"This is a rough part of town," Elijah commented, sticking close to Mirk's side as they walked together along the outermost ring road of the City, toward the South Gate. It was raining that night. Or maybe it was snow — either way, it was a miserable, wet evening, and Mirk had the hood of his good cloak up, the sides of it wrapped tightly around himself. Elijah, true to his elemental imbalance, appeared completely impervious to both the cold and damp. He hadn't even bothered with a cloak, electing to let his fire magic keep him warm instead.

Mirk got the impression that Elijah was regretting that decision. He cringed at every sour or intrigued look cast in their direction, his hands jammed in his pockets. It was curious; Elijah didn't strike him as the sort of man who gave much weight to the opinion of others. Perhaps he'd been bellowed at by the washerwomen for ruining his clothes too many times to overlook their cutting gazes. Or had rubbish thrown at him by too many infantrymen who were dissatisfied with his spells.

In an effort to set Elijah at ease, Mirk took hold of his elbow, making it especially clear to those that passed that he was with him, plausibly his friend. "It's safe here," Mirk said, when this didn't ease the strain across Elijah's hunched shoulders. "Most of the people here know not to do anything to people who are friends with the Easterners."

"If you say so..."

Elijah had, much to Mirk's surprise, instantly agreed to having his mind examined that afternoon at their arranged meeting in one of the infirmary's workrooms. When Mirk had lowered his shields and taken a hard look at his emotions, Mirk had realized that Elijah was too enthralled by the mere prospect of getting the chance to speak with Genesis to care about having any of his secrets exposed. Mirk wasn't the sort of mind-mage who could pry secrets and memories out of the unwilling — and he had flatly refused Yule's suggestion to ask Samael to look into Elijah's mind for him if he wanted to make extra certain he wasn't hiding anything — but he was a good enough judge of emotions to be able to sense duplicity and nervousness unless a person was working hard at concealing them. And it had been immediately clear to Mirk that Elijah didn't have the patience or skill required to put on a good enough front to fool him.

Elijah's mind had been vibrant and chaotic. Not in the cold, staticky way that Genesis's aura was chaotic, but chaotic in a way similar to Mordecai's, a dozen thoughts running through his head all at once, every one of them jockeying for a place at the front of Elijah's mind. However, instead of being a random collection of schemes and jokes, the uniting element of all of Elijah's riotous thoughts were magic. Mirk couldn't understand most of them. Elijah's mind was constantly abuzz with the names of what Mirk assumed had to be powerful, well-regarded mages and their theories. And flashes of diagrams and charts that it gave Mirk a headache to think about for too long.

The strand focused on Genesis had been particularly pronounced, which was understandable, given the purpose of Mirk's investigation. It had amused him to feel what Genesis seemed like from Elijah's perspective: a dark, mysterious figure, full of intrigue and secrets and potential, a sort of icon, almost an idol, a figure deserving a sort of trembling, excited reverence. Mirk wondered what Elijah would think of the commander if he found out that rather than devoting the last hours of his day to the rigorous study of magic, Genesis elected to pass them precisely ironing two fresh sets of uniform blacks (one to wear, and one to keep ready at hand in case the first got ruined) and soaking in a bath full of floral-smelling salts and tinctures.

"It surprises me that a fellow like you has so many rough friends," Elijah said, cutting into Mirk’s thoughts, continuing to sneak furtive glances at passers-by. A war between his natural curiosity and his desire not to attract too much attention to himself, Mirk imagined.

"Do you know many infantry fighters?" Mirk asked.

Elijah shook his head. "I mean, I see them. And they yell at me now and then. But I mostly just talk to the officers to make sure the infantry doesn't get in the way of our spells. What would I even talk to them about? I'm a mage. An intellectual. Most of them don't even know how to read or write their name, do they?" The mage lowered his voice on the final question, not wanting to be overheard.

"That doesn't mean that they're not smart, in their own way. And some of them do know their letters."

Mirk smiled to himself at the memory of it: going searching for Genesis on a Wednesday and coming across him holding school in the back room of the Easterners' favorite tavern. K'aekniv had explained, with a roll of his eyes and emphatic jabs of one of the magicked pens the commander had passed out along with parchment, that Genesis insisted that everyone who wanted to hold some sort of command position among the Easterners learned to read and write a little in their native language. While Genesis conjured first letters, and then sentences on to the back wall with his shadows, the men mostly ignored him in favor of getting drunk and bullying each other in the strange, friendly way they were all fond of. Save for when Genesis pronounced some word in a way the Easterners could jeer at him about.

