Changeling

(102): Least Convoluted Heavenly Plot

Twilight had come to the capital, the hour when law-abiding heavenlies ran their last errands before heading home. This part of the city sat at the edge between the light of tiny, specialized shops and the darkness of near-legal activities. These locksmiths didn’t ask questions, Nestra knew. This wasn’t the worst part of the city yet so the guards liked to walk around some and raiders were few, so she attracted their gaze with her Emerald Sea mercenary appearance. She had seldom been more aware of wearing a Mask. The Emerald Sea appearance worked in her favor by making people expect her to act like a quirky bumpkin. She just hoped no one would ask her maritime questions.

The hardest thing to do was controlling her ears. She’d started twitching while they were plotting with Makihel, prompting the older elf to scold her, only for Grook to twitch as well. Disparaging comments about ‘teenagers’ and ‘professional schemer standards’ had been thrown around. It hadn’t helped with the twitching. This was just so exciting! Playing the upper shelf thug in a magical medieval city came with an exotic aura Nestra loved. She was still taking things seriously, of course, especially with Grook around. But still!

Had to keep the ears in check.

The red light of the setting sun bathed the streets in crimson, bringing color to gray walls and hiding the signs of decay that came with poor maintenance. The capital didn’t smell bad for a large city. Sometimes, the air bought the scents of cooking fires, strange spices Nestra had not tasted yet, and the susurrus of conversations through half-open windows. The air was crisp, not yet cold but closing in on the winter days that would coat the city in snow — or so Makihel had claimed — and bring most of the town to a hushed and festive stop. The general mood felt safe and comforting. No one looked at her like she was a coreless freak because here, she was just a mercenary with above average capabilities on some sort of errand. It made her feel all giddy. Ear check. Ok, wiggle aborted.

Nestra walked past a mill, then a wine seller to find the shop she was looking for nestled between two larger ones. Unassuming, it didn’t even have a sign, and the eclectic goods visible through the dim windows gave little information as to what was sold here. That was because no one visited Fennek’s workshop by mistake. Nestra stopped by the entrance, then she waited. Soon there was a brief pulse of Earth mana, not much in this magic-saturated city but the taste of it was familiar. It was time. She knocked on the wood door, then walked in without waiting for an answer.

It was cramped and dusty inside, motes dancing in the last rays of the sun as they filtered through the curtains. A slightly disheveled, painfully thin woman stood behind a cluttered counter. A door led deeper inside while to the left, a narrow set of stairs disappeared in the shadows. The woman dragged a strand of black hair behind her long ear before giving Nestra a confused look. She was D-class and on the feeble side of it.

“Hmm, welcome to Mira’s supplies. I’m Mira,” she bleated. “Are you lost?”

“I’m here to see Fennek.”

The poor elf froze like a neosaur in front of a walker’s headlights. Her eyes darted to the side.

“In the workshop?” Nestra asked.

The girl hesitated.

“Upstairs then?” Nestra asked, taking a step forward. Mira immediately jumped forward before her brain could catch up and remind her of her chances.

“No, wait!”

“Upstairs it is.”

Nestra made sure to plonk her way on the creaky floor. Mira hesitated, then with a shaky voice, she tried a last ditch effort.

“I’ll call the guards! I really will!”

So cute. Nestra made sure not to chuckle because courage from the weak was always worthy of her respect. The girl was no fighter though, and made no attempt to stop Nestra when she clambered up the stairs at gleam speed. The sound of a shutter brutally opening told her it was the ratty door on the left. She didn’t hurry. It opened on a narrow room, well-lived in but with signs of poverty: a piece of wood to stabilize a shambling table, old clothes mended so many times they were paper thin. Cold air entered through the open window.

Nestra heard the familiar smack of knuckles on a face. She leaned out of the opening onto the street below, watching a reedy elf struggling in Grook’s plus-sized mitt like a rat trying to escape a pitbull.

“Oh my, what a windfall this is,” Makihel purred. “My good old friend Fennek!”

“You have some nerve, woman!”

Fennek’s windpipe grew significantly narrower for two seconds.

“What I meant,” he squeaked, “was oh, what a delight it is to see you again, milady!”

“Better.”

