Conlins Colrath looked over everything again as he made a neat stack on his desk. To anyone else, it would look like nothing coherent - just a random assortment of notes and excerpts copied out of books with some small things in common, but no clear thread to follow. There were equations for calculating planar membrane density, descriptions of the first dragon and theories on its creation, contemporary accounts of the events surrounding the last Great Alignment, and studies measuring the influence of Lenderatze over the centuries.

But he knew what he had found. He knew what it all meant. Last onto the pile went a firsthand account from an artificer who had once worked on a device created by the Clockmaker himself and had detailed certain bizarre modifications someone had made to it. Nonsensical changes, parameters that should have rendered it useless. There was no indication of where that device had ended up, unfortunately, but the chaos after the Grand Alignment had buried entire kingdoms.

Conlins looked out through the diamond pane of his window at the bustling city of Trallanar, with its white towers that housed the world's greatest researchers and the enormous crystal sphere that marked the entrance to the Crossroads facility. He was going to miss this place - Brinkmar had been his home for most of his life. He sighed, and closed the curtains before gathering up the stack of documents and stuffing everything into a satchel.

If he were to take everything to the queen, he knew, it would be enough for him to explain what he had found. Would she know that this was something the throne had been eagerly searching for, back in the days following the change of rulers? Or would it be forgotten? Either way, Conlins would not be the one who got to see the secret it protected. The queen would thank him, surely, and reward him handsomely - she was not unkind - but he wanted more. He wanted to be there, in person, when the way was opened.

And so he went to the bathroom on the third floor.

There was a small window there that, unlike the others in the building, could be cracked open for ventilation. Some quirk of history had allowed this minor breach in security, but the window looked out only onto a narrow strip of rooftop and anyone approaching the tower would be spotted. Any magic used near the wall would be detected. Certainly, none who knew of the window - other than Conlins - would have taken the time to calculate the trajectory a satchel would follow if it slid off the roof... and realized that for a brief moment it would pass through the air far enough from any wards for space to be twisted around it, delivering it past the walls.

The satchel barely fit, and there was no way for him to watch it fall and see if his attempt was successful. He could feel his heart pounding. If someone else found it, would they be able to figure out what it all meant? Surely not. Except... they would be able to trace it back to him, if they tried hard enough. Putting the thought out of his head, he hurried out of the bathroom and back to his desk. He sat there, eyes glued to the clock, fingers drumming incessantly on the polished armrests of his chair.

When it was finally time to leave he barely managed to walk at a normal pace. He reached the security counter, felt the enhanced eyes of the guards sweep over him, and did his best to stay calm as he sauntered past. He paused only to remind the front desk clerk that he had scheduled a few days off, and would need any messages held.

He had an excuse to hurry somewhat, as the rain was scheduled to start in just five minutes; the Clockmaker hadn't been a fan of chaotic weather. The first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky just as Conlins passed the old monastery, and as the drops started to fall he ducked into an alleyway under a small awning - and waited a moment to be sure he wasn't being followed. Just as he was beginning to relax, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Gotcha!", a deep voice said. Conlins screamed.

"You big baby," Nach said, before grabbing Conlins and pulling him through a twist in space. They stepped out into a basement, where three other people were waiting. It was supposed to be two. "I recovered the package," Nach reassured him, "and our last contractor is here. We're good to go."

Conlins recognized Tiller, who he'd hired at the same time as Nach. The man was built like a furnace, squat and wide and looking like if you punched him your hand might break. But the old lady and the bandage-wrapped woman at her side were a mystery. The old lady, he presumed, was the one that Nach had picked to get them out of Brinkmar. She had a golden nose ring, which if he recalled correctly was an old tradition that was gaining traction again for people from Erathik. She was dressed strangely though, with layered shawls adding significantly to her mass. She was, it appeared, knitting a new one as she sat there. She hadn't reacted to Nach and Conlins appearing.

If she was the planar expert, that would make the thin woman wrapped head to toe in bandages... some sort of bodyguard? She had two swords, though one was wrapped up just like the rest of her. Conlins wondered how well she would be able to wield a weapon considering how bulky the bandages on her hands looked, but it wasn't a big concern. Tiller, and to a lesser extent Nach, would be providing the muscle. A strip of the woman's skin was visible around her eyes, and her tightly curling hair was teased up into a massive sphere - Conlins thought it made her look a bit like the puff reeds that grew on the riverbanks.

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"I see you brought your own... protection. I hope you understand I won't be paying for their service."

