“Knowledge,” Ichabod said as he and G-Wiz walked down the street, “Is power. It is what wins the day. No matter what you do, or where you go, or whom you face, knowledge is the key to it all.”

The rain had let up a bit, a reprieve in a quiet afternoon. Much of the city was inside to weather the storm – it wasn't the Scuttle Way to be out in the elements. Save that for nomads or overly ambitious merchants. As such, the two guildmates were unaccosted as they walked down the cobblestone streets, the cracks in the road filled with rainwater, deep puddles overtaking any dip in the earth. The strong smell of rain tinged the air, a heavy scent that mixed with the rest of the city's odors.

“I mean, sure,” G-Wiz said, “Not really sure why you're pointing that out now.”

“Theatrics, dear Galatea,” Ichabod said, “Please, let me finish.”

She rolled her eyes as Ichabod flashed a vile grin.

“When the state does not allow you to keep knowledge,” he said, “When it hoards it, you must do everything in your power to give it to the common individual.”

He flipped a hand dramatically. In his hand was the book from Barbara's library. G-Wiz rolled her eyes.

“Barb's not the state,” she said.

“Barbara represents the state, in this circumstance,” Ichabod said, “'It's not supposed to leave the library,' my arse.”

He presented the book to G-Wiz.

“Turn to page three-hundred and five. That's the chapter on the Maizimorph.”

G-Wiz took the book, flipping through it to the page in question, grimacing as she struggled to keep the book in two hands, the entire tome threatening to spill out of its plastic bindings like water from a bucket. She finally steadied herself, knee raised up to hold the book aloft, hands gripping each side.

Ichabod kept walking.

“Faster, Galatea!” he called back, “The shapeshifter might still be in the city!”

“Don't announce it, dipshit!” G-Wiz yelled back, “And wait up!”

She read as she half-hopped after the cybernetic man, Zumbelaphone rattling and swaying with each hop. She furrowed her brow.

“Alright,” she said, “He's a shapeshifter.”

“Paragraph five, line eight,” Ichabod said.

G-Wiz closed the book and caught up to him, slamming it into his chest.

“No way,” she said, “If you want me to read the book, you gotta slow down.”

Ichabod shook his head.

“Tut tut, Galatea. Read faster.”

“I barely know how to read in the first place, ya jerk,” she snapped, “You're doing that thing where you act all high and mighty and pretend you're better than anyone else.”

“Everyone else,” Ichabod said.

“Exactly! Exactly that!” G-Wiz's eye flared for a moment. Then, she turned. “Walk, dipshit.”

Ichabod stopped as she stomped off, his grin wiped off his face. He gave a morose frown as he stepped after her. The two walked down a few blocks and into the slums in silence. Occasionally G-Wiz would glare back at Ichabod. Ichabod kept in step with her, book in hand.

The rain thundered overhead.

***

Clytius was at his usual place in front of the Horrid Welt. The three gnomes were leaning up against the wall by the door, trenchcoat covering them like a cloak. The second one was smoking, a cigar sticking out from just below the bouncer's chest. The top one's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be asleep. The third one's legs were shaking from supporting his brothers.

Of course, Ichabod said nothing. The fun was ruined by pointing out the obvious, and G-Wiz was already in a mood.

“Clytius,” he said, “Let us in.”

The top gnome, spokesperson of the Brothers Clytius, snored.

The second gnome rustled beneath the trenchcoat, punching his brother's leg.

The top Clytius awoke with a start, looking back and forth for a moment, before his eyes fell on Ichabod and G-Wiz.

“Ahhh,” he said, “Guildfolk. We're closed.”

“Bullshit,” G-Wiz said, “Let us in, Clytius.”

“We're here to talk to Halt,” Ichabod said, “Tell him it's Ichabod and G.”

“What's in it for me?” Clytius asked.

“We don't let Mekke come down here to pester you about security,” G-Wiz said.

“Deal,” the gnome said, a bit too hastily, but he gestured to the door, “It's already unlocked. My arms are too short to reach the doorknob to unlock it.”

