A month had passed since the night in the alley, and even with the resumption of normal deliveries by Karl, no sign of salvation had arrived. True to her word, Amber had eliminated the evidence of the Manhunter, and quietly informed Cadryn that his tab would be covered by the house, indefinitely. Despite the Manhunter’s abhorrent nature, Cadryn had found himself drinking less in the nights after their duel, given the price.

That wasn’t the only change to his evenings, Silence had ended their romantic triste on a low note, informing him he was only to awake her again, if she overslept for her shift. That had proven to be for the best anyway, as, with the passage of time, he’d come to realize more, and more, the truth of Mareth’s words of warning.

Deafening Silence had her own agenda, and while their brief time together was enjoyable, it left him wondering at her motivations. The other members of the Day Shift, at least, were proving more straightforward.

Korbinian pretended not to care about much of anything, morality or the rules of nature especially, but the man’s eyes gave away his heart; ultimately soft. Despite Gita’s warnings of dire dangers, he’d visited the man several times at work in his laboratory, and found the experiments interesting, if unsettling. The latest visit had explained one of the Neeft’s many oddities: warring networks of oddly colored spiders, Cadryn made the connection when he realized their colors matched the coils of the Alchemist’s hair.

“I control them with my mind, obviously,” Korbinian said, when he’d asked him about it. That was the key, he’d found, asking. The man was remarkably open if you were just direct, and to the point.

The complete opposite of Nine, who, thankfully, Cadryn had avoided since their patrol to Fistus’s burned out cabin. No additional breakthrough had come from the Night Shift’s Second, Bahsa, or if it had, Silence had not deemed to share it with him.

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Which left—

“If you fought as well as you stared at empty courtyards, you might have been someone!” Squawked the infuriating voice that had led Cadryn to seek distraction inward.

He blinked, seeing the courtyard outside the Guard post, still empty of any travelers, but not empty of annoyances. “Will, you, shut, up!” he yelled at the massive crow perched atop the eaves above him.

The creature’s claws scrabbled at the tiles and it poked a head down over the edge, looking at him with one eye, then the other. “NOOOOOOooooo!” It replied, and he nearly hit it with a rock he’d found on the floorboards. The bird had simply been there when he arrived, the Night Shift having left one of their typically taciturn notes: ‘Talking asshole crow.’

“So close,” Gita hissed, from the tabletop next to him. “Of course if you let me kill it, we wouldn’t have to endure its mindless jeering.”

“I’m surprised at you,” Cadryn said, smirking, “For all we know, it’s another Provalian Noble, tragically polymorphed into a talking crow.”

“Don’t mock me,” Gita warned. “I know a dumb animal when I see one.”

“In a mirror?” The Crow offered from above.

Before Cadryn could stop her, Gita was out the window after it.

A horrible squawking, hissing, fracas ensued. Tearing across the perimeter of the Courtyard. From his vantage, there wasn’t much Cadryn could do to help, or stop the fight, and frankly, he had little desire to do so . . . the crow was an asshole. That was, until he noticed who else was watching: Sefton Atwood.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and tried to wave at Gita, but the little line of fur and wings had the bloodlust.

The Crow, having had enough, it seemed, tried to make a break for it, plowing cleanly into the Provalian flag where it fluttered high above on a spar from the Neeft. In impotent horror, Cadryn watched the line snap, and the flag go sailing for the nearby forest on a strong South-western wind.

As his eyes followed the cut line’s wavering fall into the courtyard, they met Sefton’s.

“You know the law,” Sefton intoned clearly across the courtyard. “Don’t come back without it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Cadryn called back, managing to sound put upon, but truly, he was grateful for the escape from the endless routine of the post.