air. The beam stopped, though Hunter could still see the Sorcery Core crackling from behind the veil of clouds. McLenen turned to spot him and fired, but the new beam went over his head. Hunter was moving as fast as the feather spell would allow.

Hunter held his gun at arm’s length, putting it as a bar between himself and McLenen as they collided. The gun hit him in the knees and sent him spinning as Hunter descended. In an instant, the arquebus was back at his shoulder. He fired a string of force-of-light orbs to change his trajectory, the last straight down to get a slight altitude boost. He pulled his legs up into a sitting position.

His drift brought him onto Voz’s cloudy bubble, which sank a few feet under his weight.

“Voz!” Hunter called. “Can you hear me?”

“Hunter?” came the slightly muffled voice from within. “Can you get me out of this thing?”

“I’ll try.” He placed on hand on the bubble, with the other on his Focus. He couldn’t think of any spell that would release her, but concentrated on the idea. Nothing happened. Hunter saw that McLenen had righted himself and was coming back for more. “I saw you moving this thing around. If I can make McLenen go into the woods, I might be able to manage something for you. Do you think you can follow us.”

Voz pressed her face as close to the wall of her cage as she could, barely appearing behind the swirling blackness. “I think so,” she affirmed.

Hunter smiled. She had never looked more like her mother. A cloud of flame billowed out towards them. The flames broke against the globe which contained Voz, but Hunter barely managed to lift off before they hit it.

Hunter had been impressed with Mary’s dual fires-which-soar, but this had to be five times that amount of fire. This, he surmised, was why no-one of sound mind ever decided to mess with Sorcery Cores.

He checked his surroundings. Having spent most of his time in this world beyond the city, he hadn’t developed the keenest sense of the rings that divided the city by time. He did, however, know exactly which way was outwise, to the forests. He guessed this was about the twelfth century, which meant a long way to go before he had any hope of releasing Voz.

He fired some force-of-light orbs at McLenen, just to make him mad, then leapt away towards the forests.

* * * *

“It’s been half an hour,” Leila fretted.

“It’s a large city,” Mme. Rumella patiently replied.

“I’m just saying,” Leila pointed out, “because you said the situation was urgent.”

“I never said that,” Mme. Rumella retorted.

“I did,” Mary reminded her. “And I think Leila has a point. Perhaps we should give up the search for the Crusader. He proved rather well earlier that he can disappear at a moments notice. We may never find him.”

“We’re making our way out,” said Mme. Rumella. “We’ll just have to hope he’s somewhere between the eighteenth and fifth, B.C.”

“And on our path,” Mary added.

“Near our path,” said Mme. Rumella, indicating the sky. Benny and Wyyla, invisible at this distance, circled the air above looking for signs of the Crusader as the others walked.

“Our path to where?” Leila asked. “You never said.”

“The very heart of Rome, dear. The Palatine Hill.”

* * * *

The forests loomed ahead. Hunter saw the patch directly ahead was buried in a thick bank of fog. That was helpful. Hunter was taking running leaps each time he hit the ground, propelling himself as fast as he could go. He dodged randomly this way and that as breams of pale blue set fire to the city around him. He fired randomly over his shoulder to make sure McLenen would not get bored and give up the chase.

He touched down and ran a few steps, barely touching the ground each time, then took off. He threw his center forward and his head down and checked the area behind him as he spun. The bubble of Voz was still following, in erratic bursts of speed as the captive threw herself against the side of her cage.

Hunter reached the forests and touched down in the bank of fog. Other than the disturbed swirl of his own landing, he couldn’t see fifty feet in front of him. He barely held to the ground as he tip-toed off into the trees. He began to whisper words that only made sense in the forest. The fog thickened further, expanding outward and into the air.

Hunter saw the muted blue of the sorcerer’s energy glowing in the fog, dispersing it. But there was too much moisture and the fires it caused immediately fizzled. More mists rushed in to replace the ones burned away.

Hunter heard a rustling in the wet leaves around him. He made his towards it, careful to cling to the ground as he went. There, among the white mists, was a globe of dusky black cloud. Blue light flashed in and out in the background.

“Voz?”

“Hunter? I’m glad I found you.”

“I’m impressed that you found me. I was about to go find you.”

“Of course you were.”

“Do you want to be in there forever?”

“I bet if you killed him it would go away.”

“He has a Sorcery Core, so I wouldn’t bank on it.”

Hunter touched both hand and Focus to the bubble and concentrated on releasing it. The nature order of sorcery was out in the open here. It was everywhere: in the grasses and trees, in the soil, in the mists that obscured them all. It was, however, not responding. Hunter shrugged. He had never been the most perceptive person when it came to unfocused sorcery. His time in the forests had taught him something about it, it had to, but apparently it was not enough. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Voz’s disembodied voice sounded. “Alright, run.”

“What?”

“Throw me in McLenen’s direction. But not too hard, I don’t want to overshoot him. Then run. Run away and cover your ears.”

“Right,” said Hunter, catching on. He put his arms as far as he could around the sphere, and, checking the ground was clear behind him, fell over. He let one foot shoot forward as the other was brought up under the globe, launching it backwards.

Within, Voz pushed up with all her strength as the cloudy cell flew. She rose into the air. Face to the barrier, she could barely make out McLenen, screaming in anger as he fired again and again at the ground. She only hoped that Hunter was far enough away. She pushed against the opposite side of the globe to slow herself. And she began to sing.