***

Halt Kohranthi was a kitsune from distant Terna Minor Landmass. He often took the form of a humanoid fox, something to get new customers talking when they first walked into the Welt, which he had won from a friend in a game of bloodstones some ten years before.

He was also the primary bartender for the Welt, a position he took with pride. It was the morning after a particularly hectic night, and the entire place was trashed, servers scrubbing ale, mud, and blood off of the walls, sweeping the floor for broken shards of glass, and wiping down tables clean for the evening's festivities. A couple of them were also inspecting the boxing ring in the center of the tavern, making sure there was no lasting damage to its ropes after a rather brutal match between twin ogres the night before. The two monsters were still sleeping in the corner of the room, having reconciled their differences during their match, tear streaks staining their faces, mixing with the ale that they had downed like water after their climactic duel.

Halt himself was cleaning shot glasses and wooden mugs at the counter, deep rings purpling his eyes. He almost always wore a white dress shirt, a sleeveless black vest over it, ever the businessman – even when his business was an old, run-down tavern in the slums. He glanced up as Ichabod and G-Wiz walked in.

“We're closed, G,” his voice was husky and harsh, “Come back tonight. Bring Nash, if you can.”

“Nash's out of town again,” G-Wiz said, “This dipshit wanted to talk to you.”

Ichabod nodded, drawing close to the counter.

“Morning, Halt,” he said.

“Ichabod,” the kitsune nodded, “Usually you like the fancier places, right? What's someone like you doing in a dump like this?”

“Investigation,” Ichabod said, “We're doing a couple of follow ups for a guild assignment.”

“Ah, that would explain it,” Halt said, “You wouldn't be down here otherwise.”

“Of course not,” Ichabod said, “I can hardly stand the smell.”

“Ichabod,” G-Wiz growled, “Can the 'tude.”

“Right, right,” Ichabod said, waving a hand, “We're looking for someone. He... could be wearing a specific amount of faces.”

“Any number of faces, eh?” Halt said.

“Yes,” Ichabod said, “He could be either a servant, all dressed up in white as though he were from a gala, or a luchador.”

Halt shrugged.

“Lot of folk pass through here. A few outlanders. A few not. All of them, colorful.”

He cast a tired eye on Ichabod.

“This is Scuttleway, pal. You're liable to see a few sights.”

“Indeed,” Ichabod pulled a barstool out, sitting down.

“I'm not going to offer you anything to drink, if that's what you're thinking,” Halt said, “We're closed. Not sure why Clytius let you in, in the first place.”

“We bribed him,” Ichabod lied, “Every tongue is loosened by coin, yes?”

Halt gave a sigh. He stopped wiping the glass in his hand and put it on the counter. He had, Ichabod noticed, only four fingers on each hand, the pinkies having been cut down to the bone like trees in the winter.

“The only reason why the Welt's still here is because I don't take bribes,” the kitsune growled, “If you're going to be coming in here, flapping around a bag of gold like it's your ballsack, you can leave the way you came.”

“Fucking hell, Ichabod,” G-Wiz said. She elbowed the cybernetic man out of the way, “Halt, we're here because there was a shapeshifter who hurt our friends.”

“In the guild?” Halt said, “Bah, you guildfolk get hurt all the time. It's your job, to be the bruisers and the bruised.”

“Yeah, true,” G-Wiz said, “But that doesn't mean we're just going to take it lying down, yeah?”

“True,” Halt said.

“Halt, please,” G-Wiz said, “It was Rosemary and Joseph. You remember Joseph, right?”

“Boxed your Far Traveler a while back, yeah,” Halt said, “Got slaughtered, too.”

“He and Rosemary almost died, Halt,” G-Wiz said, “We're just trying to nail the guy who did it. They're our guildmates.”

Something in the bartender wilted. Halt picked his glass up and inspected it for a few moments, giving it a bit more of a shine with his dirty rag. One the servers was walking over to the ogre brothers, poking at one of them with a broom to rustle him awake. Rain had begun to fall again, plinking against the roof of the Welt, a dull chorus of splash against stone.

