The figure before them was a middle-aged man of asian descent, his clothing from some bygone era. He looked at them as they in turn looked at him, confusion covering Danny, Frank, the kid and the Rodent each as the man continued to spout of some gibberish at everyone in a foreign tongue.

“Anyone speak oriental?” Donny asked without taking his eyes of the phantom.

“I think that’s Chinese,” suggested the kid.

“If you say so.”

Goodie then asked, “Does it know we’re here?”

“Sort of.” That answer came from Frank, who was off to the side. The Rodent had secured the item that the ghost was fettered to, an old, green vase of unknown make. Probably Chinese, as the kid had said.

“They exist in a loop,” Frank went on, “they can act like normal people for the most part as long as they’re within that span of time, but once it’s over, they reset back to the moment where they…well, when they ended.”

As if to emphasise his explanation, the ghost suddenly flickered, the men recentering to where he had originally appeared, the man then screaming out as he had also originally done and grabbing at his back in sudden pain. He quickly recovered from whatever that was, and, after shaking his head to clear the confused look in his eyes, began to repeat his initial reaction to the presence of the others in the room and to the room itself.

Though what that reaction was, exactly, none of them could say, no one in the room aside from the dearly departed being able to speak the same language as the ghostly individual.

The kid asked, “And the big deal about some dead guy is?”

Donny turned to him, but paused a moment as he saw the Rodent give the kid an eye and a frown.

Few would not know about the value of finding a ghost, those in truly isolated communities and other such cradles of ignorance, for example, so the curiosity was warranted. Warranted but not wanted.

First thing Donny and Frank had done when the kid had started taking people on was drill into the boy’s thick skull about the importance of having everyone sign a contract of secrecy; something the kid called a non-disclosure agreement.

Yes, that signing would have raised an eyebrow or two, especially since they had needed to secure those documents with a lawyer, such individuals deeply in bed with the government and its many, many Departments, but that was far more preferable to just leaving Germain and the Rodent free to blab about anything and everything to the world. This world.

Normally, it was on the employee to secure their own contract, not the employer—something the kid had informed them was not how things were done where he came from—as if his world was the example that everyone else needed to follow. But Goodie had done as asked. Despite that, neither he, Donny, nor Frank had bothered to actually enlighten either the rodent or Germain as to the kid’s particular background.

Contracts were contracts, but loose-lips could not reveal what they do not know.

Pushing that matter aside, Donny answered the kid.

“Not anyone can just leave a spark of themselves behind, kid,” explained Donny, “takes a particular kind of arrogance to keep you solidified, the type only the best of the best, or the worst of the worst tend to have.”

“And that’s important how?”

As Donny returned his attention to the still infuriated spectre, the thing in front of them now inspecting the walls of the small room that served as the kid’s office, he asked the kid, “What would you do if you had a leader in your pocket? Some religious zealot or social agitator?”

“Get it away from my junk, obviously.”

Donny rolled his eyes as the two infants next to them snorted at the kid’s quip.

“There’s magic that can affect ghosts—make them think that you’re their best friend, empower them to be able to affect their surroundings, so on. The value of that is that those spells turn said ghost into your personal advisor, a personal tool of destruction and murder…sometimes; depends on the ghost.”

“Oh,” the kid muttered, “personal A.I.”

“What?”

Goodie waved him off.

Donny frowned, especially when he noticed another questioning eye from the Rodent, or Alex, or whatever his name was.

“So,” Frank stepped in, “question is, what you gonna do with it?” he asked the kid.

“Do?”

“Keeping it or selling it?”

“I can barely speak English; Chinese is a bit beyond me,” the kid replied.

“You can always learn?” advised the Rodent.

The look on the kid’s face indicated just how likely that was to happen.

“Kid,” Frank warned, “don’t be so quick to toss this thing aside. Hopper and Rourke over by the coast had a ghost working for ‘em. Made a mint off of it.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” the kid asked.

Frank made a sound, but indicated that their ending had nothing to do with the ghost with a wave of his hand.

“Still, no matter my choice, I’m going to need to know what this thing can do beforehand?” Goodie asked more than stated.