"Still, they can't be big readers." Elijah said. "I mean...I just...what do you talk to them about, then?"

"The same things you'd talk to anyone about. Their families, their work, what they're looking forward to..."

Elijah hesitated. "That's nearly as bad as the high-borns with their Grand Masters and their weddings...is that really what everyone talks about? Things like that? Maybe that's why they all avoid me..."

"What do you mean?" Mirk asked, tightening his hold on Elijah's elbow. The turn the conversation had taken had left the mage so distracted, so puzzled, that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings any longer. Elijah nearly bumbled square into a mountainous Bavarian infantryman Mirk remembered from the tavern, one it'd be best not to cross when he wasn't half-drunk.

"I just want to talk about my research. You know, tell people my ideas, see if they have any better ones. It...well, it's interesting. The rest of it isn't."

Mirk laughed. If Genesis knew how to explain himself better, he thought the commander might have said the same thing when asked why he had trouble making polite conversation. "Methinks you might get along with Genesis after all..."

"Really?"

Mirk did his best to keep Elijah's enthusiasm in check as they neared the South Gate. The buildings were a solid mass on either side of them there, lean-tos made of spare lumber closing the gaps between the larger stone buildings. Dormitories for the Supply Corps workers and some of the low-born infantry, with taverns and shops sprinkled in between. The latter were still doing a brisk business, despite the late hour. So were the enterprising infantrymen who'd brought back goods from their contracts, their collections of oddities spread out on blankets along the roadside.

He tried to keep Elijah away from them as well. The infantrymen knew a good mark when they saw one. If Elijah had been left to pick at the trinkets on his own, distracted from his surroundings by his search for overlooked magical artifacts amongst the junk, he'd have been robbed of both his purse and his better bits of clothing within ten minutes. And perhaps his life, depending on whether or not Elijah had been inadvertently responsible for getting any of the infantrymen's fighting companions killed out on contract.

They passed through the South Gate without incident. The Watch men there were much more interested in collecting bribes from the people trying to get in than in checking on why people had a reason to leave the City late at night. The flicker of teleportation magic that came with passing underneath the stone arch set Mirk off-balance, but he recovered quickly. The teleporting magic that anchored the City's gates to the world beyond its walls bore enough of a resemblance to the chaotic sort that Genesis used to pass through the shadows that his body and magic didn't fight it as hard as the spells of the average teleporting mage.

Whereas the East Gate connected to an alley near the heart of the mage quarter of London, the South Gate opened onto a crowded street elsewhere in the city on the Thames, a less prestigious and more informal mage neighborhood that didn't have the same protective wards on it against mortal incursions that the mage quarter proper did. The residents had to be careful about not letting too much of their magic show, lest a mortal take note of it.

Not that many of the residents had much magic to speak of. They were mostly low-ranking K'maneda who had scraped together enough gold to live outside the City, but not enough to afford rents in the mage quarter. Fighters who'd started families, for the most part, and most often with Supply Corps women. Mirk scanned the street, searching for the proper building. It was right where Genesis had said it would be, immediately to the left of the narrow, moldering alley the gate spat them out into. A two story half-timber structure that wouldn't have been remarkable, aside from the colorful magelights hung across the front of it and the clusters of working women gathered in the street near its entrance. Mirk led Elijah over, still keeping a firm hold on his elbow.

One of the ladies came to greet them, a tall woman in a dramatic red and gold dress. Her hair was uncovered and styled in a fantastic up-do, the shawl about her shoulders doing more to highlight her figure than to ward off the cold. It didn't escape Mirk's notice that her arms were much more thickly muscled than one would expect from a lady of her profession. Elijah's attention, however, was elsewhere. Mirk would have attempted to distract him again, had the woman not already noticed the focus of his gaze and only smirked in response to Elijah's gaping. "Who are you two?" she asked Mirk, judging him to be the more sensible of the pair. "Here for the night?"

Genesis hadn't told Mirk to lie about why he and Elijah had come. All he’d said was that they needed to go to the building with the colorful magelights, and that someone would find them and send them in to him once they'd arrived. The commander had also neglected to tell Mirk that the place he preferred to conduct his clandestine meetings in was a bordello. On the whole, Mirk wasn't terribly surprised that Genesis hadn't considered that detail to be relevant to the scheme. "We're here to see Comrade Genesis."