“Right,” Halt said, “A couple days back, night of the gala, I was here in my usual spot. Most of the regulars were coming in, aye? Had a big match lined up. An out of towner, some eln meia or other.”

“The night of the gala,” G-Wiz said.

“Precisely,” Halt began drying another glass, “It was a grand slam. Best match we've had in months. Blood everywhere.”

“That's some good shit,” G-Wiz said, “Sorry I missed it. Dama Runebreaker got too drunk, too early. I was taking care of her the whole night.”

“A guy came in, late in the night, when most of the party had wound down,” Halt said, “A guy with a mask. Nice suit, almost like it was made out of shadow. He was stumbling in, as though he had too much to drink and wound up on the wrong side of town.”

“Which, he did,” Ichabod said.

“You bet your ass,” Halt said, “Was spluttering about getting out of town. Needed the quickest way to get to Mantis Shrimp.”

“North, then,” Ichabod said, “What did you say?”

“At first, I told him to get bent,” Halt said, “But he was desperate. Had that look in his eye, you know?”

“So you… told him where to go?” Ichabod said.

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

“Aye, I did,” Halt replied, “I told him about Road Rigel. ‘Course, that was before everything went down. When I see someone who needs help, who needs to get out of town…”

He stopped, tufty ear flickering at Ichabod’s glare.

“Well,” Halt said, “That was before the news came out about the gala. ‘Fore I heard Rosie and Joseph was tied up in all of it.”

“Road Rigel, then,” Ichabod said.

“And he was heading to Mantis Shrimp,” G-Wiz said, “That's... a long ways away.”

“A few days, at least,” Ichabod said, “He's either still on the road, or just getting into the city.”

Halt nodded.

“And nothing else, then,” Ichabod said.

“Nothing,” Halt replied.

“...Then we're done here,” Ichabod said, “Come along, Galatea.”

Without another word he swept away from the counter and began walking out of the Welt. G-Wiz glared at his back.

“Thanks, Halt,” she said, “Really. I mean it.”

“I know you're good, G,” Halt said, “You surround yourself with shit company, though.”

“You don't know the half of it.”

She gave a final nod to the kitsune before catching up with Ichabod. The storm had returned, almost to full force, covering him like a sheet.

“Yo, dipshit!” G-Wiz snarled.

Ichabod stopped, turning around. His hands were in his pockets, the wind whipping his hair and trenchcoat every which way.

“Get over here!” she said, “Get inside, we'll leave once the rain stops.”

“No need,” Ichabod said, “We'll need to be fast, if we're going to get to Mantis Shrimp.”

His voice was a whisper compared to the din of the rain. G-Wiz crossed her arms and hung at the frame of the door.

“I'm not leaving until the rain stops!” she yelled.

“Have fun being alone, then!” Ichabod called.

“You said, you wanted a partner!” G-Wiz replied, “If you want one, you're going to have to stay!”

She could see the cybernetic man roll his eyes, even though they were hidden by his shades. There was a way that he stood when he did it, a bit taller than normal, as though he were an annoyed tower of black and white. Ichabod walked back over to the door. G-Wiz turned back.

“Halt, is it alright if we can stay in here 'til it dies down a bit?”

“Fine by me,” the kitsune said, “Ichabod has to pay, though.”

“Deal,” G-Wiz said, “You and me, Ichabod, we're going to have a talk before we get any further, got it?”

Ichabod opened his mouth to object.

And closed it as G-Wiz shot daggers at him.

***

The rain didn't let up. It continued, pouring down on the city as an intense drizzle, sheets upon sheets of water unleashed on Scuttleway. It had been a few months since there had been a good rain like this, and G-Wiz was grateful for it. It hardly rained on Doremi, so any opportunity for stormy weather was a cause for a good day.

So she watched it pour down, having taken a table right by a grimy window. Ichabod was quiet as he produced the book from his trenchcoat. Somehow, he had kept it dry, despite the deluge. He flipped a few pages over until he got to the chapter on the Maizimorph.

“Right, then,” he said, “Shall we...?”

