Barber Noffet picked at his nose as he watched the small-town soldier run off. He plucked and flicked away a wiry nostril hair. His other hand came down in a fist and bounced testily against the back of Rhode’s seat.

“I should have stopped you from doing that,” the barber sighed.

“Give me the [Relay], Rhode!” shouted Tinc.

The homunculus held his arm out high and far out of reach. “I just want to say, you saw me trick her. That was clearly my fault, not hers.”

“This isn’t a joke.” Tinc burbled as a giant palm pressed into his cheek. He freed his head and ducked under Rhode’s arm. “Can’t you see there are going to be consequences?”

The homunculus blocked with his elbow. “I do know, man.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Rhode shoved back on Tinc again; [Earthroot Stance] surprised him and pushed right back. The chair wobbled. The goblin staggered.

There are always things that we cannot say aloud to one another – mutual conspiracies we preserve in service of the monster we call civility. Tinc spoke of consequences, but he wasn’t talking about Rhode. Rhode knew that – and Tinc knew that Rhode knew, and so on. But that’s the nature of words spoken: to acknowledge it, to say it out loud would make it real. So Rhode chose to misunderstand.

“Buddy, you’re acting like I haven’t died before. I’m an old pro –” the homunculus was seized by a fit of coughing, cutting off Tinc’s reply. “We can argue all you want, but I’m losing my voice.”

The barber took hold of pushing Rhode’s pallet, cornering out his fellow, and shoving harder than necessary at the chair-rest to propel him. “Ser Irving,” the middle-aged goblin said through grit teeth. “Stop getting me into trouble.”

Rhode yelped as his care provider jabbed at a bruise with a sharp fingernail. He leaned to escape a second stab, and swatted the man’s hands away. His pocket was buzzing gently again.

“Two seconds, guys,” Rhode announced. Making a circle with his thumb and forefinger, he flicked his [Relay] back to life. He made a flat, depressing gesture with his hand to call for restraint. “Don’t talk. Shush.”

⚡ - Repeat. This is Field. Confirm, South. Advance to clean the Trash Heap. South. Confirm. ⚡ buzzed the [Relay].

“Hey Tinc, you don’t think Weid would lie to me, would he?” Rhode whispered. He let out a pained chuckle.

⚡ What was that? South, was that you? Repeat, this is Field. No one else should be on the line. South, reply. Are you ready to clean the Trash? ⚡

Tinc made another effort to grab at the [Relay] in vain. “Ser! He has the – OOF.”

⚡ I will put screws through your thumbs if you are playing games. Who was that? Birdwatch? Roundabout? Rental? Announce yourself now. Central, this is Field. Get me the status on South.⚡

⚡ This be Rental, boss-man. That weren’t us. ⚡

⚡ Birdwatch is still Birdwatch. Would love to get that Paperweight soon. Status unchanged. ⚡

⚡ Whoa, now. Don’t blame us. We’re smooth on Roundabout. ⚡

⚡ South, confirm. Rental, this is FIELD. WHERE IS SOUTH.⚡

⚡ With respect, Ser. Ye should know that Rental’s been routed off to help handle Gate.⚡

⚡ With respect, Rental. Who in the everliving FUCK authorized that.⚡

Rhode cleared his throat, urgent as he recognized Captain Fent’s voice, and Weidle’s rising fury.

“Hey Weid, it’s okay. I told them they could go,” he said.

⚡… ⚡

“They didn’t even want to be there to begin with,” Rhode continued. “They didn’t really belong at uh – at Trash Heap. It was starting to be a problem. We agreed it would be better if they left to help out somewhere else.”

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⚡… ⚡

“Sorry, man. This is Paperweight. I’m pretty sure. I just wanted to clear things up.”

⚡ Central, this is Field requesting a line shutdown for maintain-ing. Paperweight, if you’ll please exuse us for a moment.⚡

The sound of buzzing voices cut out, and the ringing tines attenuated quick down below audible.