Grook was just too good at being a goon. It was so instinctual for her that Nestra was admittedly jealous. The massive girl’s ears twitched so Makihel quietly elbowed her. Half a second later, Makihel rubbed her painful elbow. Yep.

“Let’s take our pleasant reunion inside,” she decided.

“But of course. I welcome you in my humble abode.”

It turned out that Fennek’s choice of words had been apt. It was so humble it was barely a fucking abode. After calming poor Mira down and requesting tea which Nestra would generously label as ‘flavored water’, Fennek sat them all in his workshop which had at least as much dust as the front. Nestra studied it with a measure of curiosity while Makihel sipped from her cracked cup.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Fennek started.

Makihel didn’t reply immediately. Her azure gaze met Fennek’s dark own. He withered under her attention, face retreating behind a curtain of black hair as if it would help.

“It is a recent development,” she finally replied. “Very recent.”

“So Naila is not aware yet. You left my sister and I in quite a bit of a predicament, you know?”

The sound of the cup slapping wood made him jump.

“Fennek, I have never been so humiliated in my life. I was kept in an airy manor under lock and key, wearing thin rags and eating stale bread while my captors fucked in my master bedroom. I was allowed one hour of walk per day, always the same. I read every book I possessed five times, and I had to beg to get anything, even a comb. A comb! Complain once again and I will shove your entire collection up your flaccid arsehole. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

Her tone had grown increasingly furious as the tirade went on. Nestra realized that under her perfect control, Makihel was hurting. The Aszhii could credit the elf princess’ self-control and wisdom for being only a bit gone after all this shit. Or as her dad would put it, a stubbie short of a six pack.

“Crystal,” Fennek squeaked.

“Good. Now.”

Makihel’s fingers clawed the table while she centered herself again. It took two long breaths before she trusted herself enough to resume.

“Short version. I need your services. Tell me what it will take.”

“Well,” Fennek replied, sweating. “My time is precious.”

Nestra chuckled. To her surprise, Makihel crossed her arms and turned to her which was heavenly for ‘go ahead’.

“A blind idiot would see you’re flat broke, Fennek. Tools are missing from the table, probably sold. Their indents are still here. Your home’s falling apart and your sister’s too thin.”

She lowered her ears in mock disappointment.

“Your time is only precious to us.”

Fennek sighed. Scarred, ink-stained fingers massaged his brow.

“What do you need?”

“Warden uniform, an equinox ball invitation —”

Fennek choked on a bitter laugh.

“Let me finish. We will be providing a blank letter or equivalent. I am not asking for the impossible. Disguises. A passkey usable on category 2 doors.”

“And I assume you have a treasury with you? Perhaps a few mana cores, hmm?”

Makihel turned to Nestra who obediently produced two stubby purses.

“How much is that?” Fennek asked, voice filled with doubt.

“Thirty-four crowns and some change. About fifty more in jewelry,” Nestra replied.

Fennek gave her a curious look. She also pushed a C-class core towards him.

“Put that away. I heard some thieves can sniff them. Listen, I won’t be able to turn those cores into money fast enough, or discreetly enough. The Guard has its eye on illegal raids.”

Makihel leaned forward.

“Horse shit.”

“I am serious. There is a new group, the Red Robins... You couldn’t have heard of them.”

“Gangs of hopeless losers have a two years life expectancy, Fennek dear. And I assume they have taken over your favorite fences, hmm?”

“More like killed one to warn the rest. Ortor. Found floating in the Underriver.”

“And you know where they’re holed up, hmm?”

Fennek licked his lips.

“Yes. And they have money. Your companions look strong. They could...”

His eyes darted towards Nestra. She, too, leaned over the table, one elbow resting on the old wood and showing the armor underneath her clothes.

“And I assume those ‘Red Robins’ wouldn’t happen to be holding your sister and you under their thumb? Asking for too much of a share, perhaps?” she asked.

Fennek panicked. Makihel smiled ever so slightly, especially after he grew a spine with his next reply.

“That’s my price. Get them off my back and I’ll rub yours. Consider this... an advance payment.”

Makihel leaned back into her chair which Nestra judged was a perilous gamble because the rickety thing may just snap under her bony ass. Fortunately, it only creaked in the following silence.