"Oh! The healer and the fancy mage. Fatima said to be looking out for you lot. Well, come in. Starting to really come down now, isn't it?" She squinted up at the sky as she gathered up her skirts and led them to the entrance, her nose wrinkling. "Going have to go get the parasols."

Elijah leaned in close to Mirk, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. "Mirk? Is this...er..."

"Hmm?"

"Is this a whorehouse?"

One of the men loitering just inside the front door opened it for the woman in the red and gold dress, performing a clumsy bow that earned him a smack in the chest. Mirk scanned the room as he hurried in out the rain, dragging Elijah along with. It was a parlor, of sorts, full of plush couches and armchairs across which were draped more women and their prospective customers. There was a counter at the back of the room, where one woman was fixing drinks and an older woman was scribbling down notes on a ledger before directing women and their charges off down either of a pair of halls that flanked it. Mirk shrugged. "Yes, methinks that's the, euh, impolite way of saying it..."

"What is Genesis doing here? Is he...does he..."

"Oh, no!" Mirk said, laughing. "It's that no one would expect to find either you or him here, non? It's safe."

Elijah froze in the middle of the parlor, gaping around at the women and men shooting him curious looks, deeply puzzled and distinctly ill-at-ease. "I mean, that is clever, I suppose, but...I...whatever. As long as I get to meet him, even if it's strange, it's fine."

"He's back here," the woman in the red and gold dress called back to them after conferring with the older woman behind the counter. Catching sight of the flush and the gape on Elijah's face, she cackled. "Don't worry, little man. No one here's going to mess with you. Just follow along."

Elijah put his head down and hurried after her, jerking his arm out of Mirk’s hold only so that he could hug himself protectively as they made their way toward the back of the building. On their way, they passed several doors, most of them closed and warded. The sort reserved for paying customers, Mirk supposed, judging by the plain beds in the few open rooms. The women had to have a good mage at their head. Mirk couldn't feel even a twinge of what was going on inside the closed-up rooms. Or hear anything, for that matter. It came as a relief. He was confident now in his ability to cope with fleeting feelings of lust, but he still didn't like his odds of being able to successfully endure being trapped in a building suffused with it for the duration of Elijah and Genesis's mutual interrogation.

At the end of the hall was a thick red mock-velour curtain, which the woman in the red and gold dress pulled aside. It hid a larger room, full of racks of dresses and other costumes, along with a long table where a handful of women were taking turns peering into a small communal mirror as they put on their powder and rouge for the night. She led them around the racks of clothes to an inconspicuous door on the room's far side.

"Here you are, lads. Don't get into too much trouble now," she joked as she held the door open for them, unable to resist dropping Elijah a wink and a pointed, toothy grin. Elijah gave an unbecoming yelp and quickly looked away from her bare collarbones, hugging himself more tightly. Mirk took the initiative, latching onto the mage's arm once more and tugging him through the doorway. The woman shut and locked it behind them.

It was a curious room to find in that sort of establishment — it was something between a library and a workroom, all of its walls lined with shelves overflowing with books and various mortal and mage contraptions, a large table at its center, ringed with uncomfortable-looking straight-back wooden chairs. Something that looked like a crossbow was partway assembled in the center of it. There were a few more comfortable-looking chairs tucked away in the far corner of the room, cast-offs from the parlor out front, judging by their worn condition.

Predictably, Genesis had chosen to bring his own sullen armchair with him rather than take his chances with the checkered history of any of the chairs that'd been left for them. He looked up from the grimoire he'd been reading when the door opened, shunting the book away into the shadows before Elijah could get a look at the title on its spine. The commander gave Elijah a quick and critical once-over. Checking for weapons, doubtlessly. Once Elijah spotted Genesis lurking in the corner, his prior enthusiasm reignited and he rushed across the study to greet the commander, his hand outstretched to shake. "Comrade Genesis! Thank you so much for meeting with me! It's an honor, sir."

Genesis looked down at Elijah's hand, frowning. Mirk cleared his throat. When Genesis chanced a glance his way, Mirk inclined his head toward Elijah's hand, with a nod and an encouraging smile. Grudgingly, Genesis reached out and shook the mage's hand, though he did his best to touch him for as short a time as possible. He really was getting better, Mirk thought. Even though he could tell by the way Genesis flicked his hand once he withdrew it that he wanted to whip out his handkerchief, he didn't. "You are...Elijah Oliver," Genesis said.