Tinc glared, a wild flash in his eyes. He whirled towards their trailing guards-gob. “A little help, perchance? He isn’t supposed to have one of those.”

The spearman shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t do that.” His chin tilted towards his weapon. “I do this.”

Noffet sighed. “I’m not going to get into a wrestling match with a patient. Damage is done already. You don’t have any more tricks up your sleeve, do you, Goodeman Irving?”

The hover chair had sunk a micrometer. It scraped across the floor as Ward Noffet leaned in and shoved it back into motion1.

Rhode lay his hands folded in his lap, eyes closed.

“Maybe a few more,” he murmured serenely.

The gardener pressed his face so hard into his hands that the front plate of his skull hurt. “That isn’t funny,” he said.

And it wasn’t.

----------------------------------------

Wait. Stop. We’re missing some context. Let’s roll things back and revisit the scene of the Reprobates Barricade eleven minutes prior. Pale tile underfoot. Sawdust and finishing nails aside in shallow piles against corners like snowdrifts. There was a ruckus of working folk, tangled up in one another, punching and clawing. The boys of Diving-Bird Lake were the focus of it, each of them wilting under the sudden attack of their peers. Their sergeant was struggling to break the grip of an [Antique Restorer] and a wardrobe clerk on either of his wrists. He pleaded and rebuked them, and had a plucked tuft of someone’s hair in his fist.

Rhode stood a step back from them with a grimace and scratched at his chin. “I’m clearly missing something here,” he muttered. He spared a look down at Bned. The corporal was splayed across the floor, stunned from a blow to the jaw. He was probably okay, Rhode hoped.

Softly, the homunculus reached out and grabbed the back of a servant’s suit-coat. He drew the dark-haired goblin away, flailing, cursing, and heels dragging. Unfortunately, he was not going to stop the fight that way – not alone. Seven provincial radicals in uniform were scrapping with twice as many gobs: a mess that would not be split gently. Back at the wall, a maid with a throwing dart was several rungs up and perched split astride two table legs. Her knees wobbled violently from strain as she peeped out through a hinged cabinet door.

“Be quiet, ye numbskulls!” she hissed back at them.

Like children feuding after their bedtime, twenty goblins made a commendable effort to carry on just as bitterly, but at a tenth the volume. So far, no one in the center of the brawl had drawn a weapon. But a few gobs carried knives at their belts, and a few planks of wood were bobbing overhead, being hoisted at the outside and making their way in towards the fight. If any of these elements couldn’t make a sum enough of trouble, every able body had been pulled away from watching the weak clockwise barriers. Rhode glanced down the open south hall where the Prince’s soldiers were mustering.

In summary, all the ingredients of disaster were in the pot, and only waiting for the simmer.

Rhode jerked his thumb towards Captain Fent, rolled his eyes, and tilted his head. While three of the Maize-Well Fields crew had joined in against the soldiers, ganging up and pummeling on a tall, hearty soldier lad, the rest of the mercenary squad had held back with their leader. The three eyed gob rolled his shoulders and slapped his helmet, then ushered his subordinates reluctantly forward to beat some civility back into the occasion. Then the homunculus played the best card he had available in a situation of danger and uncertainty. Pushy forthright politeness.

“Excuse me,” he called out, cupping his hands about his mouth to direct his voice. “Hey, you all. Get over here. Soldier guy. Y’all mind helping us out for a second?”

The Prince’s man didn’t have the buttons of an officer, but he wore a hat and by that metric was clearly in charge. The goblin had a weathered face, whiskers in the style of a fashionable goat, and a tint of jaundice with liver spots. But more importantly, the man had produced a bright silvery metal fork from a hinged wooden case. He had it in his hand and was raising it towards the side of his head.

“Hold up! Hats!” Rhode called, nudging a goblin aside with his elbow (unintentionally bowling him over to the ground) and shuffling as fast as his stitches would allow. “Officer! Goodeman! You! Seriously, come here. Bring your guys!” The homunculus clapped his hands, fast and sharp.