“Fennek, Fennek, Fennek. Five years and nothing has changed. You are still an impossibly talented idiot with the sense of a headless bird. When I fell, you should have sought another patron for your considerable skills but instead, you holed up as if one could just disappear in the capital. The only way to disappear here is to be impossibly well-connected or entirely dead. Let me guess, you sold the pendants I lent you for safe-keeping.”

Fennek looked like the class’ idiot caught red-handed by a freshly divorced professor.

“You did, didn’t you? And the wardens fell on you like a sword rack.”

“The... Imperial Guard did. They took everything and broke one of my fingers.”

Makihel looked down.

“I had it mended, of course. I can’t lose my business,” Fennek grumbled.

He did want to be useful.

“The Imperial Guard took my pendants?” Makihel asked in a soft voice.

“Yeah...”

The teacup smacked against his forehead, splashing hot water on his greasy hair. Makihel was breathing hard by then. Her temper worried Nestra but, a second later, she just morphed all that pent up frustration into focus again. It was a little scary and probably not too healthy but Nestra understood. If Makihel failed, it was back to the manor at best, and dethroning a rival using two bored Aszhii and a crafty drongo would be an uphill battle. Makihel sat back in her chair.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Fine. Fine, I shouldn’t have expected anything else. For all your many skills, you still require the guidance of a wise hand, someone who can survive the ebb and flow of court politics and with enough cards in the game to have a use for you. Rejoice, Fennek. I am back and you shall reap the benefits. If we succeed.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Here is the plan. Tomorrow, you will buy your tools back and work on the Warden outfit with all haste, as it will be required to take down the Red Robins. Once it is done, we will use the increased means we have to plan a little surprise for dear Naila’s Equinox Ball.”

“Yes, milady.”

“You may keep the large purse.”

Fennek licked his lips. Nestra guessed that some of that money would go towards food and didn’t mind too much. With this done, Makihel asked a comprehensive list of questions about the Red Robins and the general state of the city. The interview was quite thorough and over the course of the evening, Nestra came to the realization that Fennek was a useless dumbass. Even she would have kept a better finger on the pulse of the city and she wasn’t exactly a gossip. In the end, Makihel dragged them out but she didn’t have them return to their modest rented room. Instead, she stopped a few streets away. Her expression was dark in this world’s twin moon’s gaze.

“Grook and I will wait here for dear Fennek’s change of heart.”

Nestra frowned, not understanding.

“It would be much wiser for one such as he to gain the backing of the winner by selling me out, rather than siding with the loser in the hope of an upheaval. He will betray me, and I expect he will attempt to message Naila tonight. I would appreciate if Grook could back me up as I find beating someone a little distasteful. No offense.”

“I don’t find beating people difficult. You should practice mixed martial arts. It makes it very easy,” Grook confidently offered Makihel. “I can show you how.”

Nestra didn’t feel the need to clear things up. Makihel’s baffled disbelief was just seasoning for this already juicy evening.

“Perhaps when we have more time, young one?” the poor elf finally said with a saccharine smile. Grook shrugged. The young Aszhii had such a lovely and helpful personality. Maybe she and Helena should meet.

“I assume you have a different plan for me?” Nestra asked.

“Yes. I see you took notes about what Fennek shared of the Red Robins?”

“Yep.”

“The base’s location is three blocks south of the Aqueduct Station. If nothing has changed, you merely have to follow the laughs and the scent of alcohol-induced piss on the wind, and you shall find our friends. Do not take them out yet. Just reconnoiter their base so we can move in when you’re ready.”

“I assume this refers to the warden uniform you requested?”

“Precisely. I expected us to have to move against unsavory elements first in order to clear ourselves a niche. The warden uniform and subsequent clean-up will allow us contact with certain, more evasive branches of the capital’s law enforcement. The kind that it would be better to greet first before they inevitably show up.”

“And they know about the gang?”

“Absoluteely. My dear Nezhra, gangs are like weeds. You can pull them from your garden all you want, but they will grow back next spring without fail so long as the chokehold the capital’s elites have on its resources is maintained. Those in charge of the peace tend to prefer to, ah, keep the weed under control rather than burn it, for even a weed has its purpose. Nevertheless, I am certain we can find someone who will appreciate the free arrests on their yearly performance review even if it means some more work tracking the next up and coming group. We will need this contact if we are to take Naila down and recover what was lost.”