The notes were pure and smooth and flowed like honey even through the barrier of sorcerous clouds. The words didn’t matter. They were whatever syllables moved themselves into Voz’s mouth as she sang. The melody started low, almost in the baritone range, though still strangely feminine, and worked its way up. She held for three seconds on a phenomenal E-above-high-C before a diminishing slide down a tenth.

She stopped. She knew that unless McLenen was exceptionally strong of will, which she doubted, she would have had him in the first few seconds. She enjoyed singing, but sang so rarely because, even when she didn’t intend for it to happen, her voice tended to have unfortunate side effects.

“Damon?” Voz asked to the sky.

“Yes?” came the sing-song reply.

“Damon,” her voice was soft, indulgent. “You should let me out of this cage,” she said.

“Of course,” McLenen hummed.

The clouds fell away around her. The ones protecting McLenen also dissipated into the white mists all around. He stared at her in rapt attention. Voz had him and she knew it. “Come here,” she said

The dark sorcerer floated serenely towards her. The only time his eyes strayed from her was when he blinked. They hovered mere inches from each other.

“Give me the device,” she said, so softly it could hardly be considered a command.

She saw now the stained glass and silver details of the device around the crackling energy of the Sorcery Core. It appeared to be hovering a fixed distance from his chest. He put his hands to it and pushed it away. Voz grasped it. McLenen let go and dropped like a stone

Voz hovered, blinking, as she heard a soft ‘thump’ in the mists below. “What a fantastic idiot,” she said to no-one and flew away.

* * * *

Benny zoomed this way and that. He had been searching fruitlessly, and felt like he had covered miles. There was no sign of the Crusader anywhere. Despite the large area that he, and surely Wyyla, had covered, it was tiny compared to the whole of the city. Distance was quickly covered, but area was an entirely different story. Searching for someone, it is imperative to have a good idea where the are, considering they could be indoors, underground, or disguised by any number of methods.

There was a shriek on the air, that of a very irate bird. It was the signal Mary had decided on, to the bemusement of the rest. Benny flew back to the street path his aunt was taking and set down. Leila aimed her Focus at him as he came down, then pointed it sheepishly away. Everyone had had their Foci drawn since they left the shop

“I haven’t seen him,” Benny announced.

“Neither have I,” Wyyla added, and everyone looked around for her

“When are we?” Grace asked, as though she were only now becoming aware of the situation. The entire walk she had been lost in thought.

“The fourth century, B.C.,” Leila answered. “Almost there. How does someone hold on to a prime piece of real estate like the Palatine Hill anyway?”

“Prime?” Mary inquired.

“Yeah. It’s the Palatine Hill. It’s cool. Maybe that’s just because I’m an anthropologist.”

“I thought you were an archaeologist,” Benny puzzled.

“Can be both,” she said.

“By being evil and scary, to answer your question, pet. I say if we haven’t found him by now, the likelihood is we won’t. So, do we do as Mary suggests, and fight Ruin now, assuming of course that he is in fact at the Palatine Hill, or do we wait?”

“We go,” said Mary.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Hunter and Voz? I would just feel a lot better having them around,” said Leila

“We would have to wait quite a while,” Wyyla announced. “I saw them headed towards the edge of town. I think they were headed for the forests.”

“Why would McLenen run for the forests?” Mary wondered.

“Actually, he was chasing them. Or at least Hunter. I didn’t see Voz anywhere.”

“Very odd, indeed,” Mme. Rumella remarked. “But the question remains. Mary, we have your vote. What about the rest of us?”

“Personally,” Wyyla piped up, “I think we can take him.”

“I’ve already taken on one Necromancer tonight. What’s one more?”

Everyone chuckled at Grace’s little joke. Except Leila.

“I may as well go if everyone else is,” she said resignedly. “I’ll be cannon fodder.”

“Stop that, pet.”

“Sorry.”

“And Benny go home.”

“What? Auntie, you can’t be serious!” Benny protested.

“I’m perfectly serious, thank you. Now go.”

“I won’t. You need my help.”

“You are far too young to be involved in this,” Mme. Rumella calmly explained. “And I won’t have your parents hating me forever because I’ve gotten you killed. Now leave.”

“I won’t,” Benny repeated.

“You will or I’ll tell them about the marijuana I found in your bag.”

“What? There’s no marijuana in my bag.”

“There will be if you don’t leave.”

“Come now, auntie. You don’t know any drug dealers.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t care. Do you think my mother would be all jolly with me if I ran and hid while her only sister was turned into the walking dead? I’m going with you.”

Mme. Rumella narrowed her eyes at him. “Do as you must, then,” she said, and walked off.

It wasn’t long before the hill came into view. The Palatine Hill and the neighboring Capitoline Hill had both appeared in the city around the same time, along the Forum Romanum between them. The Forum area and the other hill had slowly been pushed to the city’s First Quarter, and the Palatine to the second. There was now a sharp drop off on the opposite side. The hill was green and spotted with trees and the ruins of ancient baths and palaces. There was a mainly intact house, many stories high with archways of various widths.

And there was an unnatural light emanating from the top.

“Unless there are a whole lot of welders up there, I think we’ve found him,” Leila commented.

“Come,” said Mme. Rumella. “We’ve much to do.”

The Palatine Hill

Mary went into an Incantrance. Wyyla appeared much larger, and glowed Kelly Green. In the distance, there were some strange lights, brownish, scuttling. She looked at the light from the top of the hill. It shone horribly bright in her trance state, and moved in ways her mind couldn’t quite grasp. She had to look away. All around the hill was quiet. From her previous experience with Ruin, she had expected safeguards of all kinds. He was rather the paranoid type.

