CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - EIGHT VOLATILE SUNS AND A CRANIAL MOON

Tanner woke that morning with purpose in her mind. Blazing and pristine. She leapt from bed, her feet thudding against the floor with audible force. She dressed swiftly, fingers twitching impatiently over her many, many buttons, for once in her life annoyed with how long it took to fasten them all. Tied a few ribbons over her chest, relishing in the feeling of silk flowing between her clumsy fingers, relishing in the satisfaction of tightening the knots, feeling the arrangement come together. She paused, humming. Would it be... yes, yes, this was a day for a god to ride on her back. She was going into the great wild world, she wasn't going out underdressed, curse it. Not sure which gods were in season right now, she'd become woefully dependent on the newspapers for that information. Could go for the old standbys, Shuddering-Violet-Demimondaine, that was pleasantly stoic, or Clambering-Amber-Debutante, but that was a little too rosy-cheeked and bushy-tailed for her business, she was investigating assault and harassment, being too cheerful would not be remotely appropriate. What to do, what to do... oh, goodness! She remembered this one - if she checked the calendar, if she racked her brains, she could... yes, yes, this god was in season! Coral-Spinal-Judge. The mediator, the boundary-keeper, the one which lurks between sea and land, which inhabits the spine of the world, which watches impassively and has a deep well of worldly wisdom. And... nuts, she didn't have a bowler hat. Good, she looked absurd with bowler hats. But, if she slipped a coin into each of her boots, if she wore a hat, maybe that nice brown furry one she'd bought in expectation of the cold... yes, that would work. What else?

She drew out her ink bottle, and carefully dipped the very tip of her fingers into the liquid, letting the black matter soak into her flesh and tan it a deep, mottled colour, the whorls of her fingerprints almost picked out in silver against the black background. The Coral-Spinal-Judge was associated with a bowler hat (or a generalised hat, if a bowler wasn't available, but nothing wide-brimmed), coins in one's heels, and inked fingers. If she was very committed, she'd be perpetually resting her hands on her stomach, and she'd be giving constant toothy grins. But... no, no, she actually was a judge, that tended to make up for any deficiencies. What were the stories... a bowler hat was the judge's favourite, for it was a balance of shielding from the outside world, without concealing more than was absolutely necessary. A boundary-hat. Coins in the heels, to show both an immortal scorn of wealth, and to simulate the spurs of a knight, being somewhere between a parody, a light joke, and a dedicated emulation. Ink on the fingers to symbolise the stains that law-writing always brought. Hands on the stomach meant being open, never having the hands concealed, never widening the stance to a threatening one. Same reason for the bared teeth - dogs bared their teeth to show submission, and the judge was always a submissive creature, willing to be conciliatory to all parties, diplomatic to the point of excess...

Until the time came to enforce a boundary. At which point, the teeth vanished behind lips, the eyes hardened, and the hands slithered away from the stomach to clench into authoritative fists. And the clinking of coins in the heels made it sound like a violent knight was approaching. The joke ceased - no more parody, not now.

And even then, the grin could return. The coins could be ridiculous. The bowler hat could be out-of-place. And diplomacy could resume at all times. The Coral-Spinal-Judge was a being of boundaries - don't violate them, and nothing happened.

Perfect.

And the stars were favourable towards this god, too. Definitely not unfavourable, at least.

Last but not least, her pince-nez. The mirror told her what she expected - that when she hunched her back slightly, kept her hands in front of her, and wore those little glittering glasses, she almost looked like a very large mole. Not that she minded - the more harmless she looked, the better. Not for duplicitous reasons! If she looked like a mole all the time, then her appearance would finally reflect her personality. As it was, she had to work to reach that level of alignment.

She strode out of her room with the confidence of a woman with a god riding on her back, looking watchfully for all the proper behaviours, the invitations which flattered it, kept it in place. Her dress swept around her feet like a billowing sail, she descended...

Tom-Tom was waiting.

Entirely expected.

"Good morning, Ms. Tom-Tom."

The woman looked over with red-ringed eyes. Oh, goodness, was she crying, or... no, no, just tired. Not a morning person, apparently. She scratched at her hair idly, like an itching dog, and yawned loudly, showing a mouthful of bright white teeth. No coat, no thick clothes... Tanner could see, keenly, just how wiry she was, how corded with muscle by years of hauling stubborn fish out of streams, cracking their heads with a billy club, hiking through snow... for once, Tanner wondered what life was like for her, down in the shantytown in Fidelizh. What did she do? Fishing? Not sure how much business there were in fishing down in that place. Maybe her wandering out into the barren snowfields was a legacy of being crammed together with so very many people in the heat and the stink, in the tottering ramshackle towers never built to last, never built to endure more than a few years, forced to service whole generations of refugees.