“I see. So you really want me to impersonate a warden, right?”

“That was the plan.”

“What is even a warden, exactly?”

It felt like an important question that should have been addressed earlier. Makihel sighed while she massaged her temples.

“Of course. Grook, if you could keep an eye out for the back entrance?”

“Yes.”

“Wardens are a special branch of the capital’s law enforcement who concern themselves with organized crime. They have significant leeway in how they operate, better training and mostly consist of cunning individuals capable of realizing when they are stepping on the toes of a family too powerful to casually offend. Those who do can curtail the activities of those who believe themselves above the law...”

She gave Nestra a glance.

“Although this merely points out that families are, in fact, above the law until they cross several lines. I would know. Those who can’t tell get out of the business, although most powerful law-breakers will try not to kill them. The Wardens’ leadership do not like that.”

“I’ll bet. If that’s the sort of character I’m meant to mimic, I need more than a uniform. I need basic legal books, operation protocols, and I need to observe wardens in their natural habitat. Every specialized group has its own sub-culture ranging from values to lingo. That sort of thing can’t be improvised.”

“Any warden commander will know you’re not one of them.”

“Those are not the people we’re trying to fool.”

Makihel conceded the point.

“Very well. I never resorted to such brute force tools before and you have a better understanding of law enforcement than I do. We will proceed as you suggested. Tomorrow, when the bookstores are open. Speaking of, do you object to giving me another core?”

Nestra shrugged. It felt weird and vaguely amusing to bankroll a noblewoman’s scheme, especially with said woman being considerably older. Shouldn’t the roles be reverted? She still waited a bit while the other two left, slightly uneasy, but Grook had things well in hand and by ‘things’, Nestra meant Fennek’s throat. She decided to revert to Aszhii, then carefully moved through the city, ignoring the roofs to favor thin walls instead. By then, most people were in their bedrooms getting ready for the night. As she progressed, the constant presence of mana signatures all around her failed to hide a general... unease. She couldn’t quite understand what was happening, so she progressed more carefully than ever. It didn’t matter. This region didn’t have anything important in it so no powerful raiders patrolled it. Laughs guided her to the gang’s hideout, such as it was. They had made little effort to turn their abandoned warehouse into something comfortable.

Nestra settled to wait by a balcony. The members were thuggish heavenlies which didn’t really match her expectations of the species. They were between D and C-rank which spoke highly of them since, with most portals under noble control, they would have progressed by meditating on the regular. And killing rat monsters in the canals, perhaps. They wore simple, civilian clothes and were armed mostly with knives and truncheons. It was all very quaint. After a moment of hesitation, she jumped across the street covered in darkness, Skin turning her entire body ethereal. The inside of the warehouse hid crates of supplies marked with merchants’ emblems, currently being counted and categorized by a scarred C-class man and a white-haired woman sporting a sheathed rapier by her side. That was tempting, but Nestra would wait. Instead of bothering them, she focused on the unease she’d been sensing. Using meditation exercises, she filtered out the myriad spells and enchantments of the city. First, the distant wards, then the weak cores of those around her. Finally, the ambient mana, strong and pulsing with the breath of this world. Her horns tingled. There was something here, yes, only, it wasn’t ‘here’ here. It was far away. Far away north and up. She looked through the wall as if it would reveal something. There was a presence. It felt strange and diffuse like a half-lidded eye, quiescent. She had experienced it once before. She tried to remember only to realize it had not been all that long ago.

Agathon’s cathedral.

She was in the presence of another S-class, only this one’s domain extended over the entire city. Her only saving grace was that they were otherwise busy, unaware, or uncaring about the affairs of the squirming hordes. That general unease made her realize the capital was a protected garden where she would have to abide by unspoken rules, because getting that power’s attention would be the end of her. This was a place where one treaded carefully.