It was possible they were there, and she simply couldn’t see them in her trance state because they were stationary. She doubted it though. Stationary safeguards were all well and good indoors, but in a space the size of the Palatine Hill, there was a more sensible solution, one that covered more area. They were called Motes. Tiny sorcerous points that orbited on a set path. Once they struck a target, the spell effect would be initiated, and someone would get a seriously unpleasant surprise. A swarm of Motes would give anyone pause. Even Mary. Maybe. She looked back at the strange light in the center of the hill. She could swear there was a sound reaching her ears. A song, she knew, but not like any music she had heard. She again was forced to look away, and began to blink off the trance state

There was a tickling sensation, like a loose hair playing at the back of her neck. “You hear it too, don’t you?” Wyyla asked her

“Yes, I do. I did. I can’t now.”

“But you heard?”

“Yes.”

“Did you understand?”

“No,” Mary replied.

“Then you’re lucky. And we’re lucky to be here now, while we still have a chance of stopping him.”

Mary turned to the other. “I think he knows. I think he’s activating it as we speak.”

“He is,” said Wyyla. “I can feel it.”

Leila and Grace exchanged slightly panicked looks. Mme. Rumella closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath and tried to block out all the horrible imaginings forcing their way into her mind.

Mary thought strategy. There was a spell she remembered, one that became very useful when fighting Ruin’s horde of ancient, reanimated warriors. It would make the perfect overture for what was to come. “Everyone, take up positions around the hill at intervals. I’ll do something to distract him. You’ll know it when you see it. Just don’t be too close too early.”

Everyone nodded their assent and moved silently away. Mme. Rumella grabbed Leila by the elbow and led her away to the left. Benny whispered ‘Icarus’ and hovered, a mere inch above the slope, in the opposite direction. Grace followed, wincing each time the ground under her boot made the slightest noise.

Mary removed her long coat and dispelled it. Now that the safeguard had been set by Mme. Rumella, she could not set it inside the barn, but instead aimed for the roof. She just hoped it wasn’t raining.

She raised her baton to the sky and envision the area at the top of the hill, the ruins of ancient palaces. The spell was powerful, not Alta-Signa powerful, but still required more than a one word incantation. It was from the order of sorcery known as ‘the distance’. It was the sorcery that inhabited the spaces between the stars. Some of the more basic spells of this class were actually ubiquitous in the city, though people rarely knew the order or origins of the sorcery they used. “Dark is the sky and spaces between, and bright is the fire which draws the heavens together,” she said.

A meteor rose. It appeared from the tip of Mary’s Focus and erupted forth with a blazing trail even as it expanded, the same shape, only scaled up in size from pebble to boulder. It flew upward with a slight arc in, and exploded over the top of the hill.

The meteorites blazed down in their dozens, hammering the ground and spreading flames over building and tree. Mary quickly cast the feather spell on herself and leapt in. As she did, she saw Benny flying in from her right. Mme. Rumella walked calmly in, wand leveled.

“Ruin, my dear misguided young man, I’m afraid we’ve come to stop you.”

Leila and Grace had positioned themselves behind a standing portion of wall, and apparently Ruin had yet to develop the reflex of looking up for flying people, as Benny was hovering mere yards above and behind. From the impact of the meteorites, dozens of small fires had started. For the moment at least, they did not appear to be spreading

“We who?” Ruin spat.

Mary touched down lightly a few feet away. “I think she must mean me.”

“Are all your coffee shop buddies here too?” Ruin sneered

“You’re really unpleasant,” Mary informed him. She took in the scene. All around were patches of burning rubble. Near Ruin was a raised marble slab that resembled an altar. Mary was relatively sure that it was not in the original plans. On it was the Standard of Uruk. It was strangely quiet. There was still a visible glow, white, tainted rose, but nothing like what she saw in her Incantrance, and for that she was grateful. There was a longsword laying there as well.

“Oh my,” said Mme. Rumella, and Mary followed her gaze.

There was the Crusader, on his knees and strapped down to the ground with a hundred chains, so many he was half-covered.

“Yeah, he’s handy,” said Ruin. “I’m not sure his masters know how much knowledge he has. If they did, I doubt that they would have sent him. He knows all about the Standard, including how to read it. It was rough, getting it out of him. The mind of a sorcerous construct is a weird damn place, I’ll tell you.”

“So that was your swarm of creatures outside the shop,” Mary remarked. “What’s the matter, then? Can’t even get the dead to do your dirty work any more?”

Ruin grinned. He was the very picture of smugness.

Mary sighed. “Oh what is it? Come on, then, what asinine plot have you cooked up this time? There’s the ancient sorcery, obviously,” she said, gesturing at the Standard, “and given your history I can only assume you’re going to start messing with dead things in a moment.”

Ruin shrugged, still smiling. “I guess we’re all creatures of habit.”

“Young man, if you’re still alive after tonight, I fervently recommend a dialogue coach,” Mme. Rumella said. “One thing you could say for Lionel was that he at least had a little panache.”

“Panache-less though he may be, he does have a point,” Mary said. “I am, after all, in the habit of kicking his ass.”

“Do it, don’t do it. It won’t matter.”

“Won’t it?” Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Standard is already activated. Can’t you feel it?”

They were forced to admit that they could. It was like tension, like something creeping around in their veins, through the air, testing

“The sorcery written on this thing is an Alta-Signa, the most ancient one I’ve ever heard of, much less experienced.”