"Mornin'."

Practicality first.

"Would eggs do, Ms. Tom-Tom? I'm afraid I don't have a great deal in at the moment, though I can easily run out to get something."

"Eggs're fine, big lady. Completely fine. Hunky and/or dory."

Tanner almost lost her faint smile. Almost. She swept away, rubbing her hands together before removing her gloves, just cultivating a little scrap of luck before she got to work. Gosh, what she wouldn't give for a functioning theatrophone out here, she loved going out her chores while listening to the latest adventures of Tenk the Ravager and his innumerable buxom companions. Well, except when they were excessively gory. Or, gods preserve her, raunchy. When that happened, she had to sprint for the theatrophones, voice raised to cover up the noises, dragging the volume knobs until they were liable to snap. Maybe for the best, then. Didn't want Tom-Tom to think she listened to... that sort of thing. Professional standards and whatnot. She called through to the living room lightly as she started the morning's work.

"If you like, you can stay here today and tonight. I'm going to be interviewing your neighbour-"

She paused, almost saying his name. No, wait - she'd mentioned it in the formal interview. Good, didn't want to let it slip that the governor was paying attention to this matter.

"Mr. Lam, I'm hoping to get some information out of him. Possibly, I'll have a talk with the innkeeper who served him drinks, the bouncer at the time, anyone who noticed him getting drunk on the night in question. Just establishing a timeline. Then, I'll speak to Mr. Tyer, and should be able to get the relevant papers together fairly quickly. Afraid I can't estimate the time any further."

Tom-Tom grunted vaguely, barely audible over the sizzling of fat in a skillet, and the cracking of shells. A sudden pulse of fear.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Eggy."

"...scrambled, fried, omelette..."

Crumbs, she already had the fat going, those were basically the most convenient options, but... no, no, a good host inconvenienced herself for her guest, especially when that guest was a victim of a rather nasty crime she was investigating.

"...boiled, poached?"

"I really don't mind."

"...fried, then, I'll do... fried, yes."

Nuts, speak up, speak up.

"Fried, then!"

She peeled her ears. Was that a low sigh of disappointment? A slight shrinking of the spine with exasperation? A tiny, tiny groan? Come on, come on... damn you, fat! Why did you have to sizzle so loudly, why couldn't you just hum like a contented cat, or even better, make no noise at all! Oh, splendid, she was cursing basic chemical properties already. Today was starting wonderfully. She called back as she continued to work, spreading an array of... six perfect suns on the skillet, three each would do wonderfully. If Marana wasn't going to get up in time for breakfast, she wasn't getting any breakfast, and... no, that was a terribly mean thing to thing, how ghastly. She cracked another three, and... oh no. She didn't have nine eggs. She didn't have nine eggs. No, wait, she had eight. Eight eggs, then, and she'd have two. Her stomach grumbled in protest, and she glanced nervously around for any dried sausage she could chew on like some sort of bipedal ruminant. How did anyone make breakfast, this was a damn minefield of potential hazards and embarrassments. She glared at the eight merrily sizzling eggs, daring one of the yolks to break. Go on. Just try it. See where it gets you. Served up to Tanner, because she wouldn't give guests an egg with a broken yolk. Or maybe she'd cast it out of the skillet, hm? Cast it away to save face. Say something about not wanting breakfast, because she didn't like eating until the hard part of a day was over (total lie, she was big, she needed food). And the hunger would fester in her, growing stronger and stronger, until she eventually turned to cannibalism and started feasting on the flesh of her fellow man. So, go on, egg. If your conscience can allow it. Your yolk stands between a peaceful day and a violent cannibal terrorising this innocent colony.

Go on.

Try it.

She was daring a yolk to break, she'd snapped a little bit, hadn't she? Yes, she'd-

That was a very suspicious tremble, Mr. Yolk. Very suspicious.

Gods.

Shut up.

Silence, brain. Silence until you're needed once more.