Karamahel had mentioned that Agathon sometimes did business with the city. Did the heavenly S-class know? Nestra wondered for a while, then she shook her head. It didn’t really matter to her, because she was too insignificant for that game anyway. Her objective was to get a proof of distress or an official request from Makihel. The plan to use a very personal item was well and good, and she would stick to it for now if only because it was fun and Grook needed more experience. She would also look for... alternatives. Just in case. Makihel’s talents didn’t change the fact this was an uphill battle, one Nestra wouldn’t risk her adopted Aszhii sister’s safety on. There might be other ways that she only had to look for. Not make the same mistake as during the lizardman village hostage rescue where she was so focused on getting the humans out herself that she got speared halfway to death.

Nestra sat on her haunch and thought. How does one think outside the box? Well, what was the box here anyway? What was giving her tunnel vision?

Hmmm.

“I should have picked philosophy as a minor,” she grumbled.

“Did you hear something?” one of the thugs asked.

“Shut up and watch the windows! We don’t want intruders.”

***

The wardens were a solitary bunch as Nestra found out over the next two days scouting the city for their hideouts. They barely gathered, and when they did, it was in secluded, unmarked forts protected by layered wards (that didn’t extend to all of their walls). They didn’t speak much. When they did, it was to exchange information or interrogate suspects. All of their papers used ciphers as well. After hours of stalking like an oversized barn owl, she found that they did have a proper lingo shared among their numbers. Mostly, they used most of what the guards here employed, like ‘suspect’ and interrogation, but they had some special terms like ‘slow-cook’ when investigating other guards, or ‘gilded turd’ when following nobles, a term Nestra found self-explanatory. Otherwise their personalities were all over the place. In a way, it would help Nestra infiltrate them. On the other hand, she was probably missing a lot of subtext that might cause her to falter if any of her adversaries were familiar with the group. They reminded her of the rat squad with their careful patience and total lack of trust in the rest of the force.

Hopefully the masquerade would hold long enough.

***

“If we can’t move everything to the runners then maybe we’ll just keep the food for ourselves?” Gut suggested.

Every other Robin officer rolled their eyes. ‘Blade’ did too, her hand casually resting on the hilt of her sword. She just wished moving the loot could be slightly easier than snatching it in the first place. Her side still hurt from the guard’s truncheon and the damp air of the warehouse didn’t help. It probably wouldn’t help perishables in the crates either.

“You and your fucking stomach. I’d rather have some hearty stew and leave the fancy shit to the stuck up assholes ‘upstairs’,” Scar replied, pointing towards the noble districts. “I say we move what we can now and keep the food and the weapons until that Thalirian bastard replies.”

“Who, Telon?”

“Yes, Telon, who else? He’s stuck in the canals for now, but he wrote that he’d give us a price before the next moons.”

“Ah, so there is a letter,” a voice said from above.

Everyone froze, then stood with weapons drawn in the same instant as the faint scent of the sea chased that of stale and dusty air. There was something there too, a tension Blade didn’t recognize. Her sense of smell and mana always mixed up, but this time she was sure. Someone had just revealed their presence. A woman, from the voice. The intruder herself gracefully dropped from an upper beam, the movement smooth but the sound of boots hitting the ground a sure sign that the armor wasn’t just for show. She had blond hair and blue eyes coursed by yellow arcs. A storm affinity if Blade’s school days were any indication. On her hip rested a truncheon with a pitted metal end. Unenchanted.

It was bad. It was really, really bad, but worse was her uniform. That was the dark armor of the wardens.

She’d seen some in the streets, and newspapers sometimes printed stories on them when they had a successful arrest. Seeing one now just as the gang had done its first real good job... Shit. Her heart sank in the frigid pit of her stomach and her breath grew short. This was it.

They were already fucked.

Done for. It was the salt mines for her scrawny ass, unless that guard had died and then it was the gibbet. Her hand closed around the guard of her sword.

Maybe...

“You know,” the woman casually said, brushing her gloved hand. “Most people would make a token effort to hide the crates. Underground maybe. In one of the many rooms within the maze of the canals, but not you, no.”

She counted on her fingers.

“Assault with grievous wounds, breaking and entering, third degree theft, insult to a noble house, storage of stolen goods, organized criminality. My my. I hope you fuckers like salt. YOU!”

The scream made the paralyzed officers jump. She was pointing at Scar.

“Put it on the table. Go ahead, do it.”

Scar’s hands had slowly lowered but now they were up. The air grew heavy with a scent Blade didn’t recognize.

