In another world, in another life, Rhode had almost enjoyed running. He had never had the makings of a great athlete, but he’d loved the exhilaration of sports. It had been lacrosse while his father was alive. After his mother could no longer afford the equipment, he’d transitioned to soccer, and then he’d been forced to quit. University had been his humble physical renaissance, and he’d tried his hands at a dozen silly intramural team games.

Afterwards some of his hobbies had fallen away. His marriage and job had been his main focus for quite a few long years as they’d paid down debt. But as he’d gotten older, he’d tried to make time for games of pickup basketball here and there – especially after the divorce. Competition was about flexing your legs, about celebrating yourself, and it was about feeling like a member of the community.

Rhode had never been great. But that hadn’t mattered, he’d been satisfied. Until the day that he’d simply run out of time.

Now his body was so much heavier than he was used to. Rhode hated the balance of it. He was still coming to terms with being tall; it changed the way he interacted with people, it changed the way he moved. As the homunculus swung each leg forward, one after the other, he had to be conscious of where his limbs were in a way he hadn’t before. Walking was one thing, but mind and flesh still hadn’t meshed perfectly. More than that, the cramped conditions of his recoveries underground had not truly given him time to adjust to pushing his limits. The medicine didn’t help. He felt all pain at a distance. It wasn’t gone, it was simply held at a remove. So, taking care to avoid harm to his body had suddenly become a clinical, rational business.

He was trying so hard. But it felt like every step he took was opening up wounds. His mistakes were adding up, and he was bleeding, bit by bit.

He should have announced himself better before fighting that guy. He could have talked him down better. He could have held onto the man’s arms tighter. Or maybe he should have relied on the others more, somehow.

Rhode reached a raised marble porch and vaulted the steps two at a time. There was twinge in his thighs, and he knew he’d pushed something too far. He kept going. Rhode stepped into the inset doorway and threw open a lustrous glass door. It was a single, acid-etched piece. In a post-industrial age, it might have hardly been special; the entryway to a suburban business. Here? How would goblins have drawn glasswork so large and precise without machines? Or was that a mistaken assumption. Goblins clearly made machines of some type and –

It was a such a pointless thing to notice. He set it out of his mind.

There were uncertain shouts following him as he ducked through the entry, back into Spousal Ring. Inside, a milling crowd of goblins looked up at him expectantly. There were too many faces, too many names to learn and remember in one night. It was overwhelming. Rhode forced himself to ignore them in favor of his search for a stairwell.

“Goodeman Irving?” asked a voice.

Rhode whipped about, and craned his neck to see further down the curve. “Where the heck are the…”

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“Goodman Irving,” insisted the Union boss. The broad-shouldered goblin stepped out of the crowd, dodging around a cook that had stepped in his way. Concern was scrawled over his face, and he touched his hand to his face impulsively.

Rhode spotted his couch-carriage leaned against a wall, and a few, exhausted carpenters were making last minute additions to the vehicle. They had unhitched the axle.

“Great,” Rhode grumbled.

“Listen you overgrown bootlicker,” hissed the Union man. He grabbed at Rhode’s sleeve and yanked at it to bring the homunculus around.

Rhode looked down at his torn sleeve.

The goblin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Sorry. But we followed you because you said you were going to advocate for us. You implied that you would have our back.”

“Listen, man. I will. I’ve just got to do this one thing. I have to. You can call me Rhode, okay? On my honor, I will do my best. What’s your name, man?”

“The Prince’s men have already found us, Goodman Irving. We sent them away, but they are going to be back in greater numbers.”

“God damn it. I can’t – Just surrender. Just, for now. Go get Bned. He’s outside. Let him handle that. And Captain Fent if you can’t trust Bned. That’s the guy with three eyes, you can’t miss him. Cooperate, and then when I get back, I’ll try to sort everything out. Okay?”

Rhode drew away. He held his hands to either side and shook his head.

The Union man wore disgust plainly on his face. “No, not okay, Goodman,” his voice cracked.

“I swear,” Rhode called back. “I’ll try to fix this.”

The floor shuddered as he fled. His slippers were sticky, and purple with ichor. Soldiers were approaching from the other direction, further down the hall. But they were wearing provincial colors; none of the important color-pairs that Rhode recognized. As they waved him down, he turned into a side hallway that led to a narrow spiral stair.

“Why can’t you put a straight FREAKING stair in. Everything’s a circle.” Rhode pulled himself up the curling banister with his arms, feeling like some kind of slug as he ascended. “Why?” he growled.

A low ceiling greeted him on the upper level. There were burlap sheets laid down in paths in either direction, on top of the scarlet and blue carpeting. White muslin cloth covered the tables, and packed boxes were stacked to the sides of the walls. It reminded him of all the equipment and supplies that had emptied out of the underground over the past week.

He regarded a large cabinet, considered it, and then shoved the whole thing forcefully over to crash down stuck wedged into the stairwell. Shattering dishes clattered inside, and began to spill out in gold-painted shards as a hinged panel flopped open.

“Oh my God,” Rhode wiped at his face. “This is so stupid.”

There were two parallel hallways which ran along the ring, separated by sections of inner rooms. If the window had looked out onto the courtyard, it must have been located in a room on the outer perimeter.

Rhode lurched across an adjoining connecting hall, and carried on.

“Please be there,” he prayed.