A few minutes later, she had a few slices of toasted black bread, which people up here apparently adored, though she couldn't quite see the appeal, laden with grease-strewn eggs. Plenty of knives. Plenty of forks. Wished she could serve something else, but... she lived alone, really. Marana kept such weird hours, was always out of doors, and spent money and credit like it was going out of style, so Tanner really just tended to herself. And when you lived alone, cooked alone, dined alone... you ended up with weird, slightly sad pantry contents. Eggs. Bread. Fat for frying things. Maybe some cured stuff that would last until the world ended. Pickled oddments. Everything accounting for the fact that, as a single person, she was only going to eat so much. It was always depressing when your food managed to rot faster than you could eat it, felt like she could see the spectres of chickens deprived of their chicks clucking ominously over her, chiding her for failure, mocking her for loneliness.

Anyway.

She set the plates down - two for her, three for Tom-Tom, three for an absent Marana.

Tom-Tom dug in quickly, eating with workmanlike efficiency, slicing, stabbing, plucking and dunking.

Tanner tried to be more refined, nibbling everything, never grabbing a single item of food with her bare hands.

Marana's plate lay steaming sadly in its unattended solitude.

"So... did you sleep well, miss?"

Tom-Tom glanced up, chewing all her food in one side of her mouth.

"Slept just fine, thankee very much. Thanks again for helping with this. Very kind."

"...I hope the noise last night didn't disturb you."

"Nah, you two are fine."

Tanner felt an internal twitch. She hadn't mentioned it being the two of them. So, she had heard something. Gosh, hoped she wasn't going to lose faith in the legal system because of... this unpleasantness.

"And... you're still confident with our course of action?"

"Sure."

"I'll be as discreet as I possibly can be. Obviously, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, and-"

Tom-Tom looked at her sternly.

"You already said that. Question, though. Tyer, that... fellow. Been arrested?"

"I made a request last night. We're trying to keep it quiet."

"Hm. Good. So, that's a yes?"

"I'll be checking with the guard on the way over, and I'll let you know as soon as I get back here. If you like, I can ask a soldier to remain here, just if you feel unsafe, or-"

Tom-Tom snorted.

"Gods, no. Never. A soldier, waiting around here, breathing down my neck? No, no, it's one thing staying here, I don't want to be guarded like some kind of princess."

She paused.

"Soldiers don't like me measuring their heads, either. Speaking of which..."

She made a vague gesture, an awkward smile cracking her face.

"Want to make sure you're all ready for today? Fate mapped? Dangers charted?"

Tanner shivered, and placed her knife and fork down with infinite delicacy. Her smile was forced to broaden - she even did the unthinkable and exposed a little teeth, just as as Coral-Spinal-Judge demanded. Come on, she was a guest. She was a client. This made her comfortable, just as Tanner's rites made her comfortable with the vagaries of the world. She adjusted her pince-nez, reminding herself to see the world in an equally glittering fashion, the hard edges soldered away. Even if Tom-Tom was... acting casually, Tanner could see that she was clearly uncomfortable. Unfamiliar house, unpleasant situation... she was putting her faith in the Golden Door, and by gum, the Golden Door wouldn't disappoint her.

"If you like."

Tom-Tom blinked.

"Oh. Well. Wonderful."

The tools were out without a moment's notice, glittering crescents designed to clip around the head, filled with blunt-ended screws that were twisted inwards until they could press down onto the scalp, reading the precise contours. Tanner was absolutely still as the cold metal pressed down - even with all her hair, she could clearly feel the sharp outlines. Tom-Tom hummed to herself as she depressed the screws, one by one. Tanner felt like she had insects crawling over her head, like she was trapped in a vice, like some enormous animal was pressing cold, hard claws into her scalp. Remained still, nonetheless. The Coral-Spinal-Judge was an enduring god, it wasn't a god that flinched at the first sign of challenge, and it was diplomatic to a fault. Piece by piece, crescent by crescent, her scalp was ensconced... and Tom-Tom completed her hum as the final screw was pressed down, right into the base of Tanner's neck.

"Feeling alright?"

"Yes. Fine."

"I..."

Tom-Tom could be heard swallowing.

"...well, if this is making you uncomfortable, you let me know. I don't... want to insult you. Or anything. Just... thought you might like to know more about the day to come."

Tanner twitched slightly. She sounded awkward. Tom-Tom, the lady who announced herself wherever she went with 'hey-ho' and invited Tanner on random fish-gutting parties, was... maybe this was a shantytown thing. Thick layer of defence, but underneath... she was definitely shaken by her experiences. Tanner was certain of it. She forced a smile.

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"I'm perfectly fine. Please. Continue."