“On. The fucking. Table,” the warden said in a casual tone, the request backed by a congenial smile.

Scar revealed a cocked crossbow, the kind used by shadow cabals and other assassin groups. It was extremely illegal to own. Blade swallowed, seeing the part of her life spent underground expanding again.

“Put your finger on the trigger,” the blonde woman ordered.

With a shaky hand, Scar obeyed.

“Try and shoot me. See what happens.”

The air was very heavy now. The others must feel it too. In the distance, Blade heard the illusory rumble of thunder.

“Try your luck? Look, I haven’t even drawn the stick yet,” the woman said, pointing at her truncheon.

The woman extended her hands. Scar had decent survival instincts. He didn’t take the shot.

“Right. Now, where was I? Hmmm.”

She moved to the shabby desk they used for paperwork. Her large hands immediately reached for the hidden compartment in the third drawer. She hummed a strange, atonal tune while rummaging around until, with a fateful click, it opened. The vague hope of a reduced sentence melted like snow under a fireball because her writing was on there. Outside the gates, an altercation started between the junior members and the stern voices of guards, recognizable from their dickish confidence.

Blade calculated her chances. Twenty years, at least. Her progress within the second ascension would slow to a crawl, perhaps dooming her to a life of mediocrity. Only the most successful gangers attracted the attention of the Great Houses, and her chances were slipping between her fingers.

It was time to make a decision.

“Screw this.”

She stood and drew at the same time. Ice coated her blade in a diamond pattern. She lunged with speed and the technique brought by countless sweaty evenings. The warden wasn’t looking in her direction. There was an open window on the second floor that led to the aqueduct and then down towards the canals. It was her best chance. It was her only chance. She didn’t see the warden’s arm snap up but she felt the shock in her bones when the blade was stopped and then deflected, when her balance failed. Steel fingers clamped on her knuckles. Something cracked, then the tension reached a paroxysm and Blade knew what she’d been smelling but never recognizing, simply because she’d never left the capital and its mountains. It was the smell of salt carried by a wet wind, the harbinger of the storm.

“You need to work on your mana perception, kid.”

There was pain. Pain, and movement but uncontrolled. The roof, damaged and dusty. She collapsed without a cry. She tasted blood. Bit her tongue, probably.

Fuck.

“That was two very cute attempts. Attack on an officer of the law, ten years. Each. Another volunteer to pad my numbers? Anybody? No? You guys are fucking pathetic. Right, here is what is going to happen. My esteemed colleagues are going to give you some brand new bracelets. You’re going to line up over there to wait for them.”

There was a pause.

“NOW!”

Feet shuffled. Blade couldn’t move. A foot pushed her sword aside. It had cost quite a bit.

A crushing weight destroyed the last of her hopes. All she could see was the back of the warden, supremely confident. They really had bitten off more than they could chew, this time. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

Blade’s life had been destroyed in less than five minutes.

***

Nestra fought off the wave of anxiety threatening to drown her. Mostly, things had gone off without a hitch so far. Her forged identification tag allowed her to mobilize a guardpost as planned, and the ledgers she’d taken from the warehouse ought to send all these fine people to the slammer with minimal paperwork. It wasn’t just a decent haul, it was an excessively easy one with a few leads peppered in if the warden she was supposed to see wanted to pursue them. But something had gone terribly wrong.

The slightly overweight ganger named ‘Gut’ had disappeared. It wasn’t the loss that was a problem, it was the manner of it. When the blade girl had tried to stab her, bless her dumbass heart, Nestra had barely been distracted. And yet, even that tiniest of openings had been enough for Gut to leave. Nestra had almost expected a blade through her ribs from some secret A-class infiltrator but it hadn’t come. He had merely escaped.

And that meant trouble. Nestra had clearly interrupted an important agent and thus shat on someone’s project. Depending on the grouchiness of said people, it could mean interference down the line. Makihel had to be told, but later. For now, she ought to stick to the plan. The guards were more than pleased in their blue uniforms so she supposed they’d been eager to make a move on the gangers for quite a while now, and the arrest had been seamless, Nestra having picked a meeting time and disabled the sentries in advance. The next part would be crucial. It was also the part she had the least amount of control over. Under the morbid attention of citizens, her little column made their way towards the nearest warden fort, carefully hidden behind a bakery. This one doubled as a prison. It really didn’t look like much so when Nestra knocked on the reinforced and spelled door, some of the guards gave her a look. A second later, the gates opened, and a graying warden with deep red hair made a sign for them to enter. The mood of the guards plummeted moments after they stepped inside of the cool and forbidding inner court. Wordlessly, the older warden placed every member of the gang in separate cells in some sort of cellar. He gave Nestra a long look while the guards shuffled around, unsure of what to do. Nestra’s anxiety spiked.