Both Frank and the Rodent spoke up then, mentioning the same name, one they abruptly stopped saying mid-sentence as they then eyed each other, Frank’s glare being particularly antagonistic towards the other man.

“Isaacs over in market square,” Frank repeated slowly, not relenting his gaze towards the Rodent, “Man’s a crook, but a proficient one. He’ll be able to figure out what’s what.”

“Okay,” Replied Goodie, “so that’s my day organised.”

“Yes,” Frank added, “but not with that. Donny, take the kid to the Kitty-Kat.”

“What?!” Donny asked in sudden surprise. “Frank, this is not…”

Frank waved him off with, an action that would not have silenced him normally, especially with what Donny knew of the temptation that Higher Understanding had presented his partner with, but the steely look in Frank’s eyes convinced Donny to give the man some leeway.

“And?” the kid asked.

Rather than Frank, the Rodent answered instead.

“The Kitty-Kat’s the city’s premier…house of negotiable affections, boss…well, the one not exclusive to the city elites, that is; but I believe Mr. Sullivan means for you to meet with the madam of said establishment. The woman’s a font of information if you can get on her good side. More so than I ever was.”

“And why’s that more important than learning about magic?”

“Because this,” Frank said as he pointed to the ghost, “ain’t important. Valuable, yes, but not important. This whole thing with the kidnapping is. We’re being wrangled into a mess we don’t want to be in, more so now that those top hats are involved, and I’m tired of being led around like a dog on a leash. First priority now is to figure a way out of this mess, and for that, we need information.”

“But what does that…?” Goodie started.

“Yes-yes;” Frank interrupted, “you joined up with us to learn the ropes, right? Well, we’re teaching you the ropes, and you making a connection with the best trader of information in the city is far more important than you meeting some run-of-the-mill crook. Speaking of which, your friend here can go with me while Donny and you go and see the Lady.”

“Okay,” Goodie,“ first of all, why am I only hearing about this woman now? Second; why would you want to go with Alexander? You hate him? And even more importantly, why would I send him with you?”

“First of all,” Frank began, “you don’t just meet with the Lady…which is what you won’t be doing; you’ll go with Donny—let him meet with her while you stand back and just be seen. She’ll contact you in time; but only on if she desires it, not because you want her to. As to your second question, you don’t put two snitches in the same room with each other, especially not with your friend her having some history with the Lady; Yeah, didn’t think I knew about that, did you?!” Frank asked, addressing the question to the Rodent, before returning attention his attention to the boy.

“But the most important lesson we’ll ever teach you is: ‘Never trust anyone with your money!’ Not even your partners! The Ro…your friend will keep an eye on me, while I keep an eye on him, and you’ll get access to one of the greatest resources you could ever hope to get in touch with.”

The Rodent helped pack up the vase as Goodie spoke to him about its particular details, while Donny and Frank stood back to speak. Donny could not ask the question he truly wanted to ask, given their proximity to the boy and the Rodent, but they could say enough that he could glean something of Frank’s plan, one which the man did have, no doubt about that.

Money. Donny should not have been surprised, but something about the look in his partner’s eyes hinted at something more than just a desire for profit, so once more, he found himself inclined to give the man some leeway.

As annoying as it was, Frank’s plans did tend to work out. Rarely in the way the man ever envisioned, but the the two of them did often come out on top in the end.

They took the Beast, of course. The four of them packing into it after first securing vase in the back.

It took them an hour to reach the market square, an extremely unsquar-like part of the city which, like the Webbing, formed to service the desires of the city’s residents. Though, unlike the former, this place dealt with the more acceptable services. Clothes, jewellery, confectionaries of various sorts, even a couple of furniture stores, their goods on full display behind the large glass panes that formed their storefronts. And, of course, magical goods. Nothing noteworthy, mind you, just the odd knickknack that could demand a high price from the odd local who wanted something fancy to talk about, but not anything that could actually put them in danger.

After dropping off Frank and the Rodent, and a look of warning from Goodie to Frank to play nice, Donny and the kid then headed off.

About ten minutes after that, Goodie asked, “Any reason I shouldn’t believe Frank’s up to something?”

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“Frank’s always up to something, kid,” Donny answered offhandedly as he checked the side-mirror on his side of the vehicle.

