Cities are alive, in their way. The people who live within them are the red blood cells, constantly keeping up its beat, day and night. Unlike other living organisms, a city never truly sleeps. There is always something going on. The lights never truly dim, not until the city's death. Music is played, love is made, dreams are dreamed and life is portrayed.

Manny exited the trellian's house just after dinner. The sun was starting to burn away, to be replaced by a semblance of the moon, though in truth both of these were just far-off vines of the World Tree that held greater light than most. He wandered Palasaic's streets, watching the city and its people. A couple were pushing a small stroller in an evening stroll. A few children were playing hide and seek, crowing and howling to one another over a series of streets, one by one getting picked off, not by the seeker, but rather their parents calling them in for bedtime. A well-to-do lady was walking with her manservant, who was leading an elephantine, two-headed pomeranian around on a leash. A man was playing a guitar, the case open and with a few small coins tossed in. Manny, smiling at this, as the man thrummed out some folktale from lower down the trunk, flipped a few quarters in.

He found himself going downtown. By now the sun was fully extinguished, and the usual bar crawlers had come out of the woodwork. A couple of drunken revelers passed him by, laughing and jeering.

He smiled at this, too.

He had never been to a bar on his own. Not like this. Usually when he went to them, it was to meet Darwinist contacts. People loyal to the Doctor's cause. He hadn't even gone to one with Jericho, when the two had free time. Prime was a dangerous place, and much of their off-time was spent on Gaiusaia, hunting for rats and fish in the swamps, camping under its red lights.

Manny approached one of the revelers, tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said, pointing at the bottle in the man's hand, “Where can I buy one of those?”

The man looked at Manny, then to the bottle, then started chortling.

“'Where kin ah buy one of dose,' he says!” he roared, “Gods above, gods below, gods...”

He broke down into another fit of hysterical giggles. Stopped, looked at Manny, then broke down again.

Manny sighed. Then looked around.

Aye, there was a building that looked like a tavern. A cheery looking place, light filtered in from the green glass windows and the sign had a symbol of a knight riding a griffon. The bouncer, a large and muscular looking trellian, nodded to him as he approached the door, and let him in without a word.

At once Manny was assaulted by light and color and sound. A band was playing on an upraised podium in the corner of the room, guitars and fiddles and a single woman strapping out some bawdy jeer. The crowd roared whenever she cursed, or sang things so indecent they made Manny's ears run hot. The entire tavern was packed tonight with travelers from across the multiverse, guildfolk and their clients, and he found himself pushing through the weird and wonderful as he tried to find a seat.

There was an open stool at the bar. He sat down in it. The bartender looked at him.

“What'll you be having?” he asked.

“Water,” Manny said.

The bartender looked at him with an upraised eyebrow.

“Oh, let the boy have something strong,” a voice said behind him, “I'm paying.”

He turned around to see a woman waltzing into the room, drawing not a few glances at the sight of her, her plunging dress, the way that individual strands of her hair seemed to move, as serpents, of their own accord. She was followed by a beaverfolk in a nice suit, who turned an upraised snout to the depravity of the scene.

Manny looked perplexed at her, unsure of how to respond. The bartender answered in his stead with a chuckle.

“Alright, caught the pretty lady's eye,” he said, “What'll it be, lad?”

“Uhm,” Manny said, a bit dumb, “Beer.”

“Just the grog? We got some special stuff in the back, if you're wanting to make it your while.”

“Just beer,” Manny said.

The bartender laughed, and poured out a mug, passing it to him.

“And for the miss?” he asked.

“The same,” the lady said, and she approached Manny, sat down next to him, “Mr. Gnawliver, would you like anything?”

“I'm quite fine, milady,” the beaverfolk puffed.

“Ah, very well, then,” the lady smiled at Manny, “Petra Balishen.”

“...Manny.”

“Forgive my interruption, Manny,” Petra said, “But you looked a bit out of place here. I mean, water, really?”

She gestured at the room.

“There's not a drop in the building.”

“I don't usually drink,” Manny said, “Don't come here often.”

“Well, I do hope you end the night with something more than just your basic grog,” she said, and she took a sip of her own drink. For a moment, her face scrunched as she drank.