But he faltered as G-Wiz continued to ignore him.

“...Right,” he said, “Galatea. G-Wiz. I'm...”

He went quiet again, unable to quite say the words.

The rain fell hard.

“I'm...” Ichabod attempted again, “I'm... You know me, G-Wiz. I'm not... I can be facetious, sometimes.”

“No shit,” G-Wiz said.

“I... promise. Not to be, I mean,” Ichabod said, “During this job. I usually am, to most people. I will... try not to be, to you.”

“Not good enough,” G-Wiz said, “If you want me to be your partner on this, you actually give me information. You know I can't read very good, Ichabod. That was really embarrassing, what you did to me back there.”

“There was-”

“No one around?” G-Wiz finished, “Bullshit. I was there. I was the one feeling that way. You've got no excuse.”

She leaned in.

“Apologize, dipshit.”

“I'm... I'm sorry,” Ichabod said, though it looked like it took all of his might to force the words out of his throat, as they were half-garbled, “I'm sorry.”

“Good,” G-Wiz said, “So. The Maizimorph. You wanted to get to Mantis Shrimp because he's going there.”

“Y-yes,” Ichabod said, “I, ah, snatched the book here because it gives quite a few hints on where our man might be heading.”

“Spill the tea,” G-Wiz said.

“Maizimorphs are a type of shapeshifter,” Ichabod said, “Non-newtonian. Unique in that, should they have sufficient energy, they can transform into literally anything.”

“Right,” G-Wiz said.

“Hence, why the Federation hated them,” the cybernetic man continued, “Anything, G-Wiz. Anything at all. You know what that entails, yes? The possibility behind it, it's staggering.”

“So... why was he transformed as the luchador guy?” G-Wiz asked.

“Because Maizimorphs' creativity is limited by how much energy they have,” Ichabod said, “They don't store and use energy like we do. You and I are warm-blooded, yes?”

“Right,” G-Wiz said.

“We use energy every single day. Every heartbeat requires some use of energy.”

“And... Maizimorphs don't use energy like that.”

“Somehow,” Ichabod said, “It breaks the laws of physics. Again, why the Federation didn't like them. They couldn't truly understand them. But, Maizimorphs only use energy when they transform, and the act of taking on a completely new form exerts more energy than transforming into something they've been before.”

A light turned on in G-Wiz's head.

“Which is why he's still dressed up as someone from before.”

“Precisely,” Ichabod said, “You begin to understand.”

“There's another part to this, then,” G-Wiz said, “Why he's heading to Mantis Shrimp.”

“North of Scuttleway,” Ichabod said, “Not often a direction one takes when trying to leave the plane.”

“There's that Traveling Point in the Dwelk Mountains,” G-Wiz said, “Only a day's wagon ride from Mantis Shrimp.”

“True,” Ichabod said, “And my second point that I found in the reading: What Maizimorphs eat.”

“Shit, I hope,” G-Wiz said.

“I wish,” Ichabod said, “But, no. They feed off of a special gas found in only a few atmospheres.”

“Right, so you think our guy's heading to one of those places from the Traveling Point in the Dwelk Mountains.”

“And why I insist we leave now,” Ichabod said, “Despite the rain. If we can catch up to him before he reaches there, we'll have the advantage. He's out of gas, Galatea. If we get to him when he's had a chance to recuperate, we'll need a lot more than the two of us to bring him down.”

“...Alright, then,” G-Wiz said, “Any idea what plane he'd be going to?”

“We can talk while we walk,” Ichabod said, “Let's go.”

***

Road Rigel was so named because it was a method of travel formally outlawed by the High Federation's technology ban. A basic ship with a magically empowered engine using mathematics and machinery a generation too advanced for Londoa, it produced a powerful gust of wind more powerful and longer-lasting than a seasoned magician's. It was installed just below the ship's deck, the wind lifting the ship a few feet into the air, before being caught by a tall, triangular sail. An open secret, an unmentioned aspect of Scuttleway that had contributed to its recent successes compared to its economic rivals. If one had the coin, they could get a ride nearly anywhere north of Scuttleway, a network that looped across Moadma Landmass, beginning and ending at the Great Orange Crab.