While Ruin spoke of the high sorceries, Benny touched light down behind him. Using Voz’s double field force trick, he created a silent area around him and the Crusader and began breaking the chains that bound him.

“It could rewrite reality in a snap,” Ruin went on. “It was just waiting for someone to use it.”

“And how, precisely, do you know that?” Mme. Rumella asked, skeptical.

“It told me.”

“And why wouldn’t it?”

Ruin glared at her. “Shut up,” he said.

“Dialogue and manners as well,”

“General etiquette,” Mary added. “I bet he doesn’t know which fork is which.”

“Okay, I’ve had about enough of you two. I’m about to learn the secrets of the universe here.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ve all wondered the nature of life and death. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

Mme. Rumella sighed again. “Alright,” she said.

“I won’t,” said Mary. “But I will note that your work on the subject has been hazardous to a great many people.”

“Right. I care so much. That’s why I did it in the first place,” was Ruin’s sarcastic reply.

“Just finish your explanation,” Mary ordered. “I’m anxious to see to your cartoonish and embarrassing death.”

Ruin held his tongue. “Like I said, we’ve all wondered the nature of life and death. That’s why I went into necromancy. I can tinker around with it, but the greater mystery is still closed to me. But now, with this,” he indicated the Standard of Uruk, “I’m going to crack the universe open and take a look at what’s inside.” A manic glow appeared in his eyes. “I’ll finally know the answers, the real ones, the ones to the ultimate concerns. And you know what? If I don’t like them, I can change them. I can look at all the rules, take them, break them, shuffle them around. People will live and die at my slightest whim.” He smiled feverishly at them

“I think you should have said ‘every caprice’ instead of ‘slightest whim’,” said a thoughtful Mary. “Or perhaps I’m just partial to the sound.”

Ruin appeared a little crestfallen at not being taken seriously. “This is serious,” he said.

“Of course it is,” Mme. Rumella chimed in. “I think what Mary is trying to tell you is that you won’t get a chance to use it. Because she’s going to hurt you severely.”

“I’m already using it,” Ruin pointed out.

“Of course you are, young man. That’s why we’re all still alive and standing,” Mme. Rumella returned. “Though you may soon not be. I’m afraid there’s someone you’ve rather put out.”

Benny had released the Crusader and downed the fields that silenced them. The Crusader grabbed his longsword from the slab beside Ruin. He brought it up above his helmet and swung down, but Ruin heard the noise and dodged.

It was at that point that things got out of hand.

Leila and Grace rushed out as Mary and Benny took again to the air.

Ruin yelled something unintelligible and the Crusader was thrown through the air and through a crumbling archway. He hit the ground and rolled down the hill a ways.

“Proteggere!” Leila shouted. A blue glow appeared and tried to surround the Standard, but it was banished by the rosy white from the artifact.

Ruin round on her and fired a force-of-light orb from his finger tips, just as Grace used the same protection spell on Leila that Leila had tried to use on the Standard. The two effects reached her at the same moment and cancelled each other in a flash of blue. Leila stood, shocked and staring.

Mary landed lightly atop a standing column, sending twin jets of flame at the necromancer. He flung his arm in her direction, and a miniature gray pellet hit the column as she leapt away. She swore, not because of her close call with what was almost certainly a disgraceful necromantic attack, but at a detail she noticed. She was sure the Mme. Rumella had noticed it too, because that was what Mme. Rumella did. Ruin wasn’t using a Focus. His wand was nowhere in sight. Spell effects were launching themselves straight from his fingertips. Mary had a sinking feeling in her stomach. He must be tapped into the power of the Standard.

Grace was darting towards the frozen Leila. Ruin turned to follow her. Grace grabbed Leila round the waist, forcing her to run backwards. “What?” Leila asked.

“Nice of you to join us,” Grace said as they ran. A stream of gray pellets hit the ground behind them, the impact forming clouds of dust that rose from the dirt and stone of the floor. Grace pulled them both at an angle and they dove over a pile of collapsed column

One of the pellets hit Leila in the leg while she was airborne. She screamed in pain. Grace tugged at her pant leg to have a look. Beneath, the skin was becoming withered and gray. “Jesus,” she said.

There was a clink on the ground next to them. A vial of smoke had appeared. Grace unstopped it and placed it under Leila’s nose. She inhaled it eagerly. The leg remained as it was. “Did it work?” Grace asked

“The pain is stopped. I don’t feel it spreading anymore.”

“Alright. You just stay here.”

Leila fixed her with and forbidding gaze. “But then I’ll be late for my date at the roller disco,” she said.

“Hush you,” Grace replied. She peeked up over the hopefully-protective screen of fallen stone. Mme. Rumella, stationary in her position from before the fighting started, gave a friendly wave. Grace mouthed ‘thank you’ rather than draw Ruin’s attention.

Mme. Rumella’s greatest strength, in her opinion, was to go unnoticed in a fight. With a seven-foot-high suit of armor and Mary, Queen of Scots running about trying to kill you, the innocuous tea shop owner was certainly of secondary concern. Up until the point when she broke open the very ground beneath you.

The spell effect was jagged as it sprang forth from the tip of her wand. Mme. Rumella had found the spell convenient on more than one past occasion, and therefore had a bit of practice at it, but it was still difficult to aim. It traced a seemingly random path, the weakest parts of the soil. The sudden chasm broke right between Ruin’s legs, forcing him to straddle it as it grew wider. Ruin pushed off with one foot. He managed to get his weight far enough over the he was no longer in danger of falling. Mme. Rumella made a disappointed noise and waved her wand. The chasm snapped shut, clipping a half inch of sole from Ruin’s boot. There was no sense in leaving it open. There were far more of them to get hurt.