"The one and only!" Elijah replied, with a nervous laugh. "Can I sit?"

"If you...would prefer."

Elijah sat in the chair nearest Genesis, though he perched on the barest edge of it, the better to lean in and not miss a single nuance of Genesis's mannerisms. Genesis was unsettled by being stared at so fixedly, but, again, managed not to comment. Laughing under his breath, Mirk sat down on Genesis's other side. He had a feeling his presence in the room would soon be forgotten by both of them, but he didn't mind. He was only there to mediate, to clear up any misunderstandings between them before things could get out of hand.

After Genesis refused to say anything more for a good three minutes, Elijah began to babble, unable to contain his excitement a moment more. "There's so much I could ask you, sir, I don't even know where to start-"

"I am not a sir."

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course, sorry. Habit. It's...you're just...you're the greatest mage in England! Maybe in all of Europe, even! It feels wrong to call you comrade like everyone else."

A nerve in Genesis's forehead had begun to twitch. "That is the...entire point."

"Is it? Funny, I just thought it was because the guilds would get mad at us siring and lording when we never got a grant from the mortals. That or it was some Bavarian custom. Anyway, like I said, there's so much I want to ask you...I made notes..."

As Elijah rummaged in the front pocket of his coat for something, Genesis looked to Mirk again for guidance. That strange reversal always made Mirk feel like laughing, though he caught himself before he could that time. No matter how many times he saw it happen, part of Mirk simply couldn't fathom that a man who could undo spells in countless languages without a second thought didn't understand how to hold a polite conversation with a stranger. "Genesis has been looking into your work as well," Mirk offered, as a place for Genesis to begin.

"It is...creative," Genesis worked out, after another pause.

"Really? You think so? I'm honored! I really don't have as much time as I'd like for my studies, what with Alistair always dragging me off here and there, but I do the best I can. The worst is that I don't have the time to travel on my own. Are these your books? Is this your library?" Elijah asked, gesturing around at the shelves.

"No. This is the...proprietor's library. Mine is...elsewhere."

"Oh, right. You probably need it somewhere more secure. Anyway, like I said, I made some notes." Elijah raised the crumpled bundle of mage parchment he'd pulled out of his pocket, grinning. "Can we start with binding magic? I've heard stories that-"

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"In a moment," Genesis said, raising a hand to cut off Elijah's rambling before he could work himself up to full speed. The commander was finding his footing, Mirk thought. Genesis had agreed to their meeting with his own purpose in mind. And Genesis always handled business first. "A...question for you."

Elijah blinked, then coughed. "For me? Er...what do you want to know?"

"For what reason do you continue to work for Ravensdale?"

A wave of confusion and disappointment rose off Elijah, strong enough for Mirk to need to feed more potential to his mental shielding not to be distracted by it. "I...well...he hired me?"

"Is that the sole reason?"

The disappointment shifted fast to embarrassment, as Elijah's face went red and he folded his notes over in his lap, slumping backward in his chair. "Alistair's the only one who'll have me. The Torches took away my permit. If I want to do magic at all in England any more, I have to do it for him."

Though Mirk suspected Genesis already knew the answer to the question he asked next, the commander posed it all the same. "Why?"

"It...it's stupid, really," Elijah said with a sigh, running a hand back through his hair. "The only room I could get was clear on the other side of London from the guild hall. And they throw you out of the guild library at five on the dot every day, and they won't even let you in on Sundays! So I...er...decided to make some copies of their grimoires. For personal use! I wasn't going to make any gold off them or anything. Though I did lend that copy I made of Sir Wilberforce's treatise on combining Orblatt's Fire of the Seventh Seal with Gracus's Perpetual Sulfur Summoning Circle to that Italian fellow, but I swear, I thought he was just curious, I didn't think he was going to sell it to the French guilds...sure they must have their own copy of Sir Wilberforce somewhere anyway, it's basic stuff, it's just that no one can keep all his charts memorized at once..."

