North and Counterclockwise, Rhode was pushed along by his minders. The novelty of being planted on top of a magic, floating palanquin carried just about 15 yards. It sunk under his weight. It scuffed against the floor at the slightest change in balance.

Barber Noffet had struck up immediately with Rhode as they set out. Fast out of their reunion greetings, the man had jumped eagerly into describing an amputation he had performed early in the evening. Then a warbling, muffled noise sounded out.

“Did you say something?” Barber Noffet asked.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Let me just shut this thing off a second,” Rhode muttered.

“Ser Irving, may I ask you a question?” ‘Gardener’ Tinc asked. The man was still in his working leathers, which were like a two piece set of overalls. He was stained with dirt and chlorophyl about the knees and hems, and his trowel was at his belt: worn more like a knife than as a tool. “What was the point of all that? All that fuss. Was it worth it?”

Rhode’s head tilted back, eyes half-closed and his hands folded up rested on his belly. The stiches crinkled up along his nape. “If even one of those people is innocent, don’t you think we have an obligation to protect them.”

“No,” the spy answered.

“Well, think of it this way. Don’t you think that if someone does a crime, even if they ought to be punished, that it needs to be proportional to what they did wrong?”

Tinc snorted. “Why?” he laughed.

“Who would bother?” chuckled Barber Noffet in agreement.

Rhode shut his eyes and his nostrils flared. It made him feel like a vacuum cleaner. Would dust become a problem in the long term? He’d have to ask Eloft about it.

The landing for the hidden pond-wing stair arrived, along with junction to Ancestral. The arch into the crossway was ornate, a somber limestone thing of grasping hands holding the tools of civilization, and faces with covered or missing eyes. The junction itself was dark, paneled in thousand year heart-wood from tar-blooded thorned cocobolos. The gravely vestibule was choked in area, overwhelmed by a great sealed door between the west exits. The ceiling arched high and pierced into the space of the second floor, where an overwhelming choir of regal figures were carved in miniature and suspended by impossibly thin framework of concealed supports.

“I thought it was nice idea,” she said quietly.

Tinc flinched away, then shook his head as he remembered. “Come on,” Tinc motioned to the one on his left. “If you’re here, you might as well push.”

Rhode watched the door pass behind him. He reached out and ran his palm along the archway exiting into the north rim of Spousal, bright and open. “This isn’t something you thought about? Where you grew up?”

“Where I was raised?” Tinc mused. “No. I don’t recall we thought that way. Crime was to something you endured, or else you extinguished.”

The platform was stalling, so Tinc made a sound of disgust and took back over.

The warbling sound reappeared. But this time it grew clearer. Rhode leaned to the side and dug into his pocket.

The [Relay] whined. The voice it produced was lossy and off-key. ⚡ I repeat. This is Field at central obstruction. Acknowledging. The paperweight is clear of trash heap. Paperweight is on its way to retreival two. Confirm, Operations. ⚡

“Ser Irving,” Tinc’s voice cracked. “Where did you get that?”

Rhode shushed him – a full bodied, soundless intensity of gesture.

⚡ That is very well, Goodeman Weidle. I, Lord Reliance, confirm receipt of your report. The Goodeman Irving is eagerly awaited at – ⚡

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

⚡ With respect, Operations, please observe the agreed-upon radio security procedures. ⚡

⚡ Ah. Yes. Of course… Field. I will endeavor to conform to the etiquette of this device.⚡

⚡ Ahoy-hoy. Whatsa paperweight da codeword for? ⚡

⚡ Get off the line, Corporal Ikbi, or so help me I will have you flayed, ⚡ snarled Weidle.

Rhode put his thumb against the tines of the [Relay] and the device cut out.

“Oh, nifty. Is that what they’re using now,” commented Noffet.

“What an interesting item,” Tinc bleated dumbly, “that I am heretofore unfamiliar with.”

Rhode flicked his fingers lazily into the air. “Keep it down, Goodemen. Y’all can’t talk while it’s on. Be careful.”

Tinc lagged behind, and Rhode tilted off course before the gardener corrected his course. “I am very curious where you would get something like that,” he insisted. He made one desperate, lunging attempt to snatch at the [Relay] before Rhode shoved him away with an open palm.

The five of them were no longer alone. Porters and pages were clearing damage to the hall. They came alongside a gathering pile of sodden, charred furniture. It reached nearly to the ceiling, and a light and cooling steam gathered about it. The working gobs watched Rhode go by without speaking.

The insurance adjusters stood there overseeing the work. Two of them, an omen in their dark, fine suits.

Rhode shuddered as they went by.

Instead of answering the question, the Hero flagged down a familiar face. A greying, scar-faced goblin woman was slouched, resting on top of debris. Watching her peers with hooded eyes, she took restrained sips from a flask. The homunculus called out to her, and she scrambled to her feet.

“Hey, I know you,” Rhode said cheerfully. “Goodemiss Cuin! Come here, I need some help with something.”

The soldier broke out into a cold sweat, and forced a smile over the gap in her teeth. “Ser, of course, Ser. Anything I can do for you Ser.”

“Great. Goodemiss –”

“Ser, that’s kind of you, but really. I’m no goode.”

Rhode frowned.

“It’s just that, you know, earlier tonight. Ser, can we talk?” She squatted close to his side. “There might have been a misunderstandin’, Ser.”

Her eyes flicked towards Tinc and Noffet.

“Maybe later, Cuin. I actually really need somebody to do me a favor, right away.”

“Oh. Well any goods you want have gotta be above-board. ‘Cause I’m a reputable gob, Ser.”

“…Yea. No, do you know the south court entrance to Spousal through the big middle sports green?”

“Right. Yes, I think so.”

“And Exhibition hall?”

Tinc wasn’t interrupting, but he was making rude little sounds. Cuin eyed the other gobs with misgiving and nodded.

“I need you to go run out to Exhibition, and the kitchens. Grab as much wood as you can, and food. And you’re going to run it all through the garden and around back into the Ring. You gotta be quick, and you can’t take Spousal down the North way.”

Tinc’s voice cut off into a sudden yelp. He had tripped on someone easy to overlook. “Sorry,” □■□ squeaked.

“They’ll be easy to find once you get there, but you’ve got to go quick. They said they need a lot. Two hundred squared feet worth.”

Cuin scratched nervously at her jaw. “That’s far too much for me to carry, Ser.”

“Rustle up a squad. The amount is less important than the timing. Can I trust you?”

“Uh…” the soldier hesitated.

Rhode leaned forward, one elbow across a knee. “Don’t look at him. None of these guys have thingies, right?” He made a pinching motion at his shoulder, where an officer might wear their pips, and he swiped a line out along it. “So officially, you should take orders from me?”

“Probably?” the goblin hedged, the gap wide from her missing teeth.

“Awesome. But you gotta go now,” the homunculus coughed. He clapped his hands and startled her into motion. “Now, right, now!” he shouted as she wheeled about and ran.