But just for a moment, before she hid it behind that demure smile once more.

“Might I ask what guild you're part of?” she asked.

“Oh, uh,” Manny said, “The...”

He racked his brains.

“The Jet Runners,” he decided.

(Winced internally, what kind of name was that?)

“The Jet Runners,” Petra said, and she said it like she was rolling it in her mind, “Odd name.”

“We... yeah, it is,” Manny said, “But what guild name isn't?”

“Ha, I suppose that is true,” Petra said, “My guild is one called the Amber Foundation.”

(Amber Foundation. Vague memories, of his time on Prime, in Death Valley...)

“Interesting,” Manny said, and he sipped the beer.

And his face wrinkled.

“Like piss, isn't it?” Petra said, amused.

“People drink this stuff?” Manny asked.

“They drink it if they're poor, and you, my friend, are not,” Petra said, “Not with me, anyways. I believe I see a few of my guildmates, over there. You're welcome to join us.”

Manny glanced over as Petra pointed them out. A dwarf. A swarm of hornets. A rat and two humans. A demon, by the looks of it, who was drinking greedily from an overlarge mug.

“Why not,” Manny said, “I'll join you.”

***

Petra Balishen waltzed into the Sir and Bird, found some young guy to hang around her arm, and guided him, like a lost puppy, towards the group. Dama Runebreaker chuckled at the sight.

“Glad Urash ain't here,” she said to Archenround.

He'd have a fit, Archenround signed, smirking.

“God, he's like half her age,” Ichabod said.

“Hot,” Orion said.

The others looked at him. The swordsman raised up his hands in surrender.

“What?” he said, “I like older women. Sue me.”

“Hush, now,” Vespa said, “Be kind.”

“Don’t say that in front of Petra, either,” Gouffant chuckled, “Or you’re a dead man.”

Petra, her tugalong, and Gnawliver took their seats at the booth. By now, they were all squeezing in. Vespa was spread out across the table, individual hornets taking sips of everyone's drink. Already her buzzing words were slurring. She had never been one to hold her drink – hornets could only take so much before getting drunk. Archenround did not have a seat, instead coiling herself outside the booth, drink in hand.

“Chuh-huh, Petra,” Gouffant said, “Found yourself a friend, hm?”

“Just a lonely little boy,” Petra said, “From the Jet Runners.”

“M-My name's Manny.”

The group considered him. He was wearing a dark cloak, and sat uncomfortably with them, nursing his drink as though it were something foreign to him, like he wasn't sure how to exactly hold it in hand.

“Well, might as well do introductions,” Orion said, “Name's Orion. That's Dama Runebreaker, Archenround, the asshole there's Ichabod-”

He went through their names, one by one. Manny looked at attention to each of them, his eyes glistening in wonder at each of them. He sipped his drink. Pulled a face. Petra rested a hand on his arm.

“Something better, dear,” she said, “Mr. Gnawliver, would you please order our friend here something worth his night?”

“Of course, milady,” Gnawliver said, and he got up to head to the bar. Despite his posh accent, they could hear him order a drink for Manny over the din of the tavern.

“So... Manny,” Ichabod said, “Is that short for anything? Manfred?”

“Just Manny.”

“Just Manny,” Ichabod said, “So, what do you do with the Jet Runners?”

“What do I do?” Manny said.

“I'm usually used for infiltration,” Ichabod said, “Not for this job, of course. Archenround is the muscle. Petra is there to look pretty-”

“-He means I'm the one with the connections,” Petra said, and she flashed her guildmate a warning smile.

“Gouffant, too,” Ichabod said.

“Yuh,” the giant rat heaved, “Better lookin' than all you lot, that's for sure.”

“Humble, too,” Orion said.

Manny was quiet for a few moments.

(What could he say?)

“I'm... the muscle,” he said, as though deciding.

“Ah, good,” Orion said, “I always lose to Archenround in arm wrestling. She has a new friend.”

Archenround, as though in answer, got ready, rested an elbow on the table, her fingers wiggling in challenge.

Manny, at this, smirked. He clasped Archenround's arm-

“Alright, usual rules,” Orion said, “Archenround, don't hold the table with your other hand.”

“Oh lord,” Petra said, and she rolled her eyes, “Already?”

