There was a special sort of anticipation to waiting for someone without their knowledge. An excitement, almost childish, of knowing something the other didn’t. Aran briefly wondered if that was what the murderer felt too, waiting for the next victim. But then he saw the man who furtively slipped out of the door on the city-wall-side of the hospital near the potter’s workshop. In the darkness, he was hardly more than a shadow, sneaking crouched below the windows at the back of the building.

At the corner of the large stone building, he paused and cast a glance around it carefully. A ray of moonlight illuminated Eli’s face, visible to Aran who stood in the deep shadows of the wall. Eli’s face was sad, haggard, worried. This wasn’t something he did for pleasure, Aran guessed. He had seen enough people with ferocious and violent desires in his line of work to recognise that there was no gleeful anticipation present.

Treading softly, Eli made his way towards the wall, prompting Aran to silently withdraw. The man obviously didn’t sense him, because he crouched down and moved a pile of rubble and withdrew a long cloak, a scarf, and a weapon belt. He quietly armed himself, put the scarf on to hide most of his face, and shrouded himself in the cloak, hood drawn up.

Then he silently crept towards the imposing wrought iron fence around the hospital grounds and, after checking that nobody was watching him from the street, hauled himself over it and jumped down on the other side.

The night was quiet on the street running along the hospital and Eli began to make his way towards the larger road stretching past the entrance. He walked with his head lowered and at a steady pace.

As he followed from the shadows, Aran felt more than saw how the quartermaster was searching as he walked, seemingly at random. A slight hesitation for a split second at an intersection, a slight movement of his head as if he were listening for some unknown sound.

Eli walked, seemingly confidently, for a while in the wrong direction from where Ailmon was. Aran trusted that Shale would fix the situation and kept tailing the quartermaster through the late-night streets. The thugs and prostitutes were still up and about, and the taverns were full of very drunk people, but through it all, Eli walked, pushing people aside calmly when they were in his way and not looking back when he was shouted at or challenged.

Aran had a feeling there was a system to Eli’s wanderings. First, he set off to the area around the Mush-Room, a fight bar in the north-eastern part of Wallsen not that far from Corwin’s place. From there, he seemed to walk in concentric circles, as far as the area allowed, in his steady, seemingly oblivious way.

Aran felt certain the man hadn’t considered that he could be followed, because at no point did he seem to guard against it. Eli made his way into a warren of rickety dark tenements near the eastern city wall and Aran sighed quietly in relief when he caught a glance of Shale, gesturing to him in an alleyway opposite. For a second, he had believed it was a mugger. So the group had finally caught up. Up ahead in the grubby street, only sporadically lit by lamps shining through windows and occasionally through walls, he saw Eli stop suddenly.

Carefully, Aran sneaked closer and saw how the man made a small, pained whir with his head and lifted his hand to rub his temple. It must have been the same sight as Minna would have seen that night at the Spire.

Then he veered off down a narrow alley, slowly, as if he were in pain. Aran knew this was likely the place that Shale had chosen. A narrow alley where they could close off both exits and trap him. From down the dark street he had come from, Aran saw a small form approach and Naia joined him at the dark mouth of the alleyway. She grinned in the dark.

Cautiously, they peered down the alley. Eli was slowly approaching a sunken form that looked like a bundle of rags, huddled up against the wall and only visible as a shadow in the dark. Eli inched closer, supporting himself with a hand on the wall and walking hunched as if in agony. He grasped for the knife in his belt. Before he could draw the weapon, Aran saw Shale step into the alley to close it off. “Oy!” she snapped.

Beside him in the dark, Naia giggled and stepped forward at the same time, whispering a word that lit up her hand in a golden shimmer.

Eli flinched, but it seemed to Aran to be from pain, not fear or the sudden light. He drew the knife and held it out. It would only be seconds before he turned and pounced, Aran felt, as he saw Ailmon start to get up from under a mess of blankets he had huddled up in. Ailmon held a stealth-lantern and now opened the cover to allow the light to spill forth. The tall, lanky bureaucrat was slow and calm in his movements as he rose. The sudden spike of anger Aran felt at the utter irresponsibility of placing Ailmon there spurred him onward.

“Eli! Hey!” he said loudly, stepping forward, hands raised. “Eli. Do you remember me?”

The man whirled towards him, eyes wide as he studied Aran and Naia.

“I was in you room today,” Aran continued. “Please, can we talk? I assume you are in pain, but things aren’t as they seem. We can find a peaceful solution to this. That’s what you want, right?”

“Not as they seem,” Eli repeated blankly and then whirled back to point the knife at Ailmon, who wasn’t fast enough to get behind Shale. “Don’t move, Enemy,” he said softly.

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“She never meant to hurt anyone. She didn’t know she was hurting anyone,” Ailmon said, holding up his hands. “She was trying to communicate. She thought she was doing the right thi–“

“Quiet!” Eli snapped. “You screech of it! It drowns my…” His shoulders tensed, and in the flickering light from the lantern and the golden glare from Naia’s magic, Aran saw Eli's hand tighten on the knife hilt.

Ailmon just nodded calmly. “Her name is Saibee, and she is full of remorse. She never meant to harm you,” he said, not drawing back.

“Then why does it hurt to be near you?” Eli snapped, clearly not impressed. “Why does it hurt? Why are they sick and mad and dying? And screaming inside?”