Tom-Tom coughed uncertainly.

"That's... nice of you, honoured judge."

Tanner could've squeaked in happiness. Honoured judge. First time Tom-Tom had called her that. The Golden Door was working! Huzzah!

"... you know, this is... more or less my first reading of you, given that you were so resistant last time. You'll be pleased to hear..."

She adjusted the screw between Tanner's eyebrows, and Tanner felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down her back. Tom-Tom's tone was eerily medical, she had a professional quality that... one wouldn't expect from a person who measured skulls to tell the future. Like she was relaxing into her own role, doing what she knew, what she liked. All behaviours dictated and prescribed. Maybe Tanner was just seeing herself, but... anyway.

"...yes, those are the right margins, you have an excellently sculpted benevolence nodule. Not that you need telling that, obviously. Yes, and not so much development around some of the other frontal sentiments, that's good as well, it's terribly unfortunate when someone has a combination of rigid authority and swollen benevolence, it makes you all patronising. That's good, and it looks like no lunar influences are going to change that today, or this week. Good week for being empathetic, I'm very lucky, aren't I? Now... hm, based on the day... yes, you should attempt to perform any complicated sums before noon, the heat will swell up this node right here, which would inhibit your numerical abilities. And... you need to eat more vegetables."

"Really?"

"Just chew on a carrot. Your nodules for individuality are a bit clicky, vegetables tend to help with bolstering that slightly - it's fine, in this weather everyone suffers from that. And pay attention to the ground. Philoprogenitiveness is a powerful propensive nodule, but it presses down on some of the others, particularly balance."

Tanner struggled for a response, unwilling to just sit in uncomfortable silence.

"...right. There's those... frozen streams out there, right? Should avoid them?"

"Oh, yes. Dangerous. Layer of ice, layer of snow, poof, invisible. One wrong step and your foot's going black and funny. Governor says there's all sorts of rivers like that, says... yes, the cold ground stops the water soaking down, means the rivers spread out everywhere, wide and shallow. Bad business. Slip, your ankle breaks. Go through, you freeze. Could get both, if you're unlucky. No good fish, neither."

Tanner blinked.

"Oh. I wasn't aware of any of that."

"You don't wander out far enough. But you go... west, more than five, six miles, you get into a whole array of nasty creeks. Dangerous. But only in winter. In summer, the ice melts, the water can soak downwards."

Tanner... hm, she wasn't sure if that made sense. But if the governor said it, the governor said it. The examination continued for a while, and Tom-Tom did seem to become more relaxed as time went on. Almost like getting a haircut, just... with more cranium-reading equipment. The hairdresser keeping up a regular patter of conversation, most of it basically meaningless, sprinkled with a fair amount of gossip. When Tom-Tom had started, she'd sounded genuinely uncomfortable, twitching slightly, swallowing her words... now she was downright relaxed. Once more, Tanner felt a little thrill of success. Oh, she couldn't wait to do a good job today - all thoughts of eggs and spectral chickens forgotten, she was judging, she was judging in a heartily adequate fashion! Hoorah! The morning was improving! After that business with the governor and... and Mr. Canima, she'd felt so useless, like she'd lost her knack, or like she'd never had a knack to begin with and was only now, at the worst possible moment, finding that out. But nay, nay, she was back, sugarplum, she was back and no amount of scary men in tweed suits could stop her! And all she'd needed to do was get her skull measured! Should do it more often, add it to her collection. Maybe she could collect stabilising superstitions - addicts collected new addictions, collectors collected new collections, and Tanner collected new calming rituals. Her need increasing each time one of them was proved slightly wrong.

...on second thought, maybe getting really into measuring skulls would be, uh, not the best move in her professional career. Be hard to explain to her colleagues why she had all that terrifying equipment.

Plus, not like she could measure her own skull, now could she?

That'd just be silly.

And the idea of repeatedly asking someone to do her a favour like this, inconveniencing themselves in the process, was enough to make her firmly turn off the idea.

...wondered if she had overdeveloped prudence nodes?

Did people have prudence nodes?

A sudden pain lanced through her head, and she looked up warily, biting down on a hiss that wanted to escape her lips. She was so tense that it was easy to suppress any response. Tom-Tom looked down at her, dark eyes wide.

"Sorry. Tightened a screw too much. Clumsy."

"It's... quite alright."

A pause.

"...are you alright, though? I mean, you seem a little..."