Ruin started for her, face full of rage. Mme. Rumella held her ground. Grace, looking on, thought she had frozen, like Leila, and jumped up to intervene. She fired an orange force-of-light orb, the highest she could. It slammed into Ruin’s shoulder but, thanks to his large size, he wasn’t thrown nearly as much as Lionel had been.

“Knives,” he said, and four of them flew at her from no where.

Two of them hit. Pierced in shoulder and stomach, Grace fell to the ground

“Mary!” Mme. Rumella called

Right on cue, Mary touched town behind Ruin and kicked at the back of his knees. Mme. Rumella ran to Grace as he fell.

The Crusader had righted himself and found his way back up the hill. Mary knit her hands together and made to hit him at the base of the skull. Something happened. The world stopped making sense and she froze. Ruin pulled himself up and backhand her across the face. She fell stiffly to the ground and lay there in the same position in which she stood.

“Thanks, Mary. I think I’ve finally got the hang of this thing.”

The Crusader charged him, sword leveled at his midsection. Ruin held out his hand and brought the Crusader to life. The metal of the armor became malleable, melting, changing. Changing to flesh. As the armor became a man, it began to scream. The screaming voice was the same tinny soundit had always been. The man that had been the Crusader fell to his knees, dropping his unchanged weapon. It clattered loudly on the few remaining floor stones, though still drowned out by the screaming. Ruin walked over and kicked the naked form in the face. He fell silent.

Through a gap in the rubble, Mme. Rumella watched. “Oh my,” was her only comment. One healing vial had failed to heal Grace’s wounds. Mme. Rumella through down her purse. “They are obviously more than ordinary knives,” she told Leila, still laying on the ground with her mummified leg. “Give her two additional vials, no more, then we’ll bring her to the Hospice, once this mess is taken care of.”

With everyone in sight apparently taken care of, Ruin’s attention had turned back to the Standard. Tendrils of a bloodysomething tainted the rosy light emitting from the artifact. There was a crackling noise, and a suggestion of another place, flashes so fast the conscious mind almost could not take them in. A starry sky of dusk violet, a marble tiled floor, stretching into the distance. Mme. Rumella’s mind flashed to the House of Folly. The statues. Mary.

The flashes stopped. Mme. Rumella scanned the skies. Her nephew was still up there, looking frightened and indecisive. For the most part, Benny’s skills were more suited to the occasional schoolhouse brawl, which was broken up quickly as it began. The Beast of the Sands had known some tricks, but nothing like this. Mme. Rumella tried to find Wyyla, but didn’t see her. She could only hope that the sprite was still alive and well, and waiting. Mme. Rumella stepped out from behind the collapsed column. She glided silently towards the necromancer’s back. She looked up at her nephew, indicating Ruin with her eyes. He nodded. She would have to assume that he understood.

She moved forward, step by deathly hushed step as Benny glided near above. Ruin stiffened. He seemed to sense something. Benny knew his cue when he saw it. The harshest spell he knew was the one he had used to finally kill the desert-dwelling monster earlier on his break. The words were in an old Scandinavian language, he didn’t know which. Ice storm.

He called them at the top of his voice. The air stilled with the cold and moved with the wind. Scraps of snow and razor shards of ice fanned down on him. Ruin raised his hand to stop it, but just as suddenly was doubled over, clutching his chest. Mme. Rumella could swear she heard ribs snapping. Bless Wyyla and her tiny sprite strength.

Mme. Rumella crept forward still. With a wave of his hand, Ruin swatted Benny from the sky. He held his fist up in front of him, though he could still not stand quite straight.

“Damn you creatures!” Ruin shouted. Mme. Rumella presumed he had caught Wyyla in his fist. “First I’m going to crush you, then I’m going to visit horrors upon all of your kind, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me! “

“If you’re going to crush me,” Wyyla returned defiantly, “then crush me!”

He never got the chance. Mme. Rumella brought up her wand as it changed into the ten pound sledge she had used many years ago to stop another necromancer by destroying the Focus of his sorcery.

She struck him in the back of the head.

He fell.

She struck him again.

The Standard still glowed, otherworldly. Mme. Rumella took two steps towards it. “Please, stop that,” she said, and it promptly did. Once again it was just a cylinder, inscribed with words no-one could read. “You seem listen to anyone who speaks,” she said to the lifeless object. “Perhaps,” she advised it, “you should be a touch more choosey in the future.”

All of a sudden, there was two-foot-tall, winged woman standing on Ruin’s hand. “Good work,” she said.

“The same to you, my winged wonder: you were incredible. But now, we have to get all these people to Persephone’s.”

Wyyla nodded and they set to work.

Hospice Ward

Leila wondered whether the large room would be called a ‘ward’, when it was part of a hospice rather than a hospital. It was certainly more pleasant that a normal-world hospital, with its fluorescent lighting, disinfectant smell, and fluorescent lighting. Leila really despised fluorescent lighting. She inhaled the pleasant incense that filled the place. The lighting was even and sunny, which, she had been assured by people more experienced in these matters than she, was very impressive.