“Thank you, people. Your participation will be noted. You may leave.”

The beat cops didn’t have to be asked twice. The warden’s dark eyes gave Nestra’s chest a glance where her token dangled on a silver chain. She felt a ping of mana and doubt in the man’s eyes.

“Follow me,” he said.

Nestra didn’t complain. She could feel the mana signature of two other people plus who knew how many more hiding themselves, yet nobody had shown up. The heavenly’s office was terse and well-organized. He slowly sat in his chair, the weight of his mail not bothering him in the slightest. His dark gaze didn’t leave Nestra.

She used the opportunity to place all the incriminating documents she had on the table.

“One of them’s missing,” the man gruffly stated.

Nestra winced.

“So you know,” she replied.

“He disappeared in a fraction of a moment. I didn’t expect it.”

“Did you search for him?”

“I didn’t try.”

Both of them were B-rank but he looked older, a sign he’d reached the rank later in his life. Much later given the fact he was a heavenly. Despite their relative equality in ranks, she felt intimidated. She hadn’t been this afraid since Ragnarok had last scolded her.

“Perhaps for the best. You do realize you interrupted an ongoing investigation and spooked the main subject, or do I need to explain it to you?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

“The Red Robin’s fall was necessary for another ploy —”

“And yet,” he interrupted, “courtesy would demand that an agent introduce herself first, before an arrest is made. Who’s your company head?”

This was it, the moment of truth. Nestra picked her ID, then dropped it on the table alongside a small bag. He stared at them as if they were a particularly colorful viper. With covered fingers, he undid the bag’s bindings, dropping a silver coin and a B-class core. That one belonged to a river fish creature that liked to attack by beaching itself and, quite unfortunately, tasted rather like mud. The core was a bribe, or rather, a tribute. The silver coin was the message. The warden brushed Nestra’s ID with thoughtful fingers. His eyes widened. At least he didn’t look pissed yet.

“It holds at first glance. The work of a master. I was almost convinced... but wait.”

He stared at Nestra’s face for a moment before reaching over and grabbing a single sheet off of a pile of papers. He dropped the document on the table by the open bag. Nestra, Grook, and Makihel’s faces were drawn there, seen from profile. Nestra swallowed with some difficulty.

“Aha. I knew I recognized you. Princess Makihel’s face breaker. Do you know that we have sent messengers to the Emerald Seas to find out who you truly are? No, don’t tell me. The less I know about this, the better. So, I assume your employer’s scheme reaches beyond my humble corner of the city, hmmm?”

Nestra nodded, ears finally relaxing.

“If she sent you to me with the token and this nice core, I assume she has a proposal I will want to hear?”

“Princess Makihel believes Lady Naila has been operating with an unlicensed cabal.”

The warden hissed, eyes narrowing.

“Those are some serious accusations.”

“That is why I used the term ‘believe’. My employer will produce said proof in due time, once the occasion presents itself.”

“Do not pretend like we’re nobles, child. We are but pieces in their games. Speak plainly: she wants us to give her room to maneuver, in exchange for which she will uncover an interesting conspiracy.”

“Which would lead to an arrest, yes.”

“An arrest we would take partial credit for. And the return of her confiscated assets, I assume?”

“My understanding is that with the credibility of her main accuser being voided, the case against her will surely be... reconsidered.”

The warden drummed the table with his fingers. He didn’t seem opposed.

“That is not something I can personally promise. If your employer would be receptive to a personal meeting, my superior will gladly discuss the terms and boundaries of our cooperation.”

“That would be great. We could meet —”

“You do not need to be concerned,” the warden interrupted with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We know where you are, and we’ll contact you.”

Threats like that were good, Nestra truly believed. It meant they’d already accepted.