Elijah trailed off, bright red in the face. Genesis's eyes were narrowed, flicking back and forth as he tried to piece Elijah's story together. Looking for crosses and double-crosses, Mirk thought, trying to remember what he'd memorized as a liar's most common tells. It would be better if he stepped in again. There was a shared sentiment between them, Mirk knew, it just needed to be put into words they could both understand. "Do you think it's a good thing for the guilds to keep their own libraries?"

"What? Oh, I mean, well, the grimoires all have to go somewhere, I suppose, but I hate how stupid they are about things. We're all scholars, aren't we? And, anyway, it's not the books themselves, it's what you do with them. It's not fair to keep them all locked up like that and not lend them out. That's the only reason why I made the copies in the first place. Five hours a day isn't enough to get anything done if you're really trying to put things together."

"Knowledge should be...free to all those who are interested," Genesis said, a fraction of his suspicion fading.

"Exactly! And, anyway, if they really didn't want us making copies, they should have put better spells against it on the grimoires. Just made things tedious. And don't even get me started on the whole permit thing, why do I need a permit to just do experiments? It's not like I can turn my magic off. And how are we supposed to have the time to really discover anything if we're stuck making magelights and fire-starting spell papers for the guild for hours every day just to pay the fees?"

Genesis nodded, slowly. "On this...we are agreed."

"So, you see, I didn't have any choice but to come work for Alistair. The Torches blacklisted me all the way to Austria! I could have gone to China or somewhere, but, honestly, the last time I was there I was sick for months and the healers told me I nearly threw up my spleen...anyway, that's why I'm here. Alistair said that I could have all the grimoires I wanted as long as I helped him out on contract. And I could go in the K'maneda library whenever I wanted, no limits. He didn't mention that it's a total mess, but, well. There's a lot of things Alistair never mentioned."

"...such as?"

"Oh, I don't know, small things. Like the whole thing with the djinn, and with everyone being so...er...mercenary. Though I suppose that one's on me. Since it's sort of in the title."

"The djinn are not a...small thing," Genesis said. It was a misstep on Elijah's part. Genesis's expression had hardened again.

"Well, no, you're right, I suppose it's not, but it's...it's part of a pattern, right? The same as you. And him," Elijah said, waving a hand in Mirk's direction, though he continued to stare down at his lap as he searched for the right words to explain. "I guess I really shouldn't be surprised, should I? We're mercenaries. It's about the gold and that's that, same as the guilds."

Genesis leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, debating where to begin. Mirk knew that posture well: Elijah was in for a lecture. "What do you know of the...history and purpose of the K'maneda?"

Elijah glanced up, confused. "Nothing, really. Like I said, mercenaries and gold and all that. Been doing it since the Hundred Years War at least. That's what North's always going on about, anyway."

"You are partially correct. The K'maneda have always been...mercenaries. However, our purpose was not...and never should be understood as...mere pursuit of gold. This is a recent...corruption of our purpose."

"Is it?"

"The purpose of the K'maneda is to aid the dispossessed. To hold the sword of those who are too weak to carry it, until they can...rise again." Genesis's voice had taken on that odd, distant tone, the one that sharpened his accent. The one he used when reciting a text he'd long since learned by heart.

Judging by the strength of the confusion pressing against Mirk's mental shielding, Elijah wasn't quite following him. "Is it? I really need to pay better attention..."

It was as if Genesis didn't hear Elijah at all. He carried on without glancing in the mage's direction. "The K'maneda has traveled the realms in the City of Glass for millennia. Joined by...purpose, not blood. To destroy empires. Kings. Profiteers. Slavers. Until the last chain is broken." Genesis paused, sighing, his tone shifting again. Once he ran out of text to recite, his bitterness over the present state of the K'maneda returned to him. "Until the City was trapped in the angels' domain. And we also became...slaves."

Elijah leaned forward in his chair again, his curiosity overcoming his embarrassment at not knowing. "Really? I didn't know that the City was ever moored in Heaven. How long ago was that?"

"Thousands of years ago. Humans were barely...sentient at the time."

"Ah. Well, I guess I shouldn't feel too bad about not knowing then," Elijah said, with a sheepish laugh.