This Rigel's captain was a tall, willowy hobgoblin. Her skin was mottled green, with ears sharping out to either side, two silver rings looping on each end. She was wearing an admiral's coat, pilfered from a Kelphaven merchant prince, and a long strand of hay snaked out of her mouth. She gave it a chew as G-Wiz and Ichabod bought passage.

“Right, then,” she said, “To Mantis Shrimp, aye?”

“Yes,” Ichabod said, “With all due haste.”

“Got a few other passengers coming this way,” the captain said.

“How many?” Ichabod asked.

“Three more.”

“We'll pay for you to leave now,” Ichabod said.

“No,” the captain replied, “Leaving paying folks is bad for business. You get repeat customers by being reliable, yeah?”

“She's got a point, Ichabod,” G-Wiz said.

“Hnng,” Ichabod said, “Fine, then. Have it your way.”

He strode aboard. G-Wiz followed.

They waited a few more hours before the Rigel cast off. The whole time, Ichabod stared out at the opposite horizon, finger tapping against the ship's rail, his jaw clenching more and more. G-Wiz had sat down on a barrel beside him, unslinging her Zumbelaphone and tuning it, before playing a couple pieces as a warm-up. The Rigel's crew watched them with some curiosity.

But Halt had been right.

Strange folks passed through Scuttleway, and they had seen stranger.

The Rigel, at last, took off at around two in the afternoon. The captain went below deck, giving a sly wink to G-Wiz and Ichabod, and the entire ship lurched, wind whipping up and lifting it into the air. For a few moments, the ship floated in the air.

Then, the sail picked up. The ship began pushing forward, the wind whipping past their ears as it moved out of the shed on the outside of town. It dipped for a moment as it went out of the city's northern gates.

Then, it picked up speed. Bit by bit, the engine below whirring and coughing as it generated more and more magic. Magic like this had a scent to it, a strange sort of ice-like smell, like sleet mixed with rain, and the temperature dropped as it flew more and more.

The other passengers had been smart. They carried cloaks with them, pulling them out of bags and wrapping themselves tight. G-Wiz huddled, shivering, desperately wishing she was wearing more than a t-shirt.

Ichabod glanced down at her, his trenchcoat whipping around him. With a sigh, he removed it and handed it to her.

It was the first time she had seen him without it in a while, and she could see why he kept it on all the time. All four of Ichabod's limbs were cybernetic – metal and glass interlocking together into an artificial semblance of arms and legs. But these weren't like Vicenorn's arm, with its blocky make and Swiss army-knife uses. They were an artisan's work, a skinless reproduction, down to the last blood vessel so painstakingly sculpted on. Ichabod wore an undershirt underneath, but he could not hide his arms' sheen. The other passengers stared as he sat down, a dour expression on his face. G-Wiz, without a word, pulled the trenchcoat on. It smelled of rain and stale sweat.

But it was warm.

***

The Rigel carried them onward for the next few days. Before the technology required to pilot one had been smuggled to Londoa, a journey from Scuttleway to Mantis Shrimp could take a few weeks, barring any raiders or accidents. But come rain or snow, the Rigel cut that journey down to no more than a few days. It was difficult to talk during the ride, both due to the whipping wind and the other passengers, who were a bit too keen on what two guildfolk were doing out in the boonies.

Nonetheless, the majority of them stopped off at Heislander Waystation, traveling workers who sought out employment on the multitude of farms that dotted this part of the Landmass. The food here fed the rest of Moadma, including Scuttleway itself. G-Wiz and Ichabod found themselves a bit less cramped on the third day of the journey.

They found a place below decks to talk without having to yell over the whipping winds. It was still loud, however, with the engine roaring and spewing out magic. G-Wiz thumbed her Zumbelaphone, keying a command in. Each word had a melody to it, this one a quiet, electric piece. She wrote the word 'QUIET' on the engine, and its choking ceased.

“A bit better,” Ichabod said.

“Think the captain will mind?” she asked.