Leila sat in her wheelchair by the wall and surveyed the scene in front of her. Mme. Rumella, Hunter Blue, and Voz sat in guest chairs along one long wall to her left. Benny was in the bed nearest her. He, like Leila, was cured but convalescing. His impact had shattered every bone in his left arm, two ribs, and fractured his tibia. Luckily, the talented women of the Persephone Hospice laughed at broken bones. That is, if they did laugh at all. They were all kind of spacey, white-robe-wearing earth mother types. But very polite. Leila liked them

Beyond him lay Mary, and then Grace. The knives were indeed designed to resist on-the-spot healing, but the healers took care of them. Still, she had lost a lot of blood and was in and out of consciousness. Van was in a chair at her side. The farthest bed was occupied by Delilah Runestone. Wyyla had insisted they share a room with her. She lay covered only by the cotton sheet, her body smeared with a white balm. Presumably the sprite was somewhere in the room

“So, Delilah,” Mme. Rumella started, “I believe you have some explanations to give.”

“Yes, that’s true. But... can you tell me what happened to Damon?”

“I, er, we’re not exactly sure,” Voz admitted. “I sang to him, and he handed over his device.”

“I need to learn that trick,” Delilah murmured.

“We were in the air. He fell to the ground, but it was all misty. I guess that snapped him out of it. I’m not really sure, I’ve never actually, y’know, enthralled anyone before. On purpose. I screamed at the device to destroy it. Some general advice,” Voz offered: “if you ever have to dispose of a Sorcery Core, be careful. I was thrown a good forty miles and crashed into a tree. When I got back, Damon was gone. We looked for him for a while, but decided to get back and see what was happening. By the time we got your note, the fight was over. Sorry about that.”

“No trouble, Voz. We managed,” Mme. Rumella said dismissively

“You guys sure made a mess of the hill,” Voz remarked.

“It was like that before,” said Leila. “Which is kind of weird. I mean, if the hill appeared here in the fifth century B.C., shouldn’t it be in the same, freshly built state as it was in ancient Rome?”

“That was my fault, from my last confrontation with Ruin,” Mary informed her. “Funny,” she remarked, “how we had another Life Squad ending.”

“Sometimes a hammer to the skull is the only solution,” Mme. Rumella commented, with perhaps a little defensiveness in her voice

Mary had been completely paralyzed. The healers managed to move her into a reclining position, but she still couldn’t move herself. They were restoring her bit by bit. Right now, she could blink and talk, but that was about it. The neck muscles required to move her head were still disabled.

“I can’t believe you wrecked the Palatine Hill. That makes me sad,” said Leila

“Delilah,” Mme. Rumella prompted

“I didn’t want to interrupt, that’s all.”

“You’re not interrupting now,” she replied.

Delilah exhaled heavily and began her story. “I was having a crisis of faith, I guess you could call it. I began to study dark sorcery because of... an incident when I was young. With Damon, and we both swore not to be like other dark sorcerers. But it’s more difficult than you would think. It’s like there is some strange pressure, pushing you into the traditional role of the dark ones. I was worried. I went to see Tina Virtue.”

Mary scoffed.

Delilah continued. “See told me that I was strong enough to resist. And she said something I didn’t quite understand: that at least some small part of everyone’s fate was determined.”

“So you went to see Mr. Markab,” Mme. Rumella supplied, recalling the sight of the nervous and irritable Delilah in his waiting room

“Yes. And he told me about Miguel Suerte.”

Hunter perked up.

“He said that he was destined to become mayor. I asked him what that had to do with me,” she said, troubled. “And he told me that Suerte’s and my fates where intertwined. He couldn’t say why but he did say that...Suerte’s actions would bring him into conflict with virtually everyone here. And that my destiny was to stop him. Mr. Markab said that Suerte had heavily shrouded his destiny, which usually meant that someone was relentlessly pursuing something they believed the could achieve.”

“Seek and you shall find,” Grace suggested, still half asleep. “My mantra.”

“How about seek and you shall be severely injured.” Van suggested.

“So he ‘pierced the shroud’, however you do that, and said he was looking for the Standard of Uruk.”

Everyone was shocked, but said nothing as Delilah continued

“When I came into your shop last week, I basically knew nothing but the name of the thing. But I saw you were involved with the Crusader and I figured you could me out, I just didn’t think you would do it willingly.”

“So you did the reverse psychology thing? It worked well enough, didn’t it? Speaking of the Crusader, though, what happened to him?”

“Very sad, pet. The healers said they couldn’t do anything for him, and they in fact had no idea how Ruin could have done what he did.”

Leila heard a clank. She peered over her shoulder, out the window. “Is that so? Then I have another question.”

“What is it?”

“Who is that?” Leila asked, pointing out the window.

Everyone craned to see. The Crusader stood on the street in front of the building, in full armored form. He looked around to get his bearings and set off.

“Isn’t that interesting?” Voz commented

“What is it?” Mary asked

Leila described it for her. “And I think he’s headed back...”

“Back to the Palatine Hill?” Mary puzzled

“The Standard is still there,” Mme. Rumella explained. “We couldn’t move it. I think during all the reality shifting, the bottom of it became fused to that table, well, table-like entity on which it was resting. But back to Delilah, please.”

“Well, I was out, and Ruin found me, at the Nightlight, and tried to... I don’t know. Co-opt me into his service maybe? Whatever he wanted, I wanted no part of it, and we got in a bit of a fight.”