“Money's on Archenround,” Ichabod said to her.

“Very well,” Petra said, “I'll support our new friend. Fifty gold.”

“Deal,” Ichabod said.

“Wait, wait,” Dama Runebreaker said, and she was fumbling out her purse, “Lemme in, lemme-”

“Two players, two betters,” Ichabod said, “Snooze, you lose.”

“Alright, people,” Orion said, “Ready?”

Archenround nodded.

“Yeah,” Manny said.

“Three, two, one,” Orion counted, “Go!”

The two strained. Archenround grimaced. Manny's nervous look fell away into one of dark concentration. The group watched the two push against one another, their hands shivering with effort. Moments stretched out into long seconds. All but Ichabod missed the rage that started boiling in Manny's eyes, borne out of a desperate determination, as though he were in a firefight. As though his life were on the line.

And then, with a grunt, he won out, forcing Archenround's hand onto the table with a dull slam. She released, shaking her hand, and the group laughed as Manny raised a fist in victory.

“Not bad, not bad!” Orion said.

“Must be built like a battleship, beneath all of those layers,” Gouffant said.

Strong, Archenround signed, with a defeated sigh.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Ichabod, dear,” Petra said, “I do believe that you owe me.”

“Ah,” Ichabod said, and he tugged at the collar of his coat, “I'm afraid I don't quite have the money on me, now...”

“If you don't have the money, then why even play?” Petra said.

“Simple, I was assuming that I'd win,” Ichabod said, “Excuse me for having a little faith in my guildmate.”

Gnawliver walked over now, set out a drink for Manny. A glass chute, filled with a clearish, green drink, a berry floating in the glass, a slice of orange on its rim.

“Ah, the kiddie stuff,” Orion said, “Careful, now, Manny. Easy to get wasted with stuff like that.”

“It's alright to get a bit wasted,” Vespa churned, and the hornets around the table were now starting to laze in the air, “It's fine.”

“And you,” Dama Runebreaker said, “Are done.”

“No I am not,” Vespa said, “No I am not Dama be kind you should be kind.”

Manny looked down at the drink. Sipped at it. Nodded in appreciation.

“Not bad,” he said, “It tastes... fruity.”

“Must be the fruit,” Ichabod drawled.

Manny took another drink.

Then drained it.

“Not how you drink it,” Orion said, “But I get the energy.”

***

Lilmora of the Silent Morning was a Coribaldi, gray-skinned and tall, her yellow, wolf-like eyes always set in an eternal glare. One learned quickly to steer clear of her when she looked upon Palasaic with that certain look of revulsion. Only fools dared to speak to her.

“You look like you're in a mood,” Haemosu said. He was leaning against the doorframe.

Lilmora rolled her eyes, turned to her guildmate. She didn't respond to him, only glared. Haemosu shrugged.

“Right,” he said, “Stating the obvious, I know.”

“And you know why,” Lilmora said.

“'Course I do,” Haemosu said, “You're preaching to the fucking choir.”

He shook his head, ran a hand through his light blue hair. Walked over to join her by the balcony's edge, a gauntleted hand resting on the rail. They watched as airships from the multiverse, not the usual make of wood and runes, flew overhead from the Traveling Point, dipped down beneath Palasaic's branch to moor at the docks.

“I just keep telling myself it'll be over in a few days,” Haemosu said.

“Don't try and patronize me, Haemosu,” Lilmora said.

“I'm just saying,” Haemosu said, and his nostrils flared, “I get it, I do. But it'll be over. You know that.”

Lilmora, for a moment, opened her mouth to say something caustic. But she had been working on her anger, as of late, letting it fuel her magic, and nothing else. She let it simmer as she turned back to the city. Haemosu relaxed. Felt guilty, at matching her state.

“You're worried,” he said.

“Of course I'm fucking worried.”

“I am, too,” Haemosu said, “Drebulon said he saw the Old Moby touching down earlier today.”

“Do you think the Exodus Walkers are going to try something drastic?” Lilmora said, “Who's their client this time?”

“Some new money bullshitter from Mirkanthia,” Haemosu said.

Lilmora shivered. Faerie blood investors always were the worst.

