Entering a flophouse that sat right on Bradford’s south-eastern border, Mei followed Rodion through clumps of people, around ancient stoves, and up to a back door where he shouldered a large cloth bag then pulled out a large rusty key.

As he worked the lock, Dwayne’s steward caught Mei inspecting the bag. “Don’t worry. There are no weapons in here.”

“Then what is?”

“You’ll see.” Rodion wrenched the key around and pushed open the door. “Come on.”

Behind the flophouse was a long house with faded red siding that had been built onto a dock extending twenty wirs into the river.

Mei’s hand went to her dagger. The easy access to water and the fact that few people came here made this an excellent place to kill someone and dump their body, and at Rodion’s insistence, she’d left her rifle behind at Sanford. “What’s in there?”

“Boats.”

Rodion slid open a door to reveal a collection of them hanging on the walls along with a bewildering large number of oars. However, when he stepped inside, Mei didn’t follow.

“You’re skittish about this,” he said, “but not about sneaking into an actual fortress?”

“Yes.” Mei stepped up to the open door. “I don’t know why you’re helping me.”

“Because I have to.” Rodion found a chair and sat down, dropping the bag onto the floor. “Close the door behind you.”

As Rodion’s bag had only frumphed when it hit the floor, which meant it contained nothing hard, and he himself had sat too far away to easily hurt her, Mei entered the building, sliding the door shut behind her.

“Here.” Rodion pulled something out of his bag and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”

Mei caught it. It was a woolen cape, covered in horizontal gray and maroon stripes. “Why?”

“To cover your uniform. Wait a moment.”

Rodion loosened his belt and jacket and began to mutter under his breath. Immediately, the steward’s features began to melt away, their disappearance leaving the spy’s thick lips, curly red hair, and pale skin in their wake, along with a full bosom Mei couldn’t remember from before. Once the magic was done, the spy pulled on a striped woolen cape just like Mei’s.

“Okay.” Their voice was now higher pitched, their Souran accent more rounded. “Here’s the rules. First, I’m Inge, you’re Gunther. Second, Gunther don’t speak unless Inge says. Third, Rodion don’t speak unless Mei says. Got it?”

Mei put the cape on. “Why?”

“Because Inge and Mei know what they’re about and Gunther and Rodion don’t.” Inge felt their lips and sighed. “Ugh, too much Dwayne again. Now, your turn.” They reached for Mei.

Mei stepped back. “What?”

“Gunther is a Souran boy. Your eyes, your hips, they don’t match.”

“No one can see my hips.”

“You’ll walk wrong.” Inge pointed east. “Sen Jerome’s full of zealots who yearn to practice what they preach. We won’t give them the chance. Come on.” When Mei stepped back again, they threw their hands up. “Fine. Let’s give up. I’ll go home, you’ll get caught, and you’ll ruin everything.”

Mei eyed their hands. “Will it hurt?”

“No, it won’t. Close your eyes. It’ll be done in a blink.”

Mei followed directions, only barely flinching when Inge’s fingers brushed her eyelids.

“Fo-dwan-tsan-lenbe.” Their hands patted Mei’s hips. “Fo-dwan-tsan-lenbe.”

While the first spell did nothing, the second loosened Mei’s trousers, which Inge caught before they hit the floor. After tightening Mei’s belt, they stepped away. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Mei did so. Her eyelids still felt the same.

“Walk around.” Inge sank back down onto their seat. “Get used to it.”

“Okay.” Mei’s first steps were wobbly. “Oh, it’s like boots.”

“What?”

“I have to break them in.” Mei started pacing in circles, changing direction when she reached a wall. “Did you do this to Dwayne?”

“What?” Inge looked up from clasped hands. “No, I didn’t do nothing to him.”

“Maggie didn’t see him at the Offering, but he said he watched it.” Mei completed another lap, the wobbles nearly gone from her gait. “What did you do to him?”