He did not look over, but Donny felt Goodie staring at from the other side.

“Look, I’m not going to say that Frank doesn’t have a plan in motion, especially what with that thing they have back there—you really have no idea how valuable a ghost can be to the right buyer—and of course, you’ve seen how he is with the Rodent…but honestly, I think he’s going through something,” Donny said as he turned the Beast down the road that would take them, “has been ever since the museum. …that, and I bet you it’s also an ego thing. Frank always needed to be in charge. You’ve met his sister, right? Well, their mother makes the two of them look positively angelic, so he’s always had a bit of a chip on his shoulder when it comes to having to play to someone else’s tune.”

“And with fate and everyone else messing us around…,” the kid realised.

“Exactly.”

They rode on in silence for a while after that, a little small talk now and then when the kid spotted something of interest, but mostly saying nothing.

It was only was only after they passed onto Little Island and started heading towards the mainland bridge that Goodie asked, “hang on, if this woman’s supposed to be the primo whatever for the city, why are we heading out of it?”

“Ah, right, we really need to start treating you like an immigrant,” Donny said, “keep forgetting you don’t know half of what a kid would. See, there’s the city, and then there’s the city, and then there’s the city,” Donny answered, then having a bit of a laugh as Goodie frowned.

“The rich don’t want to live where they can be killed, so the real city is all the areas that can be isolated, easily defended; so the city is all the islands they islands they live, you see. But of course, the poor also gotta live somewhere, so you got the other city, which—on the map, at least—is the city itself, and the areas around it where the people who don’t want to live in said areas live.”

“And the third?”

“Well, that’s more of a political thing. Land and wealth have always been related, so the city heads are inclined to claim as much as possible, mostly to impress all the others overseas. Specifically, that third one’s all the territory that the army can claim it can secure. It’s not entirely a lie, mind you, but the reason everyone who can afford to live on an island does so’s because there’s no such thing as secure here.”

It was a bit more complicated than Donny’s oversimplification, but that was the gist of it.

“Okay, but that still bears the question: if this lady’s so important, why’s she out of the city? The real one, or first, or whatever?”

“The rich like their distractions, but no one wants a whore in their backyard,” Donny answered bluntly.

“Fair enough.”

They rode on in silence, their journey taking them over Little Island, or Staten Island, as Goodie called it, then over the bridge to the mainland they went, needing to first stop at a military cordon that was the lone barrier between the right and proper citizens of the city and all the horrors that might lie beyond. After that, it was another hour of driving—not outward, but along the river’s edge, their journey now, weirdly enough, taking them nearly straight back along the same route they had taken to get here, albeit on the other side of the water.

Despite the area being one of ill-repute, the red-light district was one of the most beautiful places Donny had ever seen, a sentiment seemingly shared by the boy beside him who whistled in appreciation of the rolling landscape lush with flowers and other ornamental plants, trees trimmed and shaped, bushes depicting crude pictures of rather risqué stories, and amongst all of that, like dancing fey frozen in time, lay intricately carved statues of an equally adult nature.

The Kitty-Kat Galore was, in actuality, not merely a house, nor even a mansion, but a series of them, all designed and aligned to appear as one huge complex, the construction and decoration more than a match for anything that they had seen so far. All meant for the sole purpose of titillating the populace at large.

Donny parked well away from that complex, their station not such that they could just stroll up to the front door.

Settling the Beast down near the more common area, he and the kid had then needed to make their way through a mazework of topiary around the back of the buildings, occasionally forced to stop to let a guest pass as they moved towards the centre of the complex.

Even with it only being a little after noon, the Kitty-Kat saw plenty of clientele, the streets each lined with various forms of transport. Mostly of the horse-drawn variety, the automated vehicle still far too rare and expensive to be enjoyed fully by the city’s gentry, but there were more than a few present here as well.

They soon met a male guard at a side entrance, the man looking as if he was all dressed up to visit a theatre or some art gallery’s grand opening.

After a quick word with him, the man then showed them inside. Not to a service entrance or something similar, as Goodie had expected, but to a much more subdued presentation room where various women and men not rich enough to afford any of the fancy vehicles out in the streets were interacting.

