This would mark Finnian's third stop of the day.

He'd left Daymen's home an hour ago and he was presently pushing his way through the maintenance tunnels of the Bowels. Finnian both applauded and was appalled by Rolan's genius. The ex-smuggler turned ex-businessman turned ex-pocket-picking professional turned full time silverfish had a knack for finding the most obtuse but effective hiding locations, and he'd been using this one with Malorie and Milly for the past two years.

But at this time his thoughts weren't on figuring out the most snide remark he could possibly make about Rolan's mind. It was on the tracking device. Finnian had left the locator back in the harbor with Daymen, knowing that the old man wouldn't destroy it because Finnian would just build another. As expected the connection was weak, meaning that Cassius' location couldn't be pinpointed exactly. What had surprised him, though, was that it was pointing North—Towards the regions of the Adelsten Theocracy.

And while he would now be able to track down his long lost friend, he suffered from a problem as old as he was. An ailment that had plagued him from birth and across worlds through the very fabrics of realities. He was poor, and he needed money.

If he sold his pawnshop he'd amount to maybe ten gold slates, give or take the fees he'd have to pay to even find a buyer. He would be nowhere near enough buying a home on the surface, let alone tracking a transient throughout the continent. And he wasn't willing to even think on a price for his locator device

As his half-crawl took him closer to the hideout, Finnian swore he was able to make out the sounds of yelling, and the clatter of something metallic. He shimmied past two angled pipes and into another path to the left, where after only a few seconds of walking he finally cape upon a trapdoor in the ceiling. It was barely visible as such, and Finnian only knew what it was because he'd had the thing slammed into his nose at least twice. The sounds came from within.

He grabbed the rusty door handle and with effort turned it, the locks gave away and it fell down. Finnian avoided the falling metal plate and all sounds inside stopped just as light flooded into the tunnel.

"It's me!" He yelled out before anybody poked a stick through his skull.

A brown mop of hair with a head attached shadowed the opening. "You're late again, why are you always late?" Rolan reached out his hand in aid.

Finnian stood up in the small space and, grabbing hold of the offered help, pulled himself into a well-lit room where he could finally stand straight again.

"Is it Dolus?" came Malorie's sing-song voice from another room.

"Unfortunately!" Rolan yelled back, earning him a caustic sneer from Finnian.

"Finally, now-"

"THAT FUCKING BITCH!" A knife flew in an eye-blink through a doorway and dug its tip into the wall with a thump. Finnian stood only a couple feet away from the anger-thrown tool.

"THAT CROWN CURSED, RAT-FUCKED MOTHER BORN, WHITE COATED WHORE! I'M GOING TO FIND HER AND DROWN HER IN THE SHIT STREAMS OF THE BOWEL RIVER!"

Finnian looked to Rolan who gave a nervous grin. Both of them moved through the doorway that was only barely Finnian's height—meaning Rolan had to duck—into the other room. There stood Milly in the middle, one hand clutched a new knife, and the other one was off somewhere in the trash compactors. Malorie held up both hands in a calm gesture.

Milly's disheveled hair flew as her head snapped to stare at Finnian. "Oh, good day Dolus!" She said in a joyful tone.

"Good day Milly, glad to see you're up and about already." He grinned, and she grinned back.

"Oh, so now that the rat's here you're all nice and collected, how fantastic." Malorie threw her arms into the air. "Say, should we just collect his arm instead so you can use it as a calming token?"

"Oy! I'm not the careless one, don't punish me." Finnian rebuked. He reacted on instinct and ducked the flying knife as it soared above his head and lodged itself right beneath the other one she'd thrown before. "Now that's not very nice of you." He tuttered.

"Out of knives now?" Asked Rolan in a firm voice, his arms crossed. Milly looked at him and sneered, but relaxed her stance. "Great, now let's sit down and talk. Due to some people being unable to keep to a schedule, we've a lot to go over."

Everyone grabbed a stool or chair from corners of the small "kitchen" and sat down. Finnian noticed the rag-blanked covering the spot where Milly's left arm should've been.

"First of all," Began Finnian when they'd all sat down, speaking before Rolan could lecture them. "How are you already up and about, did the Doc come by?"

"I had to go out and get a Sealer from the Ribs," Malorie was the one to respond. "I was lucky. Ryl only had one Sealer left and the brews for this month had just finished fermenting."

Milly snorted, "Not as effective as a new arm, I can still feel an itch. But it'll do for now."

Finnian nodded to Rolan, satisfied.

"Alright," Began Rolan. "I suspect that we all have the same burning question on our minds. Why have they suddenly started chopping people up?"

Everyone nodded, Rolan continued. "While Malorie was tending to Milly last night, I went to the surface to get some information from my contacts in the Conclave. They were hard to find, most have seemingly left the city, much like Dolus' good friend Jacob." He pulled out a sheet of paper from his coat. "This here is a news paper page from the Daily Magazine, and while it didn't tell me much I've now got some idea of what's happening."