Tom-Tom shrugged, backing off for a moment. Tanner stood, reaching to remove most of the apparatus from her head. Tom-Tom suddenly looked rather nervous as Tanner loomed above her.

"Really, you've been through quite a bit. Someone punched you, then stalked you... it's entirely fair if you feel slightly off."

She paused, sizing Tom-Tom up. She did look nervous. A thin film of sweat, just under her hairline. A slight twitch in her fingers - explained how the screw had slipped, really. Poor thing. Tanner... alright, she compared herself to a lot of animals. Eels. Wasps. Ruminants. Assorted beasts of burden. And now, she felt a little like a protective mother bear. Tom-Tom was her first client in this whole place, the first person to genuinely ask for her services as a judge, to present the sort of duty that made all the interviews and complaints feel like so much dross, barely worth any kind of attention. Tanner felt... like she had to do a good job, or she was undermining who she was, as a person. Maybe she was just fixating on this due to it being her first job out here. Maybe she was just trying to regain a little pride after last night - including having to beg Marana for help. Maybe she was trying to show herself that, even without other judges, she could do a good job. And maybe she was just a radiant person who loved helping people. That was an option. Totally was. One hundred percent.

She wasn't a monster.

Tom-Tom seemed to shiver a little.

"Well, you know, it's... anyway, anyway, sorry for that. I'll..."

"We have some wine."

"That would be fucking excellent, big woman."

Tanner flinched at the vulgarity, but otherwise kept her welcoming demeanour up.

She'd had her skull measured, and was offering an emotionally vulnerable client wine at... barely past dawn.

Yeah, she was having a fairly decent start to the day.

* * *

"The sun is my enemy. I curse it. I curse its rays and its haughtiness. The sun, Tanner, the bastard sun, is probably the root cause of all hierarchical structures in the world. Giant golden thing, hangs above everyone, is impassive to our requests, and strikes us without warning while making us completely dependent on it. If there wasn't a sun, we'd be a more equal world. You think troglodytes are hierarchical? Think they have god-kings and god-queens? No, definitely not, they can't even see, there's just 'slippery-skin' or 'scaly-skin' or 'acne-skin', or... hm, well, I suppose a kind of hierarchy could develop out of that, but personally I doubt it. The sun is the root of most of the world's ills, and the fact that we put up with it is evidence of our fundamental lack of reason. I ought to write a play on the topic. A story about a vengeful god-king that gives everyone skin cancer and leaves them squirming in pain from numerous burns. Wait for people to become horrified. Then reveal 'it was the sun all along, you dozy mules', and hurrah, I've used surrealism to usurp the bastard sun from its bastard sky. What do you think?"

Tanner didn't dignify this with a response.

Marana was suffering from a hangover. And Tanner wasn't letting her have any liquor until the day's work was done. Speaking of which... they were on their way to Tom-Tom's street, the woman remaining at the house with plenty of wine, and plenty of shelter. Seemed more shaken than she did last night, honestly. Well, made sense, Tanner always found that her life decisions only really sank in once she'd had to sleep in a bed that was unfamiliar, and relieve herself in a toilet that wasn't hers. The toilet, the bath, the bed. The trifecta of things that ought to be as intimately familiar as the blood vessels in one's neck. Remove any of them, and the world became a scarier place, with all one's choices thrown up into the sharpest possible relief. Tom-Tom was probably just now processing everything that'd happened to her, and... that'd affect anyone. Either way. She'd be safe enough in the house, and Tanner kept her eyes peeled for soldiers to talk to, to check if the fellow had been properly apprehended. Odd, dealing with that - usually the judges came in after someone had been taken away, the legal briefs of a city were a perpetual blizzard of paper, judges quite literally had no time for dealing with the nitty-gritty of law enforcement - the best they could do was law, any other word attached to that fundamental root was basically a luxury.

Anyway.

"Follow my lead on this, Marana. I don't want you intervening with this sort of interview. Just wait, watch, but don't take any sort of precedence."

Marana shot her a look.

"I thought I was here for my scintillating conversation."

"You're here for... politics. This is just an interview with a neighbour, I'd like it if you held back, let me do my job, you can watch and see how a judge conducts things."

Her tone was deathly serious.

"I'm giving you the position of a temporary assistant, pending approval from higher-ups - you can help in whatever capacities I like, but please, I don't want you to... spoil anything, to taint how people see me."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to start preaching radical philosophy at the drop of a hat."

"You usually do."

"You've known me for a few weeks, I assure you, I can be perfectly reasonable when the situation calls for it."