Each engaging in talk, and nothing else, the rooms farther into the back were reserved for such matters. The main room and adjoining bar were meant more for a greater pleasure than that, one much desired by from men like him.

This was a freelancer bar, one where the independents of the city could settle down with a drink and have one or more of the women here give them a sympathetic ear.

The drinks were cheap and the talk free, though that was not to imply that it did not have its price.

The Lady was head of the largest information gathering organisation within the eastern territories. It need not be mentioned exactly how that information was gained, but to say that the madam had the entire city whispering into her ear would not have been an exaggeration.

Neither of her services were unknown, of course; the colonies were not as prudish as their old-world counterparts, and were more than accepting of the world’s oldest profession—within reason—hence the overly-large complex that was the Kitty-Kat Galore. And as for the snooping in on everyone? Well, the rich of the city tended to treat it as a game. A deadly one at times, from what Donny knew of the matter, but a game nonetheless, one they eagerly played as they walked the line between revealing all that they had to hide and withdrawing themselves completely from the unseen social gathers of the city’s elites.

“Remember, you’re just here to be seen, not heard,” Donny reminded the boy trailing just behind him.”

“Yeah-yeah…,” the kid muttered as they walked along.

They were soon guided to the madam of the establishment. Not the Lady whom they were seeking, merely one of the many sub-managers that saw to the various clientele and their needs, the complex and the number of people it serviced on a day-to-day basis where far too much for a lone woman to deal with all by herself, so the workforce was structured in a similar manner to the military.

They once even had uniforms made, but the actual military put a stop to that. Something about how little material said uniforms utilised making a mockery of a fine and proud order. Though from the few times he had spoken with them on the matter, Donne had yet to meet a soldier who had a genuine problem with a woman in uniform—especially not the ones made by the Kitty-Kat.

The madam in question was a miss Daphne Dupree, a woman with a penchant for figuring out the needs and desires of any freelancer that came to her, once having been a freelancer herself. Her ability, more than likely; the woman signalling to follow her once he came within sight, not a word exchanged between them.

After pointing the kid to the bar, he did just that.

“So, how you doing, Donny? Hear things’ve been well of late?”

“Had my ups and downs. And you?”

The woman just smiled teasingly as she led him on…in more ways than one.

They went through to the kitchens, and from there down into the underground passageways that ran beneath the entire complex like an intricate web. Another public secret.

There were more ways to tempt and entice a person than with mundane flesh—though Donny would never turn down the offer of the former. Being shown to the hidden inner working of this place was one such method, an easy means to impress the first-timers who knew no better.

Donny had been here many times before, so it was just a long walk for him.

It took them a few minutes to reach their destination. Though it was easy to get confused by the many winding hallways, he could trust the woman in front of him to not lead him astray, despite knowing how much someone like her would want to.

The Lady needed to remain available to the elites, to merely be seen if nothing else, so she would need to remain within the primary building of the complex to see to that need, so the woman in front of him could only lead him there.

And lead there she did, their journey then returning him to the surface, only to an area much more eloquently decorated than the one he had left.

Donny did not waste time in paying it any mind. Not only had he been her before, but he now faced a danger he was never prepared for. Not being one of the well-to-dos, his presence could offer a slight to any who could witness his passage, an offence he could not defend himself given his social status, so Donny straightened himself up as best he could, before following Daphne further upwards, higher and higher into the building, along one of its many servant’s passageways.

Leading to the room in front of the Lady’s office, Daphne then left him, quickly returning to her duties.

And now, now he had to prepare for the real danger.

Donny had timed it before, the span taken to reach here varying depending on how many people the Lady needed to meet with, and the degree of Daphne’s helpfulness likewise related to that need.

There was no end to the charms littering the passageways they had travelled along, and though he knew not their effect, Donny assumed that they were behind why so few had ever noticed the delay like he had. Another trick, to make it appear as if the Lady was giving you her immediate attention to whomever came knocking while also ensuring that no one ran into each other, unless the Lady intended for them to.

That he was led here so quickly meant that either her schedule was free for the day, or…

The large oaken doors to the woman’s office opened, a couple, one whom he recognised, stepping out of it as he watched.