“And you got out of it totally unharmed?” Leila wondered

“He did the same thing to my arm that he did to your leg. That’ll be numb for a few days, by the way.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, it was totally out of the blue. I knew of Ruin, but never had anything to do with him, so I was suspicious that he was somehow involved. I couldn’t think of any other reason he would talk to me, seeing as I had a fairly evil-free record. But then I ran into Damon, right outside Suerte’s house, and I became suspicious of him, and he had that thing, so I thought it might be the Standard, and we all know what happened with that.”

“But what about Suerte?” Hunter asked.

“Nobody had any idea that he was involved,” Voz remarked. “I guess everyone, except you, Hunter, thought of him as some harmless loon.”

“He’s far from,” Mme. Rumella commented, “Harmless, that is. Probably still a loon.”

“I still don’t understand how Ruin ended up with the Standard if it was Suerte who wanted it,” Leila said, face wound in concentration. “Or how he knew about the thing in the first place, especially considering that between the museums and the Mulhoy, there was only one person who had heard of the Standard of Uruk.”

“Suerte is well versed in the ancient devices, pet. Remember, he supplied Lionel with the crystal for his spell all those years ago.”

“Even so, that doesn’t answer my question about Ruin. Why hire Mr.Grr-I’m-going-to-unlease-madness?””

“He was busy,” said Delilah. “The rules of the election state that a person can be ‘elected’ mayor without a single vote being cast, so long as there is only one candidate, and citizens have ample knowledge of the campaign.”

“Hence all the posters,” Benny chimed in

“And the podiums,” Hunter added

“And speeches, and the big ‘Suerte Campaign Headquarters’ banner,” Delilah finished for them. “There’s a whole list of things you can do. He was putting in appearances all over the city so that he could become mayor.”

“So,” Mme. Rumella deduced, “his hands full with the campaign, he needed someone else to retrieve the Standard, and discover how to use it. So he contacted Lionel, an old associate who was no longer powerful or influential enough to affect Suerte personally, and who could be bought with promises of the same.”

“But again,” inquired Leila impatiently, “what about Ruin?”

“I’ll be sure to ask him about that before I slice his damn head off,” Hunter assured her

“Be sure to do it with a flaming sword,” Mme. Rumella told him, “it’s something of a mayoral tradition.”

“Maybe he was an enforcer,” Grace suggested, somewhat more conscious now. “He was having a hell of a time using the Standard, which would obviously be enough power for whatever his,” she tried not to laugh, but failed, “dastardly mayoral plans were.” Most of the others joined her laughter for a few moments before she could continue. “So he needed a back up plan, someone with muscle, or maybe swarms of the ancient dead or giant insects or something, to pull them off, just in case.”

Mme. Rumella nodded. “Possible,” she said.

There was a short pause while Mary considered. “If Ruin knew anything about Suerte’s efforts to use the Standard, he must have known it was an ancient, written sorcery. So he took the opportunity of Lionel’s absence to steal it, and do what he told us: indulge his obsession by answering his questions about death.

“I’m a necromancer,” said Leila, “I bring youpremium quality madness at discount prices!”

“It serves them right, too,” Mary continued. “I can guarantee you they were all planning to double cross each other.”

Everybody murmured their agreement.

“There’s one thing I want to know,” announced Leila. “If the ant-spider creatures really did work for Ruin, why didn’t they help him out when we got there?”

“They were there,” Mary said. “I saw them as brownish lights in the distance when I was in my trance. I think that the Standard affected sorcerous creatures more than the rest of us. I would think that’s the reason that Ruin was able to turn the Crusader into...into that guy.”

“I suppose,” Leila was skeptical. “But why were the creatures affected when Wyyla wasn’t?”

“Because they’re dumb,” said an acerbic Wyyla. “The sorcery from the Standard did seek out us creature types first, but it wasn’t too difficult to fight it off if you have any willpower in you. Even though it was getting tense there at the end.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” said Leila.

“No need to be sarcastic,” Wyyla pouted.

“It’s my natural reflex to ludicrous understatement,” Leila told her.

“I’m just glad this whole thing is over,” Grace stated.

Everyone groaned, including Leila.

“What?” Grace asked. “What is it?”

“Grace,” sighed Mme. Rumella, “nothing is over. The best we can say is ‘over for now’.”

“Even I saw that one coming,” Leila remarked.

“How is it not over?”

“Suerte is now mayor,” said Delilah, “plus he has operatives out of town somewhere. I think overheard him talking about Holden Trainer.”

“Oh hell,” said Mary.

“If that weren’t bad enough news, we don’t know where Damon McLenen may be, or when Ruin may return,” Mme. Rumella explained

“Return? He’s dead. You crushed his skull with a hammer. I don’t think he’s coming back any time soon,” Grace protested

“He’s a necromancer, Grace.”

“Was.”

“He may not be entirely human when he returns, but necromancers have a tragic habit of doing just that, time and time again.”

“That’s incredibly depressing,” Grace said. “You’ve just depressed an injured woman.”

“Oh hush,” Mme. Rumella replied.

Miguel Suerte, Mayor

Miguel Suerte smiled under his moustache. It appeared that things were finally going his way. Hundreds of years of planning had gone into this. The loss of both Ruin and the Standard of Uruk were distressing, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was not without contingency plans, not to mention better associates than Ruin.

Though his security forces had proved inadequate, he felt relatively secure in their greater numbers, and the addition of nearly three thousand spell Motes flying around his house. They would provide a fair share of fiery doom to anyone who would come to St. Vrain manor with the intention of bringing the same to him.