The old woman continued knitting for a moment, and then just as Conlins opened his mouth to repeat himself she spoke up. "Oh of course, dear. Kika is practically family, and she just needs to... oh, see the world. Get some work under her belt. You know how it is. She won't be any trouble. Now I understand you want me to get you out of Brinkmar without the queen knowing, yes?"

Conlins hesitated, but Nach stepped in. "The boss here is new to clandestine shit, so the plan is to keep things simple. The Queen's Blade is on death's door, probably going to kick it any day now. Nobody seems to know who is even going to take the position next, so for now I think security will be as light as it ever is. You get us out of here first, and then the boss will let you know next steps. Might be two or three other planes we need to stop at, or some travel through somewhere to get to a new location on Prime. Sound good?"

The old woman cackled. "Sounds familiar, dear. The vast majority of the jobs I've done could be summed up the same way. Well then. I can get you out of Brinkmar without alerting anyone, but I know a researcher when I see one. Does our generous employer have a badge issued by the queen, perhaps? Because those can be tracked."

Conlins reached under his shirt to his Dumine and twisted the badge off of it, feeling his lutore burn away the now-unapproved abilities. He'd never removed it before, since re-attuning to a badge could take weeks. He wasn't sure what all would change. He tried to visualize his Dumine and saw nothing but a field of blue with a hexagon - minorly inconvenient, but not a problem. Next, he held out a hand and tried to pull a book from his Pocket, and... he could feel his connection, but couldn't seem to access it. Almost like when he was at work and the wards were preventing it, but... not quite.

"It's off, I'll... leave it here, I suppose." Conlins wasn't happy. If he just left it in a random basement and someone found it, at best they would think he had been murdered and at worst he would get questioned under suspicion of selling his badge to someone. He did his best to hide it under some detritus in the corner, very aware of the eyes on him.

"Good," the old woman said, "now we can truly get to business, yes?" She put away her knitting, and looked at everyone in turn. "This is the bargain - I will escort you to your destination safely, and return you to the Prime plane after. You, in turn, will show me respect and listen to my advice - though I would not require you to actually take my advice, yes?"

Conlins nodded and stuttered out an agreement, and Tiller grumbled out what was probably a yes. Nach smirked and didn't answer right away. "Talk of bargains always gets my legs itching. You're not a Sahrger, are you?"

"A Sahrger? Hah! Sure, I'm the Black Duchess herself! Azaraze's exit, maybe I'm the Queen of Candles too - Kika here can be the Queen's Blade, unless you'd rather be the Clockmaker's heir dear? No? Well don't say I didn't offer."

Nach rolled his eyes. "Fine. If you were a Sahrger I doubt you'd have the balls to say you're the Black Duchess, and the actual Black Duchess is too busy with starting trouble for other Sahrger to take odd jobs on Brinkmar. I'll listen to your advice, if you listen to mine."

Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she grinned. "We have a deal, then." She reached out an arm and her bodyguard took it to help her up, though Conlins didn't think it looked like she needed the help. She walked towards a closet door, and then hesitated a moment and turned to her bodyguard.

"Kika, dear. This is your last chance to change your mind. I can promise you'll make it back here in one piece, but promises can be a tricky thing - when I took your grandmother to the moon it got her killed, despite my best efforts."

Kika stood up straighter. "She never held that against you. She still doesn't. This will be good for me, the whole family agrees."

Conlins and Nach shared a look. Were they talking in code? Nobody could get to the moon, and while there were a few ways you could theoretically talk to someone after they died it wasn't common. "Where did you find her?" Conlins whispered.

Nach shrugged. "Honestly? I just got a list of names and picked one at random."

Conlins was about to reply, but whatever he was about to say was forgotten when the old woman threw open the closet door and sunlight streamed in to the little basement. Air began blowing past them through the doorway, taking all sorts of loose items with it. Wherever the woman had opened a door to, there was a pressure differential.

"That... that's not possible," Conlins muttered, "You can only enter and exit Brinkmar through established portals."

The old woman cackled again. "There's no better way to get away undetected then, is there?"

He couldn't argue with that logic. Tiller heaved his bulk up and walked through the doorway without showing any concern - Conlins suspected he wasn't educated enough to understand how unusual this all was - but Nach was pale and muttering a prayer as he followed. Conlins was the last to pass through, and with every step he took towards that doorway he felt panic increasing. What was he doing? It was treason, plain and simple - he'd never broken a single law, and he was skipping right to treason?

But as he reached the threshold he didn't stop. He was going to find it. He was going to recover whatever was hidden on the thirty-seventh plane.