Again, Genesis fixed Elijah in a disapproving frown, and Elijah's smile turned to a cringe. "This is knowledge that should be taught to every trainee. This is our history. Our...purpose. However, it has not befitted those in...command for us to know for many centuries. In any case. After several centuries, a...portion of the angels and the K'maneda joined in revolt. The Empire did not fall. But the City fell to Earth. And so, the…corruption began. It did not happen overnight. Yet as the City lost its ability to truly wander, and Earth-born commanders replaced the ones old enough to remember, our purpose was...obscured. Deliberately forgotten. The commanders pursued their own…interests. Wealth. Power. Allegiances with...mage and mortal kings. To rob others of their freedom. It is our duty to reverse this. The realms have no need for more profiteers and masters. But the need for the old K'maneda is constant."

Mirk got the impression from the way Genesis was choosing his words, slowly, his eyes always roving back and forth for answers in all the crumbling grimoires he'd committed to memory, that he was leaving a great many details that he wished he could include out of the story. But his passion came through all the same. It was as strong as Elijah's excitement for magic, though it showed itself in quiet deliberation rather than constant motion and noise. And there was something appealing to it, transfixing, that made Mirk lose track of Genesis's words at times in favor of studying the rise and fall of his voice. It was the closest Mirk had ever come to being able to sense his emotions, even if there was nothing but the same low static of his chaotic magic against his mind when Mirk reached out to him with his empathy.

Elijah broke the spell with a clearing of his throat. "I didn't know any of this. And, well, er...it's all very interesting, si...er...comrade, but what does that have to do with us and the here and now? You don't mean to start some revolution or something, do you?" he asked, leaning in closer still to Genesis as he spoke the word revolution, as if worried of being overheard. It was reassuring, Mirk thought, to see that Elijah had some common sense tucked in amongst his enthusiasm.

"Revolution is our true purpose," Genesis replied, without hesitation.

"But that could get people killed," Elijah countered.

"Yes. Such is the...inevitable price. But it is better to fight than submit. Death...will come for us regardless."

"Er..."

Again, Mirk felt drawn to cut in. "It really is wrong how Ravensdale treats the djinn, isn't it? Methinks you said it yourself, Elijah. No one should be locked up and only used as weapons. And the low-born infantry isn't much better off."

With the conversation drawn down from abstracts to something more concrete, a bit of Elijah's alarm faded, though his worry was still pricking against Mirk's shields. "Oh, right. Yes, I agree, the Am-Djinn are scholars. They should be in the library, not out getting shot at."

"Individuals can do as they choose," Genesis said. "But...they are in no position to choose. At present. Everything Ravensdale does is to increase his own power. The contracts he favors are unacceptable. But tyrants...possess the most gold. If he was only to engage his...fellows who choose to follow this impulse along with him in these contracts, it would be...their own doing. The others could make an effort to...dissuade him. If the Council was more than...useless. But there is no Council. He decides everything. And instead of sending his...fellow profiteers to fight...he sends the djinn. And us. The poor. The foreign. The non-humans. While his...human men of high English birth...take the contracts with the least threat...the rest of us die. Because we are...replaceable. There will always be more poor. More...undesirables. Ravensdale sees no need to preserve us, or the djinn. This is intolerable. He must be...dealt with."

"Is it really so bad?" Elijah asked. Suddenly he seemed very small and uncertain, his boundless enthusiasm dimmed by doubt. "I...I've never really thought...I thought maybe he'd stop it with the djinn after a while...and I've never really seen..."

"No. You would not. You are of both...English birth and human lineage, correct?"

"Well...yes..."

"And you are useful to him. He orders you to break a wall...or enchant his cannon...and you do it. And that is all."

"Right. I suppose I do." Elijah shook his head hard, seeming to come back to himself a little. "I'm sorry, comrade. I've just...I didn't know. And I've never really thought about these things. I'm a mage. I do magic. Politics are for other people."

"Some of us do not have the...option of ignoring it."

The pair were reaching an impasse again. Mirk could sense it in the deepening of Genesis's frown and the snarled feel of Elijah's bewilderment. There had to be a middle ground there somewhere, Mirk thought. But it was enough for a man like Elijah to process for one night. He stepped in again, lowering his shields and projecting just enough sympathy at Elijah to catch his attention, since Mirk couldn't reach far enough across Genesis between them to comfort the mage with a hand on the shoulder. "This is all a little overwhelming, methinks, non? But you'll think about what Genesis had to say, hmm?"

Elijah nodded, encouraged to see Genesis nodding along with him. "It is important to...understand before making a decision," Genesis conceded.