“It's all such bullshit,” Lilmora said, “The guildmaster knows how bad things get during these auctions. And he's relying on a bunch of automatons to do the bulk of the work.”

“Automatons, and himself,” Haemosu said.

Lilmora snorted.

“He'll get into a spat with Ultan, and the other interlopers will leak in through the cracks,” she said, “Better keep your bedroom door locked, Haemosu, or they might steal your underwear.”

Haemosu let out a chuckle that did not sound genuine.

“Ugh,” he said, “We're all going to die, aren't we?”

***

Aldr Fatebreaker left the guildhall late in the night.

He wrapped himself in his usual ragged, raven feathered cloak. With a flick of his wrist, turned his spear into a walking stick, and closed up his third eye with flesh. A couple other glamour effects, and he looked like any other old human on the road. He left the guildhall without a word, dancing past Drebulon's patrolling automatons, offering them a wink when Drebulon took notice. He did this often, and his disguises were not for his guildmates' sakes, but for his own privacy.

Palasaic was abuzz with life, even this late into the night. Capital cities were often like this. Even the Shimmering Palace was awash with greenglow light.

But it was not the night life that Aldr sought out. Leave that for the young folks, let them sow their wild oats. No, instead, Aldr went down side streets, went into a building with a staircase that was carved into the wood of Methuselah. The spiraling staircase bored right through the branch, down into the docks district. Aldr sighed to himself as he descended. He remembered well the objections the Temple of the World Tree had made to the emperor about the decision. The protests. How one of the priests had set herself on fire in the courtyard of the Shimmering Palace.

All on deaf ears. And the tree was made just another object, another thing to use and abuse.

...And here was Aldr Fatebreaker now, using one of the staircases to go down to the docks.

A hypocritical man, eh?

(But then, who wasn't?)

The docks were still full of motion and movement. Workers and guildfolk from across the multiverse. He ignored the majority of the ships unloading, and instead looked towards the Old Moby, that old bag o' tricks.

He brought up a hand, and signaled.

Ultan and Aldr Fatebreaker were two with history. Both were powerful magicians. Both had faced each other a number of times. Nothing personal, of course, but the level of power they were playing at meant there needed to be a number of... rules. Concessions. Agreements and compromise.

And the magical equivalent to the Red Telephone between the North Americans and the Soviets, on Prime.

A snap of the finger. An elder's whisper that encouraged the wind. All that was needed. Aldr walked over to one of the piers, looked down over its edge to see the lower branches of the World Tree below, glowing with lights from other cities, rippling with silhouetted leaves as they caught the wind. A dizzying sight, for the branches simply kept going, and going, and going. Very few had actually seen Methuselah's base. Some even presumed it did not exist.

And then, the shadows took on new ownership. The air became cold, horrid and cold.

Ultan stepped out of seeming nowhere, in truth that place between life and death, the metaphysical made traversable by his magic. The skeleton was wearing his usual purple plumage, looking for all of the world like an arrogant bird as he strutted onto the pier. A pair of gold coins danced in his meatless fingers.

He flipped one to Aldr, who caught it midair.

“Fatebreaker,” Ultan said.

“Ultra-Skeletal.”

The necromancer chuckled, his teeth chattering.

“What do you want?” Ultan asked, “I was just about to go for my evening bath, before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“I know well,” Aldr Fatebreaker said, “That anything I do would be a 'rude interruption.'”

“That's because that's all that you are,” Ultan preened, “But, I digress. What do you want, Fatebreaker?”

Aldr sighed. Looked up towards the roof of the branch. His third eye pushed through the flesh covering it, and he saw with more than mortal sight at his guildhall. At his guildmates. Preparing and waiting with bated breath.

“An understanding,” he said, “My sources tell me you've brought quite a few of your own here, yes?”

“Less than you'd think,” Ultan said.

“But you are here.”

“That I am.”

Aldr turned to glare at Ultan. Who returned it with a rigor mortis grin. Then, the necromancer turned away, striding down the boardwalk.

“If you think I'm going to blow up your precious little guildhall, you can quit quaking in those fancy little boots,” he said, “That's an escalation that I'm not willing to entertain. God knows we've enough reasons to kill each other.”

“Aye,” said Aldr, darkly.