"Hm."

Marana frowned haughtily, took a small breath, stood up straight in the glittering snow, and thrust her chin out boldly.

"You're quite right, governor, the kitchens have really outdone themselves this time, my most earnest compliments to the chef and his staff. That being said, governor, I'd caution you to keep an eye on me - I'm tempted to try and poach that same chef from under your nose if I have a chance for it, these salmon puffs are sinful, and I find my most unsportsmanlike impulses awakening with each bite. Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho."

Tanner hummed.

"That's not a real laugh."

"Real laughs are full of snorts and awkward inhalations, laughter is the language of the soul, and the soul is a messy tangle of briars and volatile ammunition, and its language is equally as chaotic. False laughs are more refined. Tanner Magg, my loveliest of lovelies, call me a drunk, call me a souse, call me a layabout, but whatever you do, don't call me a poor conversationalist. I've held more polite conversations than you've had hot dinners."

Marana was middle-aged.

This felt like getting scolded by every maternal figure in her life.

There was something quite alarming about that. And Tanner had to resist going 'yes, mother'. Knew that would end in bloodshed. Regardless. The colony felt... different, now that there was a fundamental loss in its innocence. It... the only comparison Tanner could find was to a theatrophone play she'd heard. Part of the Annals of Tenk, that vulgar little show that she liked regardless of what common decency told her she ought to feel. One character in it, the Princess Lepilomanila, was a fixture of the early instalments. But then... maybe it was just Tanner, but the character lost her innocence. Bit by bit. Character traits were worn down by perpetual exposure to the worst humanity had to offer. When she began, she was unwilling to swear, unwilling to kill, possessed by genuine beliefs. By the end... all her individuality had been worn away. Her carnal relationships with other characters became frequent and fleeting, and Tanner ceased to wonder about who she'd be with next. Her attitude became cruder and cruder until there was nothing to truly distinguish her. It was loss of innocence through tarnishing, through a gradual loss of everything unique in favour of a mottled combination of everybody else. And once that had proceeded far enough, she simply stopped caring. The character was clouded in too many instalments of the play, too many storylines, too many changes. She'd been torn down and rebuilt until what was left was just... scrap. Loosely assembled scrap, tied up with barbed wire. And Tanner had swiftly lost interest. The show had, too. Ditched her, replaced her with the infinitely more interesting Princess Yallerilli. The colony was starting to develop that.

Starting to, at least.

It felt... less like a holy ground, isolated from the world, fixed in a great bleak wilderness, and more like... anywhere else. Even the statues seemed to loom less impressively. It had dynamics, patterns, concepts that she understood in some fashion, or at least could place into a world-system. The unfamiliar was swallowed up by the gruesome, grisly face of the known. And the known was a vulgar creature. The unfamiliar could be infinitely terrible, but it could also be infinitely fascinating. The known could never be any more than what it already was, and what it had always been, and what it would always be.

The colony was being slowly devoured by the known. The same crimes. The same impulses. And bit by bit, it was being loaded with baggage, weighing it down, much as it had done Princess Lepilomanila.

Truly, this colony was becoming the Lepilomanila of colonies.

She couldn't say any of this to Marana. Marana read actual books. She indulged in art. She drank wine. Couldn't talk about the Annals of Tenk with someone like that, the Annals of Tenk had episodes in the gore-pits of Sleetch, and the pleasure domes of stately Alomirala, and... worse things. Fleshy things.

No, she had a reputation to maintain.

The streets were quiet, at least. The storm had ebbed away, but most people were content to remain indoors until things properly settled down. Doing any work would mean shovelling the snow, and shovelling the snow was... well, like shovelling snow while the next blizzard was already on the horizon, grey and lumbering, a shaggy creature of sharpened ice and cloying frost, shambling closer with each passing hour. At least rain had the decency to turn clouds black or bruised, snow just... paled. Like being drowned in cotton wool. They stumped onwards, Marana's complaints ceasing as her hangover settled to a state of happy moderation, and...

Hm.

Someone in the snow.

Someone moving towards them.

Thoughts of a vengeful stalker echoed in her mind, and she immediately stiffened, reaching under her coat for the club she'd never really stopped hauling around, not since the coach incident. Could give the man a good thwack, send him head over heels into the snow, and all of this-

Oh.

No.

This was not a clubbing scenario.