The only real wild element at the moment was Hunter Blue. Annalisa Da Cartagio’s symbol had appeared on his desk, covered in blood. He had killed four, maybe five hundred years ago. It was difficult to remember

What he did remember was a time a thousand years ago, before Annalisa had ever met Hunter Blue. When a drift of desert sand would appear, and form itself into the model building that had been on his desk, you would go. You would go if you wanted to live. Annalisa Da Cartagio was ruthless, powerful, and beautiful as hell. Suerte had often done work for her, at the usual steep discounts Annalisa seemed to encounter everywhere. Whatever change of heart she may have had in the years before her death, Miguel Suerte remembered her for what she truly was, and that was just like him. Except for the beautiful part, but then she didn’t have a swell moustache. Killing her was the crowning achievement of his life so far.

He would outdo himself as mayor, of course. And when Hunter Blue came for him, he would make sure he knew exactly who the love of his life had been. Then he would send Hunter to the afterlife so he and Annalisa could talk it over in person.

A Safe Return to the Unknown

It was several mercifully quiet days later when Mme. Rumella went to the Palatine Hill. Leila Lanstrom was there, leg fully functional once more. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and she was dressed in khakis and a man’s button-up shirt, with several of the top buttons unbuttoned. A fleece jacket lay discarded on a stack of nearby rubble

“Mme. Rumella, hi!” Leila called. “Can you believe the weather? I’d like to visit the real Italy sometime, you know, so I can see it more than one hill at a time.”

“The Aventine Hill isn’t far, I believe,” Mme. Rumella commented. “I brought coffee for you and your friends.

“Oh thanks. I was here all night,” she said perkily

“Imagine my surprise.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do the whole sleeping-eating thing soon. We’re almost done here.” She turned to the two other people at the work site, two young aids from the British Museum, who were making sketches of the area. They would trace out the lines with the tips of their wands, and the pictures would fill themselves in, in magnificent perspective. “Guys! Coffee!”

The aids scrambled eagerly over and thanked Mme. Rumella profusely

“Pet, they’re not taking exact drawings of the Standard, are they?”

“Oh, no. We’re mainly recording the event. The Standard itself appears in the pictures as a blank cylinder. We wouldn’t want to accidentally crack open the universe and pour out the secrets of life and death or anything,” she smiled

Mme. Rumella laughed. “No, we wouldn’t at that.” She looked over to the out-of-place marble table to which the Standard had been fused. The Crusader stood nearby, leaning on his sword. Mme. Rumella waved to him. Rather to her surprise, he waved back. “I brought you a coffee,” she called to him.

“Do you have any tea?” the Crusader’s tinny voice asked

“I’m afraid not. Are you sure you don’t want the coffee?”

“No, thank you,” the Crusader replied

Leila looked at her. “That was odd.”

“Speaking of which, have you asked him how he was transformed back?”

“Yeah, nice segue. All he said was that his masters wanted him that way, and so he was.”

“Let’s pray we never meet them.”

Leila made a hum of agreement. “Anyway, I think I’ve almost got the Standard off that slab. It’s great practice, let me tell you. I haven’t done any field work since I got here, but they showed me the spells they use for tricky stuff, you know, when the tiny brushes won’t do.” She removed the pen from her breast pocket and crossed to the Standard

The aids appeared to be finished with their sketches. They flipped their pads shut. One shouted to Leila, “Leila! We’re done, so we’re gonna take off, okay?”

“Alright. Later, Ted, Johnny.”

They walked off unnoticed as Leila told Mme. Rumella about her efforts to free the Standard. “Every time that I cut too close to the Standard, the marble heals itself over. So it may have to have a slight attachment. Do you think you could pull as I cut?”

“Certainly.”

“Lase,” she said. A beam of coherent light shot forth from the tip of her fountain pen, and she reached around the artifact as far as she could, cutting as shallow an angle as she dared, to avoid injuring herself or Mme. Rumella. The circle cut, Mme. Rumella lifted the object out. A cone of marble clung to the bottom. Its point was already started to heal back to the slab via a thread of stone. Leila severed it and Mme. Rumella set the Standard gently on the ground. The Crusader took a few steps forward.

Leila knelt down and sliced off most of the cone, leaving a half-inch-deep cylinder attached to the bottom of the artifact. The Crusader bent over and picked up the artifact.

“Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave.

Leila and Mme. Rumella stood for a little while and watched as he headed out of the city, cradling the Standard of Uruk against his chest plating.

“We never did find out whom he worked for,” Mme. Rumella commented, “and in this city, I’m afraid that can only mean one thing.”

“Let me guess,” Leila lazily interjected

“We’re going to see him again some day,” Mme. Rumella finished

“I just hope it’s not soon. I need to catch up on my sleep.”

“You lie, pet,” said Mme. Rumella, and started back inwards

“Alright,” Leila admitted, as she threw her coat over her shoulder and followed. “I need to catch up on my reading.”

About the Author

Andrew Smith enjoys music, writing, traveling, martial arts, and switching colleges and majors, just to keep things interesting. He is Syracuse University class of 2006, with a degree in Religion and minor in Music Industry, because they clearly go so well together.

Andrew grew up in the Rockies, where he drank, drinks, and will continue to drink more coffee than is probably advisable. He is currently at work on other projects, such as more Woven City novels, some non-Woven City novels, and learning to speak Portuguese so he knows what all that Brazilian pop music is really saying.

Crusader is Andrew Smith's first published novel. He owes the completion of it to the fabulous coffee chicks, who fueled his addiction with coffee in all its myriad forms. Except decaf.