“Not answering.” Inge stood up and kicked their bag into a corner. “Come on, daylight don’t wait.”

“I think he’s grateful.”

Inge’s hand paused over the door handle. They sighed. “He wouldn’t if he knew.”

“I won’t tell.”

“Of course, you won’t. If I thought that,” Inge opened the door, “your memories would be blank.”

“What?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

But the spy was already striding down the river path. When Mei caught up to them, they said, “The Lord Commander has the real soldiers from Sen Quincy’s guard the West and South Gates and all the wall between them. Sen Jerome’s zealots only walk the East Gate and only because East Gate is Sen Jerome’s.”

Their meaning became clear when they and Mei rounded a stand of trees, bringing East Gate into view. Part bridge, part fortress, Sen Jerome’s loomed over three tunnels of river traffic. When a boat exited a tunnel, a white-hooded monk reached out with a wood hook to pull it up to a stone quay for inspection. The process looked slow and onerous, but there wasn’t much of a line because there were very few boats entering or exiting the East Gate. That was surprising, considering how busy The Exchange was.

“Sen Jerome was a knight,” said Inge as they and Mei continued up the path. “After he stopped a rogue mage from taking the Throne, he convinced the Church to create a religious order that was devoted to bringing mages into line,” their lips curled, “as if that wasn’t pure sacrilege.”

That wasn’t an Inge comment, but Gunther wouldn’t point that out and so Mei stayed silent. The two of them continued up the road, past another stand of trees, and soon had joined a line of people going through a small gate built into the wall.

“East Gate is never busy.” Inge whispered. “There’s nothing the East has that the West can’t make cheaper. Soura’s coastline is mainly fishing villages, which can barely provide enough for themselves, let alone sell anything. When they scrape together enough to try, they take the Queen’s Road and save the effort of going upriver. Now,” the gate was close, “remember the rules, Gunther.”

Mei nodded and fell behind Inge as she and the spy approached the two cudgel wielding monks, guarding the gate.

“Good afternoon, Brothers.” Inge’s voice was bright and cheery. “Please don’t tell me you must spend all day under the clouds?”

“It’s no trouble.” The monk on the right sniffed. “We’re doing Cueller’s work.”

“Aye, you are.” Inge smiled. “I bet there ain’t two people for a prinwir who do it better.”

Right Monk’s chest puffed up, but Left Monk scowled. “I presume you’ll be wanting to pass through, ma’am?”

“You presume right.”

“Then I must inform you,” Left Monk’s eyes roamed over the spy, “that since the Harvest Ball, we’re ordered to look out for suspicious persons. What was your business in Bradford?”

“Showing my nephew Gunther what the big city is like.” Inge put an arm around Mei’s shoulders. “Now he knows why we keeps to the sea. The big cathedral was grand, too grand for those who wait for the next bite.”

“It’s too grand for anyone,” agreed Right Monk. “Sermons shouldn’t need to be shouted to be heard…”

Left Monk’s glare had silenced her partner. “When did you two arrive?”

“We-”

“I’d like your nephew to answer,” said Left Monk. “If you don’t mind, ma’am.”

As Inge tense, Mei didn’t worry. Whatever the correct answer was, Gunther wouldn’t know as this was his first time in Bradford. Anyway, he was standing in front of heroes.

She cast her eyes down. “I-I think some weeks back?” She let her eyes flick up to Left Monk’s thick arms. “Is it true? You fight evil mages?”

“Oh, yes.” Left Monk sounded amused. “We’re called to it.”

Mei let her eyes go wide. “Even Ri mages?”

Left Monk stiffened. “We’re… trained to fight them, but the real danger comes from down south.”

“From the Vanurians?” Mei ignored the daggers Inge glared at her. “Don’t they use corpses to fight?”

Right Monk laughed. “No, that’s just mummery nonsense.”

“Their real power,” said Left Monk, “is stealing faces.”

“Cups!” Mei’s hands came to her cheeks.