Sersa Bayai jogged lightly towards them, each step sending up a flurry of powder, making him seem much faster than he really was. His moustache was glittering with the stuff, and his eyes were concealed by the glare reflecting from below. Like stage lights, almost. Tanner stared, blinked, and felt a small flush appear on her collarbone.

Marana shot her a look.

Tanner refused to return it.

The soldier came to a stop in front of them, taking a moment to get his breath - despite that, he didn't pant, not once. The jets of steam that emerged from his nostrils simply declined in frequency and intensity, and within a matter of moments, he was back to normal. Not dripping with sweat, either, just had a healthy, active glow about him. This was how Tanner wanted to be when she finished running, usually she was a panting mess with tousled hair and her skin turning the colour of a beetroot.

Anyway.

"Oh. Ah. Good morning, Sersa. Is..."

The man reached up to touch the brim of his military cap, nodding politely as he did so.

"Morning, honoured judge. Hope you're doing well. Sorry to bother you, but I was running over to your house to let you know about that man you wanted us to take in."

Tanner blinked a few times.

"Oh. Goodness. That. Has that... been sorted out, then? You really didn't need to run over here, though it's frightfully appreciated, and-"

"Terribly sorry. Not good news, I'm afraid."

Tanner felt a small pit of dread form in her stomach.

"...oh?"

Sersa Bayai looked around cautiously, scanning the dark windows that clustered in around them, the dark roofs that stretched overhead to conceal the sky, the muffling snow that lined every nook and cranny, wherever the flakes could find purchase. He gestured vaguely to follow, and Tanner easily kept pace as he strode off, all the weariness of his run forgotten. They walked through the streets quickly, Marana struggling to keep up, all three of them silent as pallbearers. Walked until they found a spot which seemed more secure - outside a shuttered inn, locked up during the morning, where Bayai seemed to decide there was enough solitude for them to speak in low voices.

"We approached as we were meant to, honoured judge. Quiet apprehension. Based on what we knew, he'd be a screamer, the sort that likes making a hullabaloo when a bunch of soldiers decide to take him in. So, we were to move quickly and quietly, bundle him into his own house, sit him down, and work on him until he was willing to go quietly. Don't worry, we weren't going to rough him up, we were just going to have a talk, make him aware of his situation. Make him think, stew in his own fear, rather than his own panic. Once we had a good moment, we'd take him to the garrison, put him in the drunk tanks..."

He trailed off, and Tanner resisted the urge to knead her skirt.

"So... what happened, Sersa? Did..."

"He wasn't there."

"...I'm sorry?"

"He wasn't there. Not at the woman's house. Gone by the time we arrived last night. We started searching the area, quietly as we could - didn't want to start a fuss, as per instructions. Spread out, checked everything we reasonably could... searched his house quickly, and he's not hiding there. Nor in the woman's house, either. Gone."

Tanner swallowed a twitch of panic. Be professional. Marana was sizing Bayai up, her lip twisting in concentration. Tanner spoke, trying to remain calm, the panic in her stomach translating to absolute stoicism on her face.

"Is there anywhere you haven't looked?"

"Other people's houses. That would involve going door to door, knocking, requesting entry... if we were refused, we could enter regardless, if we thought there was a reasonable chance of a fugitive being harboured there, but..."

"You didn't want to start trouble with people, I understand."

"Exactly, honoured judge."

Tanner tried to get her thoughts in order, while Marana studied both of them, clearly calculating matters for herself. Right, right, so... he'd fled justice. He'd sensed something in the air and headed for the hills, he was... no, no. What had Tom-Tom said earlier? Right, the landscape around the colony was treacherous during winter, if he ran out into the snow, he'd just die a slow, unpleasant death, vanishing from existence until spring came and his perfectly preserved body was thawed out. If they ever found it, that is. So, he was in a house. A friend's house, maybe. Possibly he'd gone there because he sensed danger... or because somebody warned him... or because somebody had messed up at some crucial stage... or because he'd realised how insane he was acting and decided to hide out as long as he could. Best case, he was just sleeping off a hangover with a friend. Worst case, he was holding someone hostage. And if he was, then the way the colony had been locked down by the snow would make it very difficult to tell if something was wrong - not like they could just check the work crews to see if anyone was missing. Catastrophes flowered before her eyes, blossoms expanding exponentially in all directions, consuming all sight, destroying all rationality, and... stop it. She felt two pairs of eyes on her, and the sudden sensation of stage fright... no, she'd... dealt with stage fright before. Just do what was expected of her. Play the part of a lucid, logical judge, not some frightened newcomer. She remembered Tom-Tom, how she'd been shivering this morning. Her face was completely still as she considered matters...