"Right! That's exactly it. I'll...I'll try to look at things a bit more. But you're not, um, asking me to do anything, are you? Comrade? You don't expect me to kill anyone, do you? I mean, I'm not very good at that kind of magic, and Alistair is powerful, even if it's all that brute-force nonsense..."

"That's right," Mirk cut in, before Genesis could interject a cross word or two about Elijah's evident shock at the thought of murder. "Just think about things. As friends. Anyway, methinks you had some questions that you wanted to ask too, Elijah? Fair is fair," Mirk added, giving Genesis a pointed look.

Genesis sighed. "That was the...agreement."

Elijah perked up immediately, too distracted by the thought of getting to unload all of his own questions to notice the resignation in Genesis's tone. "Right! There's so much I wanted to ask you...um...let's see..." He rifled through his notes, scanning them until he fixed on one point. "That's it! I need to ask you, I don't understand how you overcame Turner's Paradox when you did that one spell, you know, on that big gate back on that one realm? You know, the one we'd been working at for weeks. I sort of see how you managed to balance out the ordered half of it, but what did you do with the excess elemental parts? Was it some chaos magic technique? Or can any mage do it?"

Mirk lost track of the conversation within minutes. But he was relieved to see that it helped to ease the tension that had welled up between Genesis and Elijah. It was heartening to watch, really: the more questions Elijah asked, and the more Elijah's curiosity and excitement grew, the more Genesis seemed to warm to him. There really weren't many mages like Elijah among the Easterners and the other members of the Seventh. Most of them were trained only in combat, in using their power like a hammer to put an end to fights and as shields to protect the others who didn't have deep wells of magical potential to draw on. Elijah practiced a different kind of magic, one closer to the sort that Mirk was familiar with from working beside healers like Eva and Yule. Magic that was logic and figures and spells decoded from moldering grimoires. If Genesis didn't press his ideals on Elijah too much, Mirk thought, the two of them might even become friends.

The thought comforted Mirk. Genesis would have never admitted it, but Mirk thought that the commander was a lonely person, someone who too often felt out-of-place and at odds with the world. It would be good for Genesis to have someone to talk to, someone who understood his work, even if the two of them didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on much else. Or perhaps Mirk was being as naive as Elijah, in his own way.

It was Genesis's expression as he spoke with Elijah that made Mirk wish for it. The more convoluted their discussion grew, the more Genesis's eyes sharpened. It wasn't as profound as the peace Genesis had found when he'd uncovered his strange magicked bathroom, but it made Mirk feel better to see Genesis even a fraction less cold and distant than usual.

That and Mirk thought the commander to be much more handsome when his attention was riveted on something fascinating. But that was beside the point.

"Oh! Drat, half one already?" Elijah said, head abruptly whipping around as he looked at a clock tucked in among the jumble of parts and books on the shelves that ringed the room. It had begun to play a cheerful, tinny tune that sounded vaguely familiar. "I have to be at a meeting with Alistair at seven. And if I don't get at least five hours of sleep, my magic's a nightmare." He paused, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Thank you again for speaking with me, Comrade Genesis. It's been a pleasure. Really a pleasure. Do you think we can do it again? Sometime? It's just that there's a book I think you'd be interested in, one of the lost works of Flemming, found it in a tomb the other day. Has some good ideas in it, though I don't know how they'd work in practice."

Genesis stared at Elijah for a time, then nodded slowly. Now that the discussion of magic had ceased, the commander looked overwhelmed, as tired as if he'd been out for days fighting. Which was to be expected. Mirk felt a little exhausted himself when confronted with Elijah's boundless energy; he could only imagine what speaking with him was like for someone as reserved at Genesis. "It would be advisable for you to discuss that matter with Mirk. Conversing directly may...raise suspicions."

"Oh. Right. Alistair and all that, I promise I'll think about that too. I can see why a man like you needs to take precautions. I'll let you know when I've found that book and you can help set things up," Elijah said, turning his wide grin on Mirk. "So! Um. Do I just...go?"

Mirk nodded. "One of the ladies will see you out, methinks."

"Oh...right." Bringing Alistair up again hadn't been enough to dim Elijah's good mood, but the mere thought of the women going about their business beyond the workroom door was enough to put a touch of red back in Elijah's cheeks. "Well...um, I suppose it'll be fine...anyway, take care! Mirk, Genesis," he nodded to each of them in turn before going to the door and slipping out. He didn't close the door quickly enough to muffle the sound of the woman in the red and gold dress calling out a chipper, off-color greeting to him.