Left Monk chuckled. “Don’t worry. The cenobites of Sen Jerome’s will stop the face-stealing witches. Now, move along you two. You’re holding up the line.”

Once they were through the gate and out of ear shot, Inge muttered, “You didn’t follow the rules.”

Mei shrugged. “Gunther is very easy to impress.”

She turned to look at the river fortress from the other side. Between the three tunnels and the two land gates on the riverbanks, there were more ways through the fortress than into it, the only one she saw was a ramp bristling with guards and iron portcullis on the southern bank.

“The tunnels have entrances too,” explained Inge, reading Mei’s mind. “That’s how their Church sends supplies, but the ramp is the main way people come in. Ready to give up?”

“No.”

Inge sighed. “Whatever. Come on.” They led Mei down to the riverbank, where a long narrow-bodied boat rested, two oars lying across the seats.

Inge climbed into the front. “Get in and take off that cape. I’ll bring Mei back.”

Mei did so, taking the seat behind the spy and placing her cape on top of Inge’s. “We are taking this back?”

“Yes.” Inge handed her an oar. “To throw off suspicion.”

“They won’t wonder where we came from?”

“They will think we went left the city through one of the other gates and came back in this way. East Gate doesn’t talk to the others. No one will confirm this. Now, let’s get Mei back.” Before Mei could resist, Inge’s index fingers were pressed against her forehead. “Fo-fiuhu.”

Again, Mei felt no difference to her eyes, but her trousers immediately tightened, forcing her to loosen her belt. “What about you?”

But Inge’s lips were already thinning, their skin lightening, their hair darkening, their chest flattening. Soon, the spy Inge was gone and the steward Rodion remained.

“There, I’m back.” He picked up an oar and turned to face the front. “We can go now. Please push off.”

Mei used her oar to ease the boat into the river. “Could we use magic to get in?”

“That would be inadvisable.” Rodion’s rowing set the pace. “The cenobites use passphrases derived from their secret texts for periodic authentication.”

That sounded like a no. Mei was starting to miss the spy. “What about Dwayne?”

“As the Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s office, he doesn’t have the authority. He would need to get permission from either a bishop or Her Majesty, which would defeat the point.”

Mei grimaced. Climbing the walls was out too. They were too well-maintained and too well-manned. Even Huan and his magic knives would need inside help to scale them.

Rodion breathing roughened as he rowed.

“Should we slow down?” Mei asked.

“No.” Rodion did another stroke. “It’s just… what I did, I’m not…proficient… at.”

“Like Maggie and Qe magic?”

“Yes…though… different. Young Kalan can… explain.”

He probably already had, but Mei hadn’t paid attention. She put more muscle into her own strokes. “Thank you for helping.”

“Don’t… mention… it.”

A few more wirs, and the boat reached the stone quays in the tunnels where a monk waited, wooden hook already reaching to pull them in.

“Pass, please,” he said when their boat touched stone.

Rodion only slumped in his seat. That was fine. According to the rules, Mei was in charge now. “I’m Mei, Head Guard of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office. I don’t need a pass.”

The monk blinked then took in her Tower uniform. “What were you doing out there?”

“My job.” Ahead of her and Rodion, a barge stopped, allowing its crew to jump out to help the monks carry baskets full of clothes into the fortress. Interesting. “Where does your food come from?”

The monk frowned. “What?”

“You eat. Where does it come from?”

“The Cathedral sends us the donations of true believers.”

“Can I send one?”

The monk stared at her. “Why?”

Mei placed Gunther’s innocent expression gaze up at the monk. “Because I believe. Why else?”

“Oh. I, uh, think you can just send it here.”

“Does time matter?”

“No, there’s always someone here.”

“Understood.” Mei pulled the hook off the boat and pushed away from the quay. “I’ll do that then.”

Once they’d made it twenty wirs upriver, Rodion asked, “What was that?”

“Our way in.”