Summoning the magic within him, Donny stepped back into the shadows as they drew in around him. It was a simple trick, one that could make it harder for him to be seen by others. It was by no means perfect, his obfuscation easily seen through by anyone looking directly towards him, but to those looking away and not paying attention, he would be practically invisible.

As he was, thankfully, now, the couple stalking off in a muted fury over something.

Donny forced the frown from his brow as the couple vanished from sight. Whatever game she was playing, he would do himself no favours by giving the Lady ammunition to use against him, nor would he intentionally antagonise her. Someone who could probably name every mole that the leaders of their fair city had upon their bodies was not someone you crossed lightly.

Knocking, Donny waited for the lady to call out before entering, as was the civil thing to do.

“Donny!?” the Lady called out in feigned surprise, the woman then standing up from her desk to come and greet him.

Donny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He would eat his hat if she had not been told of his coming well beforehand.

Adalberta Lady Balas. Not understanding the language, her immigrant parents had named her after what they had assumed was an elegantly sounding word of respect and prosperity for the well-to-do women they served. Little would they suspect how their daughter would eventually put that middle name to use.

As she slid up close to him with all the grace of a cobra, she ran her hands along his wide shoulders as she gently pressed her lips to his cheek, close enough to his own lips to imply that she was expecting a kiss, but not so much that you would be certain of it.

‘Always the games with her,’ Donny reminded himself.

“Come,” she said with an accent, “you have suffered; I know this much. Come and tell me all about it.”

A sympathetic ear was always an easy way in with any freelancer, and Donny had no doubt that she had heard everything there was to hear about the museum from all the others who had crossed her threshold, but nonetheless, he appreciated the play.

She guided him over to a settee off to the side of the room, set in front of a window in a cosy little nook, where they spent some time talking and not talking, intentionally avoiding what was important. For the sake of civility, for the game Adalberta lived to play, and…well, sometimes it was just better to not talk about things.

But eventually, pleasure always gave way to business.

“My little gift seems to be dragging me and the idiot into another mess,” Donny commented, regretfully ending the pleasure part of their conversation.

She smiled then, a coy little bit of mirth that she only let show on the corner of her lip.

“And what mess is it this time?”

“You’ve heard of the recent kidnapping?”

Lady stiffened then, visibly so.

“Oh, Donny,” she whispered, “Oh, my dear Donny…you can’t do this…”

She grasped his hand with a strength of grip few would not associate with the slim woman.

“Donny, you must not look into this matter.”

That…was rather direct. Normally, the woman liked to dance around any issue he brought to her. Which meant she was playing him. When the Lady wanted to be direct, she did so indirectly. An unmarked letter on the seat of your car, a brick through the window, or some six-foot-something thug sent round to your house after dark.

Question was, why?

Adalberta did have a genuine soft spot for him, so was the display because she truly wanted him to let things go?

Donny recalled the first time they had met…she was not a madam then, just another working girl; he had just turned fifteen, and his older brother and uncle had thought to get him a birthday gift that he would never forget.

…and he never did.

But that fondness never got in the way of business—for her, at least; so, again, Donny had to ask himself why?

Was he overthinking things, or was this perhaps one of those intellectual tricks where she was saying the opposite of what she meant? Her intent being to drive him towards whatever this mess was. Gods, he hated such games.

Or, more likely, was this some other game all together?

“That’s the idea, my Lady,” he told her, “but you know me and Frank? Half a brain between us, and not even a very good one at that. And we can’t avoid what we don’t have a clue about.’

“So, you came to me to see what it is you were dealing with?”

“That’s was the idea,” Donny confirmed.

“I cannot…no, I won’t,” she told him as she rose, striding a few feet before turning to look back at him.

“Donny, my dear Donny, this is above both you and I, and I implore you to not see whatever you do, to not step foot into this trouble any further,” she implored him, her heavy accent half-obscuring her words. “I cannot help you in this. Even to avoid it.”

Donny looked at her for a moment, studying her, or at least attempting to. He could never do it, though. She knew him too well, knew what to hide and what buttons to press to always keep him floundering.

“So what would you have me do, Adel? That’s a legitimate question, mind you, I’m fully intent on washing my hands of this whole matter. Just need to know how?” Donny tried once more.