“Besides,” Ultan said, and he gave Aldr a side eye, “It's not me you should be worried about.”

There was something in his words, something more than his usual barbs, and the Fatebreaker was not so naive as to ignore them. His brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You've heard the rumors,” Ultan said, “You've read the news. The regimes that have started taking power across the multiverse. Regimes backed by power with no apparent source. Hell, did you hear about those coups on Londoa? Half the plane's gone fash like it's back in fash. Never mind the eln meia...”

“You're talking about Darwinists,” Aldr said.

“Of course I am,” Ultan said.

“You believe the rumors?”

“Are you a fool, Fatebreaker?” Ultan said, “We should have found a way to kill the Manticore.”

“Killing him would have martyred him,” Aldr said, and he rubbed his temples, “Gods, we've gone over this. Thirty years, we've gone over this.”

Ultan let out an annoyed huff.

“And yet, they are here,” he said, “Be a smart man, Fatebreaker. Unless you thoroughly stamp them out, it's a cycle. Unless you address the cause for their rise, which we have not, it's a cycle.”

He shook his head.

“Are we done here?” he said, “My bath is getting cold.”

Aldr sighed.

“You won't go overboard?” he asked.

“Of course I will,” Ultan said, “Just not in a way that gets you upset. We'll dance, I think.”

The guildmaster of Blue Sky Waiting looked miserable.

“I suppose that is enough,” he said, “I will warn you, however...”

“Yes, yes, if I cross a line, you'll hunt me down, yadda yadda yadda,” Ultan said, “I take my leave.”

He started heading back towards the Old Moby.

Stopped.

Half-turned.

“They're probably here, you know,” he said.

Aldr looked at him. Ultan was looking, not at him, but at the world tree below. Green, burning pupils lit up the holes in his skull, a rare sight. It signified strong emotion. Anger. Loathing.

Fear.

“For the auction,” the necromancer continued, “Hiding in plain sight. Hiding right underneath our noses...”

***

“So, Manny,” Orion said, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, “Your finest kill.”

Manny blinked at this. Orion smirked at him.

“Come on,” he said, “Don't tell me you're the type who doesn't pay attention to that sort of thing.”

“It's just a job,” Manny said, “My... guildmate. He would be better suited for that. In that he sees glory.”

Vespa, all of her, snorted. Tiny little hornet huffs of mirth.

“'In that he sees glory,'” she quoted, “What a square.”

“Be nice, Vespa dear,” Petra said.

“Right, be kind,” Vespa said, “Sorry sorry sorry.”

“It's fine,” Manny said with a wave of the hand, “It's just not what I really... get out of this.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Petra asked.

Manny looked at her. She was smiling, though it was starting to laze, just a bit. A result of the strong drink and friends strong enough to keep drinking.

“I don't understand,” Manny said.

“Oh, we all get something out of this line of work,” Petra said, “Me, I get stinking rich.”

“That's from all of your other ventures, isn't it?” Dama Runebreaker said.

“Yes, that too,” Petra said, “But I love my guildwork jobs most of all, Dama dear, they are most exciting.”

“It's a good excuse to do what I do best,” the dwarf said, “I'm a Runebreaker. I break runes.”

“Sounds logical,” Manny said. Then, to deflect attention from himself, “What about the rest of you?”

“Adventure,” Orion leaned back, patted the sword at his side, “I'm a wanderer at heart. Being part of a guild lets me see the multiverse in a safe manner. Not as a Far Traveler. No offense, Petra.”

“Oh, taken,” Petra said, but she was starting to nod off. Gnawliver was rising from his seat, ready to escort her back to the hotel.

“Yuh, adventure,” Gouffant said, “Me 'n' Orion, as well as another one of our guildmates, Rathia, we used to travel together. Joined the guild as a joint package.”

“Interesting,” Manny said, “And, uh, Vespa? Archenround?”

Archenround started signing.

“She says,” Dama Runebreaker translated, “The guild gave her a home. A place to stay. Sometimes that's all we need.”

“I joined because I wanted to be... be...” Vespa said, “Be the best.”

“The best,” Manny said.

“Bee the best!” the swarm said, “Geddit? Because I'm a hive of... hornets.”