Marana was opening her mouth to speak.

Tanner got there first.

"Get someone to watch the house, please. Apologise to the woman inside, explain that this was necessary for safety. Try not to alarm her too much."

Sersa Bayai nodded quickly, a flash of... was that appreciation? A pleasant surprise at a lack of panic? Marana hummed, interjecting quietly.

"I take it that battering down doors would go poorly?"

A nod from the soldier.

"Quite poorly, yes. Unless you think it's necessary, honoured judge."

Tanner considered, and... no, no, don't drown in hypotheticals, just ask.

"What would you say is the likelihood of him invading someone's house against their will?"

Bayai hummed, his moustache twitching like a set of antennae, tasting the frigid air.

"Unlikely. Too tight-knit, the neighbours would notice, the resident would scream, and everyone here has some form of protection."

Unlikely, but possible. Right. Be quick, then.

"Understood. Thank you. If you wouldn't mind, could you and your men continue to patrol as you usually do, just keeping an eye out for any movement? If he's in one of these houses, he's staying with a friend, or someone willing to shelter him."

Marana leaned in.

"And, my good man, might I ask if our resident Erlize have any insights?"

Nuts.

Should've thought of that. Skipped over that detail. Probably because she usually strived to keep the Erlize out of her thoughts as much as possible, at least if she could help it. But... yes, if they'd known the major players here, why wouldn't they know where the man was hiding? Bayai's eyes flickered, like he was tracking entries on a vast, invisible page.

"Not that I know of, miss."

Marana looked oddly pleased with that fact. Tanner coughed, taking over again.

"I'll continue with my interviews, I'll ask the relevant persons, and if something comes up, I'll let you know immediately, either myself or my associate here. Please, if you wouldn't mind, continue the patrols, but keep this quiet, if at all possible."

Marana slid back into the conversation.

"Maybe suggest that there's a sighting of a mutant of some kind, that might let you up the patrols a little. Or-"

"Thank you, miss, but I'll handle that. We'll find an excuse."

"Are your men able to keep their mouths shut? Avoiding starting a panic because their tongues wagged a bit too much?"

A stiffening. A bristle of the moustache. A flash of the eyes.

"Yes, miss."

Tanner interjected, desperate to keep things civil.

"I trust your judgement, Sersa. But, yes, please keep matters quiet."

If news of this got out, if it became a highly public manhunt, then bye-bye subtlety, bye-bye quiet settlement, hello circus, hello hurricane of gossip. And once that really got going... the governor would be angered, her reputation would be tarred, Tom-Tom would be hauled up in front of everyone, depriving her of any kind of lingering dignity. The best thing would be to find him, wherever he was hiding, and to drag him into the dark where the law could be exerted effectively, without the public eye burning like the glare of the sun. Oh, she could see it now, she could see how wretched the whole situation could become, and how much...

Anyway.

Stop making everything seem like an inevitable calamity. She knew what she could do, and she had no reason to avoid it. Get on with it, then. Two pairs of eyes on her. One from a fellow she found herself rather liking. The other from an... almost-friend who hadn't seen her doing her job before. She couldn't panic, she couldn't act like an idiot, she had to keep all her roles steady. Coral-Spinal-Judge, boundary-keeper and arbitrator. Judge, dispassionate and calm. Golden pince-nez and luck-gathering gloves, both making the world slightly rosier, less prone to catastrophe. Lodge-member, sheltered from the worst excesses of the world.

Layer upon layer upon layer.

And within them, she was safe. She was harmonious.

"If there's nothing else, Sersa, I think we both ought to get on with our business."

She nodded sharply.

"Good day, Sersa."

"One more thing, actually. Almost forgot."

He dug around in his pocket.

"Key. For his house. If you want to have a look. We searched it for him, but we haven't touched anything else. Understand your order take tampering with a crime scene fairly seriously, and as far as my men are concerned, your standards are our standards."

Tanner blinked. Felt the flush along her neck spread slightly. The key was heavy in her hand, and she pocketed it without a second thought.

"Thank you, Sersa. Very... considerate of you."

Marana glanced between the two of them. Sersa Bayai nodded quickly.

"Quite alright. Good day, honoured judge. Miss."

And like that, Judge Tanner Magg strode off with her political consultant clinging to her side, leaving a dark, military shadow to vanish into the glare.