But she once more refused to budge even a little. Which went to further his confusion, as if this was a game, then now would be the right time to offer him something. That way, she would be able to gain the most of any favour she would then ask in return for her assistance.

But she turned away instead, saying nothing more.

Seeing as he was getting nowhere, he made his peace with her and then left.

…

Two minutes after watching Donny leave her office, Adalberta moved around her desk to settle herself into the ornate chair behind it, where she then retrieved the candlestick phone to her left to make a call.

After the operator put her through, she said, “Mr. Maes? I’ve just had a talk that I believe you’d be interested in knowing about…”

…

It was another woman who helped him with returning to Goodie, the girl having been waiting for him just outside the office as he left, and Donny would bet dollars to donuts that she had not waited long. Everything was like a play here, with cues and scripts. A game within a game within a story.

The kid was hanging out in front of the bar, nursing some soda that Donny noted the boy had not taken a sip from.

“Kid?”

“Adult?”

Nodding his head towards the door, Donny said, “We’re off.”

The kid left his untouched drink and followed him.

As they were making their way back to the Beast through the topiary, Donny asked, “Didn’t like the Soda?”

“Hm? Oh, no, just didn’t fancy the notion of holding my bladder for an hour when we drove back. Only ordered it so people would not think I was wasting space.”

“M’,” Donny nodded, only half-listening. It was just small talk to distract himself from the storm in his head, his mind racing to go over everything his conversation with Adel could mean, all the possible implications—real and imaginary, his paranoia inflamed to no end.

Seeing the kid begin to ask him something serious, Donny waved him off as he looked around to see if they were being watched.

It was only well after they had gotten underway, soon after re-crossing the bridge, that he truly spoke to the boy.

“She told me nothing, but did it in such a way that said a lot,” He told him.

“I don’t understand,” Goodie replied.

“Welcome to the club. We need to have a talk with Frank. A serious one,” Donny answered in a dire tone.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

They way the boy had said it twigged something within him, so Donny asked, “Meaning?”

“Someone’s following us,” the kid replied, nodding his head towards his sideview mirror.

Donny’s head immediately shot to his own, but he saw nothing. Though he would never complain about the Beast’s size, especially not after it had saved his life more than once, but it sure made spotting anything behind her a task. He would need several more minutes and a slow turn around a particularly large corner before he could make out whomever the kid had spotted.

A dark blue car, about a street and a half behind them—a pair of goons visible in the front of it.

“How the hell are there so many vehicles on the road these days?!” Donny cursed.

“What we…,” the kid began.

“Goodie,” Donny interrupted, “next stop we come to, I’m going to need you to take the wheel. You got me?”

“Okay…?” Goodie replied, slowly moving himself into the small aisle between the several seats within the large cabin.

Unlike the glorified electric razors of Goodie’s Earth, the vehicles in this world were neither sleek, nor elegant, the seating he now worked himself around more akin to the benches one would find at some high-school sports field than the nice, leather-covered ones from Earth, with only the thin leather cushions on the seats and backrests to offer any form of comfort to those who subjected themselves to sitting upon them. The Beast was of military origin, and its design reflected that.

At the next stop, Goodie and Donny quickly switched placed, and that was it for a time, the two riding on for another minute before Donny then told him, “Right, take that next corner slowly.”

“As opposed to?” Goodie quipped.

Donny gave him an annoyed look, but said nothing. The Beast could pick up some speed when she needed to, but in the city, with so many carts—and an apparent ever-increasing number of vehicles—occupying the roads, it had to keep to a speed comparable to a casual jog.

As they passed by the next corner and the car following them disappeared from site, Donny opened the door and jumped out, running alongside with the truck for a moment as he slammed the door shut, to then run onto the pavement and into a small alleyway within reach.

The Beast rode onwards, the kid just managing to keep it under his control, the car following them coming into sight a few seconds later, to also then pass by. And as they did, Donny rushed out into the street behind it. Jogging along for a moment, he read the vehicle’s markings, both rows written vertically along the right and left side of its rear, noting them down onto the small pad he kept in his inner coat pocket before once again moving back to the pavement.

It would not necessarily get them their names, whoever these people were, but he and Frank could at least find out whom their car was registered to.