At this, Dama Runebreaker got up, took out a bag, started gesturing individual insects inside.

“Ichabod?” Orion said, “You going to give your piece?”

“I do it for the money,” Ichabod said, smoothly, easily, deceitfully and with a smirk, “Nothing more.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Dama Runebreaker said.

“Yesss,” Vespa said, “You do it for Vicenorn, because you luuuvvv him-”

“Enough of that,” Ichabod snapped. His pale face reddened. His bottom lip quivered in embarrassment, “Hush, now.”

“Well, Manny?” Dama Runebreaker said, and somehow as she spoke her voice pierced through the din of the tavern, through any distraction around them. Aimed directly at Manny.

(In his opinion, anyway.)

“I...” Manny thought on this.

He was quiet for a long while, his brow furrowed in thought, his heart pounding.

What...

What kind of question was that?

He looked up, sure that the others were going to say something. Accuse him. God, it was like they could see right through him. Here was a Darwinist, they would say, here was...

But no, they were losing interest. Or losing consciousness, as Petra finally started snoring. Gnawliver lifted her to her feet.

“Hmm?” she said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Gnawliver, let us get to bed...”

“Good night, friends,” the beaverfolk said.

“G'night, Gnawliver,” Orion said.

“Night, Gnawliver,” Dama Runebreaker said.

Archenround signed. The remaining hornets on the table slurred out a 'bye. Ichabod nodded. Now was the chance to leave.

Manny cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, “I should be going to. Jet Runners are waiting, and all.”

“Oh,” Dama Runebreaker said, and she sounded almost disappointed, “'Night. Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too,” Manny said, and he answered this part easily. He nodded to each of them, got a 'goodbye' in return, and made his leave.

He walked out of the tavern. Back into the cool night. God, how nice it was. After the heat of the tavern, the heat of...

Those questions.

Manny stopped in his tracks. Let the crowd pass him by, as he walked over to the rail of the city's edge. All of Methuselah spilled out to him. The World Tree's branches, snarling like great, wooden serpents into the blue ink horizon.

He took a breath.

Then another.

He was a Darwinist.

He was a Darwinist because Doctor Matergabia, his-

(Mother)

-Creator, was a Darwinist.

He swallowed.

Swallowed down that anxiety.

(Swallowed down the questions.)

And he left, walked back over to the trellian's house. Back down into the cellar. Jericho was awake, holding a pillow to his stomach, sitting on the couch. He looked up at Manny.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Manny said.

“You went out,” Jericho said.

“I did,” Manny replied.

Jericho gave Manny a disapproving look. He was quiet for a long time, chewing the inside of his cheek, as Manny started getting ready for bed, peeled off his hidden armor, got into his sleeping bag. He tossed, turned, looked over at Jericho.

“Was it...” Jericho said, “Was it a good time, at least?”

Manny considered.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “It was.”

“Hmm,” Jericho said, “Just don't do it again, man. You had me worried.”

“I won't,” Manny said.

“Good night, Manny.”

“Good night, Jericho.”

He turned away from his friend. Closed his eyes.

It was a long time before he went to sleep.

***

Aldr Fatebreaker returned back to Oracle's Aviary much later in the night. The moon cast full against the branches. Werewolves would be shifting tonight. Already the Fatebreaker could hear one howl, though he knew they would be chained until morning.

Chained. Aye, he felt chained, as he stopped, and looked up towards his guildhall. Oracle's Aviary stood as a tower, though its base was that of the tree, bark and roots melding into rock and stone. Aldr's rooms were located at the very top of the tower, where a massive telescope pointed out towards the night, attuned by Imagination to see stars from other planes.

What stress, when he looked out there. The High Federation was becoming more authoritarian. Darwinists stalked the hidden places. More guilds were aligning with them. Spies within their makeup that took over leadership positions.

And there was the auction.

Ultan's words rattled in his mind.

There were Darwinists here.

He had considered this, of course. But to hear it from another...

Gods, he was chained. He looked up at the guildhall and felt nothing more than an overwhelming urge to retire.

“When did I get so old?” he said, aloud.

The wind whistled. Billowed up his cloak, cold whipping around him.

But it gave no answer.

Aldr sighed. Smiled in his grim way, and then he went up to the guildhall's door.