The quartermaster halfway turned towards the bureaucrat and Aran tensed, ready to pounce on the man, when Naia softly put her non-glowing hand on his arm. Their eyes met for a second and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. Then she looked towards Eli further down the alley and mumbled a few soft words, weaving a symbol in the air that culminated in a forceful movement, almost as if she drew something out of him and clutched it in her hands.

“Eli?” Naia asked softly and the man spun around towards her, staring at her with wild eyes. The hand holding the knife fell to his side and Ailmon quickly backed down the alley as Shale approached, hauling him behind her.

Naia gently pushed Aran aside and walked up to Eli, staring calmly up at him. She reached her glowing hand up and pulled the scarf obscuring his face away.

“You and me, we’re in the same boat here. I don’t trust the mushroom either,” she said, much more gently and sincerely than Aran had ever heard her sound.

“Naia…” Aran said in warning, but she just waved him off without turning to look at him.

“Mushroom?” Eli asked, sounding unsure but never taking his eyes off her.

“Yeah, so it turns out the thing that does all the invading is a mushroom you picked up on your ship. Sound familiar?”

Eli nodded slowly. “We took in some provisions… we were starving. We were going to die.”

“Well, the mushrooms were linked together in a weird sort of mindscape. The one that made it here escaped from the ship and set up in an apartment in Wallsen. Like almost all other refuse in this city,” Naia said conversationally.

“You know it’s a threat, right? You understand that?” Eli asked, pleading in his voice.

“I know. It was a threat,” Naia put a hand on his arm, and Eli froze in place. “I don’t like it either. Do you trust me?” she finally asked.

“I…”

Aran saw how the man seemed to fight a battle within himself, a myriad emotions flitting across his face.

“I trust you…” Eli said, but his face twisted into a strange grimace of disgust as if he was in conflict with his words.

“I know, I know. It’s hard to admit you might have been wrong. Same for me. But the same way you trust me, I trust my friend there.” She pointed at Ailmon, who had retreated to stand just behind Shale, still holding the lantern. “And he trusts the godsdamned mushroom. So please, let’s go someplace less crappy and talk about how to solve this?”

“You…”

Aran caught Shale’s eyes for a second and knew she felt the change in Eli too. Something had just snapped, and though he hid it well, his hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the knife and his stance edged a tiny bit sidewards in preparation for something.

Naia didn’t seem aware of it. She still had a hand on his arm. “I promise, we can help you. We just want to understand what’s going on and help stop the murders,” she said. “You’re in pain. We can help you.”

“I’m in pain,” Eli confirmed. Then he grabbed Naia's arm lightning fast and twisted her violently around, sending her lithe frame crashing into the wall.

Aran was already running towards the quartermaster as Shale parried a blow to her chest, punching back at him. But Eli ducked under her arm, spun to the side, grabbed hold of Ailmon's shirt, and let momentum carry him to a sliding halt that dragged the bureaucrat off his feet so they both landed on the alley ground, Ailmon's back towards the quartermaster’s chest.

Aran jumped over Naia's prone form and reached the three at the end of the alley as Eli raised the knife. Ailmon raised a hand from where he had tumbled onto the ground and Shale quickly threw herself forward with an animal growl.

“It screams!”

Aran heard Eli howl and reached the pile of struggle just as Shale had parried the knife by throwing herself between it and Ailmon, and Eli was pinned beneath both of them. Aran’s boot connected with the side of the quartermaster’s head.

Eli immediately slumped onto the dirty ground. Shale ripped the knife out of his hand with a snarl and held it poised and ready over the prone man’s face.

Panting silence followed.

“That could have gone better…” Ailmon said calmly and slowly rolled away, Shale making room for him.

Aran looked at them, glowering, too furious to say anything now that it seemed they were both alive and the threat eliminated. He quickly stomped down the alley where Naia was getting to her feet. He reached out to haul her up, but when his hand touched her arm, she flinched away from him and supported herself on the wall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

Naia kept her eyes tightly closed for a moment as her still glowing hand went to her eyebrow and forehead where she had hit the wall. A dark bruise was forming, and the pale skin was torn and bloody.

Aran wasn’t sure what to do for a stupid moment, then Naia opened her eyes and looked at him, wincing at the light from her hand. “Did you kill him? Crap! I was hoping I was going to like him.” She pushed herself away from the wall and swallowed, growing paler.

“What do we do with him?” Shale called. She was tying Eli with sturdy ropes while Ailmon leaned against the wall nearby, lighting the scene with his lantern.

Naia was still swaying a little and Aran drew a folded scarf from one of his inner pockets, handing it to her.

“Here… for the blood,” he explained, feeling suddenly too self-conscious.

“Oh,” she took the fabric gingerly. “I… thank you. That’s really nice of you.” She gave him a small, surprised smile and then hurried down the alley, glowing hand supporting her on the wall. “Shale, is he bleeding? I need a sample,” she said, holding the scarf out.

Left in the darkness, Aran just shook his head. How were they even alive still? This was the most haphazard, argumentative, and disorganised gaggle of people he had ever worked with, dead-set on misunderstanding everything he said. Naia was clearly perking up, because a discussion of how and whether to extract blood from a knocked-out man that wasn’t bleeding ensued.

In the darkness of the alleyway, Aran shook his head.