As if on cue, the captain poked her head down below.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Just shut the engine up a bit,” G-Wiz said, “It's still running fine.”

“Thank the gods, I hate the sound,” the captain said, “Don't suppose that'd be permanent?”

“Naw, an hour at best,” G-Wiz said.

“Well, it'll be a good hour, then,” the captain went back up above.

Ichabod grimaced as he sat down. The room was cramped – the roof was a head too short, and he had to bend down in order to really move about. Most of the place was taken up by the engine itself. G-Wiz rested her back on it as she sat across from her guildmate, raising an eyebrow as he produced the book once more.

“Right,” he said, “It's a day's ride to the Dwelk. Let's talk options.”

G-Wiz nodded.

“What's in the forecast right now?” she asked, “Half the year it's Ochiro, the other half it's...”

“Krenstone,” Ichabod said.

“Right, Urash's plane.”

“The Traveling Point specifically takes you to the city of Dominatria,” Ichabod said, “A bit of a nexus for the local 'verse, has at least five Traveling Points open at any given time.”

“Neat shit,” G-Wiz said, “So if we're not careful, we'll be gallivanting across the multiverse on a wild goose chase.”

“Precisely,” Ichabod said, “But we can narrow it down. The plane in question needs to have an atmosphere rich with their food source.”

“Which is...?”

Ichabod sneered.

“Quarzium-2.”

“Shit,” G-Wiz stretched, “So, no matter where we go, then, it'll be a cesspool of drug runners.”

“Exactly,” Ichabod said.

“Does... Dominatria lead to any of those planes?” G-Wiz asked.

Ichabod scratched his chin for a moment, before he clicked a few buttons on his wrist. A small, blue hologram projected, depicting multiple math equations and symbols – a map of the multiverse. G-Wiz grimaced as she stared at the thing.

It was rare, indeed, for one to be able to map the multiverse. Near impossible, and requiring equations to be made on the fly.

“Dailori or the Blood Hallows would be our best bet,” Ichabod said, “Dailori's about to leave forecast, so if you were trying to hide, that'd be a good place to start.”

“Blood Hallows is more entertaining, though,” G-Wiz said.

“True,” the cybernetic man said, “But I don't believe that our shapeshifter wants to draw attention to himself. And the Blood Hallows is an arena world, and currently in their Season of Conscription.”

G-Wiz shuddered.

“Right, don't want to be drawn into that bullshit. Dailori it is, then.”

“Theoretically, we could split up,” Ichabod said, “One of us to Dailori, the other to the Blood Hallows.”

“No way,” G-Wiz said, “We do this together, Ichabod.”

“Just a suggestion,” Ichabod said, “A stupid one, but I wanted to make sure you were on your toes.”

***

Mantis Shrimp crested on the horizon on the fifth day. A circular city built from sandstone stained red from some magic long ago, it was an orange-crimson blot upon the green, a river snaking through its center. Statues to the heroes of the city were aligned along the city's walls, said to be able to become animate to come to the people's defense in times of invasion and siege. The tall Iconstren Tower rose from the city's center, where Mantis Shrimp's Doge played politics with the noble houses, a mirror to Scuttleway.

They weren't in the city for very long, just long enough to rent a wagon and take off towards the Dwelk. Their driver was an older kobold who was missing a leg, and he was silent as he took them towards their destination.

The mountains loomed in the distance. G-Wiz was glad that they wouldn't have to climb them for very long. The Traveling Point had a small outpost attached to it, bone-white and able to be seen even from here, a small little white box on a vertical sea of stone.

They arrived as the Inner Sun burned out, the sky above becoming filled with the lights of the other Landmasses. Ichabod spoke with the guards of the outpost quickly, flashing a couple of cards and IDs. They let him pass without too much trouble.

G-Wiz was staring out towards Mantis Shrimp, Zumbelaphone slung over her shoulder. She felt Ichabod's cold, mechanical hand rest on her shoulder.

“Ready, Galatea?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, “Let's do this.”

The Traveling Point shimmered. Without another word, they stepped through.