Mirk turned back to Genesis. His arms were folded across his chest, eyes fixed on the crossbow-like weapon being assembled on the table across the room. Genesis had been tense the whole time Elijah had been in the room, a barely perceptible thing, a suggestion of constant readiness to spring up with a knife or a coil in shadow in hand. As soon as Elijah was gone, he'd started to relax some. Though he still had an uneasy air about him, something that made the shadows stir restlessly beneath his chair. "See?" Mirk prompted. "That wasn't so bad, was it, messire?"

"I...suppose not. I'm unconvinced of his sincerity, but...he appears harmless. On the whole."

"I told you, Elijah's not a bad person," Mirk said. "He's just...euh..."

Genesis stood, making his sullen armchair disappear into the shadows gathered in the furthest corner of the workroom with a sweep of his hand. "Very naive. This is the...only thing that has convinced me this is not yet some...ploy on his part. Throughout all my observation of him over the past three days he has remained...oblivious to most everything."

"You're right about that.” Mirk sighed at the thought of the two dozen burned and angry Supply Corps men Elijah had sent to the infirmary with his last absent-minded misstep the day he’d spoken with Am-Hazek.

"A...strange life."

"People only know about what they live around. And...well. That's all he's around. Magic."

Genesis paused for a moment. "He is a combat mage in a mercenary army. One would think that such a position would make one aware of the...realities of life."

Mirk shook his head. "Most people try not to look at the bad things in life, even if they're around them all the time. It hurts. People avoid things that hurt them."

"Such...is the life of privilege."

"I suppose you're right," Mirk said. "Do you think I'm like Elijah, then? Too rich and too safe to understand?"

After a long pause, Genesis finally met his eyes. "No. You are...very much aware. But for some reason...you remain convinced that there are...half-measures. That conflict can be avoided through discussion."

"I'm not as naive as Elijah, messire. I know people can be cruel. And some cruel people's minds can't be changed by talking," Mirk said. "But everyone needs friends. You can't take on the whole world at once. And not everyone who disagrees with you on one or two things needs to be your enemy. Methinks it's easier to fight the very cruel ones when you have more friends on your side, non?"

"I remain...unconvinced."

"Then maybe you should give things a bit more time just like Elijah," Mirk said, fastening his cloak at his neck, standing as well. "I'm sure you must be tired of talking by now. And I have to be at the infirmary in five hours. I don't do much better with little sleep than Elijah."

"You have...never lit five carts in a row on fire due to...falling down the stairs."

Mirk sighed again, inadvertently thinking back to the mess he'd made of Mademoiselle Polignac's solarium. "Honestly, I'm not much better than that half the time, methinks. Anyway. Should we go ho...euh...back?" He couldn't start calling their quarters home. It sounded too familiar to him, though he doubted Genesis would have cared either way. And it implied a domestic sort of life that Mirk didn't want to begin to delude himself into believing. They were just two people who happened to share a set of rooms at the moment, due to circumstance. "Unless you have other work to do tonight. I can walk back on my own."

"No. I have...had enough of this for one evening."

After a moment, Genesis unfolded his arms, holding one out slightly to his side, expectant. Mirk had grown accustomed to Genesis moving him through the shadows, but it was still easier on both of them if Mirk held onto him while Genesis did it. As he took Genesis's arm, he snuck a glance up at his face. It had bothered Genesis at first, having him hanging off his arm. Now the commander didn't even notice it. It'd become routine.

Mirk felt a bit of comfort at that. Even if Genesis didn't trust his instincts, he at least trusted him enough not to flinch or draw back when he touched him any more. Though, perhaps that trust was a bit misplaced, considering the quiet thrill of happiness that surged up Mirk's spine at the realization that Genesis didn't mind his presence. That he could relax in it instead of being ready at a moment's notice to defend himself. If Genesis knew some of the more worrying thoughts that’d passed through his head recently, Mirk had no doubt that ease would vanish in an instant.

He did his best to put it out of mind as Genesis lifted his other hand and the shadows rose around them both, enveloping Mirk's senses in their comforting static. It'd be better if he took his own advice and dealt with his problems one at a time instead of trying to fight them all at once. After all, if executing Genesis's plans meant making more social calls, the commander was going to need his help as much as Mirk needed Genesis's.