He ushered the soldiers in and past him, but held out a palm and forced the man with a hat to a stop.

“Ser…” the soldier said squinting.

“Hi. I’m Rhode. I’m the Hero. Summoned from beyond death and the universe to change the course of fate and nations. What’s your name?”

“Uh,” blinked the soldier, “I’m called Rold Jik.”

Rhode could not help but look down at the metal device in Goodeman Jik’s fist. “Very cool. Very cool. You look like a northern guy,” he guessed. “You from north-country? You kind-of have that…” he waved his huge hand about in a circular motion. “...complexion. Forgive me if that’s rude.”

“My father,” Goodeman Jik hesitated. He leaned to the side to see what his soldiers were doing and Rhode stepped slightly to the side to block him.

“Dark towards the sea, amber towards the mesas, green past the mountains?” the homunculus asked.

“Generally… Ser, I’m under orders.”

“No problem,” Rhode relented. “But you’ll help me get this fight broken up? These guys are out of control.”

“Yes, but I really must report this.”

“You know - actually, let me take care of that for you,” Rhode smiled. He reached out slowly and pinched the tines of the [Relay] between his thumb and forefinger. Gently, he pulled until the goblin let go. “It’s okay. Here, do me a favor,” the homunculus comforted. He produced a warm, glowing sunflower-hued crystal, one of the healing stones that he’d stolen from the Prince, and thrust it into Rold Jik’s empty hand. He wobbled the [Relay] up high and out of reach. “I’ll take care of this, and you hold onto that thing for me. I’m worried it’s expensive. Meantime, can you go help your people settle that mess over there?” He gave Jik a gently slap on his shoulder to set the man stumbling towards the dispersing fight. “And try not to hurt anyone too bad!” he called out after him.

The homunculus watched with a placid expression as the brawl was being forced apart, until a buzzing noise caught his attention.

⚡ South, this is Field. Wake up. It is mandatory to report any changes in status to your assignment. Repeat. South, we’re not deaf. What is happening at Trash Heap?⚡

Rhode flicked the tines, then pinched his nose shut with one hand and threw his voice to as unrecognizable a pitch as he could manage. “Just a tantrum, Field. Over what color to paint it. Nothing useful yet,” he said. Then he sighed, shoved the device into his pocket, and followed to put a stop to the fight.

Once the Diving-Bird Lake boys were subdued, and order restored, Rhode shook the hands of the Prince’s soldiers one by one and cheerfully implied that they’d committed treason. From there, and with a few slightly dishonest suggestions, he encouraged them to believe that it was in their best interest to help the carpenters build their southern wall.

Fent hadn’t stopped him. But the mercenary had run out of his patience.

“Ye be taking this too far. We can’t be party to this,” he growled. He pulled Rhode aside. Spear Squad 2 stood geared and at attention behind him.

“Naw, you’re right,” the homunculus apologized. “You’ve already done enough. Get your crew out of here, and I’ll try to cover for you.”

A soldier ran by with a stack of planks in her arms. Her uniform jacket was stripped off and her shirt-sleeves rolled to her elbows. Mortal fright was plastered across her face. Rhode and Fent watched her go by.

“They’re tired, not stupid. They’ll not stay fooled long,” the captain warned again.

Rhode wiped at his eyes. He waved a pair of carpenters over, and the two of them huffed red faced as they carried a flat door between them. Two groaning, uniformed goblins were stacked on top of it.

“Yea. Yea. Just do me a favor. Take Jik and Bned with you. Bned’s fine, I guess he just took a [Daze] by accident. But I think Jik broke his arm. A broken arm shouldn’t be so bad, right? I’m pretty sure. I trust you. You’ll figure it out.”

Fent glared. Rhode turned his head aside. The carpenters exchanged a look and carefully retreated.

“Things got pretty hectic there for a second,” the homunculus murmured.

A bead of sweat appeared at his brow, and slowly crawled a track downward.