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"I already read through this weeks magazine, and from what I could tell there's nothing in it that would be a reason for the Conclave retreating from the city." Malorie interrupted.

Rolan took on a snide look. "That's because the one that I have here," He held up the paper. "Is yet to be published."

"Oh stop teasing me, what's it say?" Milly asked energetically, contrary to Malorie who sat one leg over the other.

Rolan sat up straight in a posh fashion and, clearing his throat, began to recite the letters on the torn sheet in a hawty voice. "Breaking News! The Skor City Council have recently ordained that it is time to auction off some of their long held treasures and artifacts. These trinkets and curios have a known history dating back to the choosing of the great Crown! Along with these old items, new ones are being shipped from across the ocean from the Ruins of Oman to be sold off at the largest Auction this century. This event has attracted many known and reputable folk from around the world, and the City looks forward to welcoming their arrival with open arms!"

"An auction?" Malorie leaned over. "Peculiar."

Rolan nodded. "I got the paper from my last contact before he took the tram out of the city. He's headed up to Askelan where the Conclave is establishing a new centre of operations."

"The bastards used us, scammed us, and left us for dead!" Finnian slapped his knee.

"Aye. The City has issued a mandate allowing Weavers to use deadly force in defense of city goods. And you remember how there were five Dusters? There's supposed to be Six."

"Shit." Milly spoke under her breath.

"Well then, what do we do now." Finnian threw up his hands. "The big rats up above screwed us so hard we could consider ourselves royally fucked."

Unsurprisingly, Malorie was the one to respond. She usually always had an idea—a concept stirring in her mind that was usually volatile to some capacity. Many of her ideas were brilliant, most were deadly. "We do the obvious. Rob the auction."

Milly smiled toothily. Finnian looked to Rolan who shrugged.

"And how do you suggest we do that? Grow Milly a new limb and maybe a pair of wings and just soar up the tall mansions of the aristocracy to rob them blind?" Rolan asked sarcastically. "I mean, I'd like that a lot, yes. But is it feasible? No."

"I'd like a pair of wings!" Said Milly who was practically jumping up and down on her stool.

Malorie held up a hand. "If we all put our coin together, we should be able to afford Milly a prosthetic. It won't be cheap, but those things pack a punch. Also, we'd sneak inside of the auction. Disguises would do well. We could easily just do what we did for the triplets and assume positions as guards."

"Disguises would work but not to that capacity. The guards up there won't be just ordinary bucket heads, they'll be Weavers with orders to kill." Rolan countered smoothly. "Not to mention we unfortunately wouldn't be able to afford it. Remember, we had to pay the Sneakers to keep away from Markus's place."

"Shit. True. Alright, we're screwed." Malorie clapped her thigh. "Rolan, any ideas?"

Rolan, ever the thinker, put a mischievous smile on his face. "I think it's time we move out of Skor."

Malorie scowled but didn't object. Finnian's expression turned intrigued, but on the inside, he screamed.

Milly threw up her arm instantly. "Yes, Let's do it!" She'd always wanted to leave Skor for as long as Finnian had known her. Her and Malorie had a long past together, and while Malorie wasn't as enthusiastic about leaving due to a deeper connection with the city through her strife, Milly was the opposite. She wanted out.

Finnian also wanted to leave, but he couldn't. He'd never be able to get the tracking machine out of the city without his friends finding out. And if they found out, he'd have to explain. And if he told them, they'd no longer be his friends.

The news of the auction and the idea of robbing it was taking up the inside of his skull like a dust-trip. Just one of the valued items to be sold would be enough to fund him for years to come. But he couldn't do it alone. He looked to his crew and friends—Milly would follow whichever idea she found to be most exciting, that's just how she was by nature. Rolan preferred longterm profitability, and thus safety. But Malorie, she wanted to remain, regardless of risk.

And Finnian had an idea.

"How much coin do we have left in the vaults?" He asked, making it clear in his voice that he had an idea. Everyone turned to him with a mix of interest and skepticism.

Rolan squinted. "I'd say maybe twenty five gold slates, not counting unsold booty. Why?"

Finnian had to build up his idea. What he had in mind would be expensive, and so he had to slather the idea in mystery first. "Malorie, how much would it cost to get Milly a replacement arm?"

The dark-haired woman looked to be in thought for a moment before answering. "Seventy five gold slates, not counting taxes or external fees. Eighty counting anything extra, which also means something unexpected taking more than needed."

Milly looked to be fully engaged now, while Rolan was leaning forward frowning slightly. Thankfully, he didn't interrupt. Finnian continued.

"Now, we don't have anywhere near that kind of money." He presented his hands, empty as they were. "And if we wanted to make a sum like that, we'd need not only a high paying job from the Conclave, who as we now know are no longer even in the city. But we'd also need to ensure transactional safety. Wouldn't want to get scammed again, would we?"

When nobody spoke up, he honeyed his voice to a soothing sweet, but also thick whisper. "As such, the only viable solution is to work on our own terms. And I might just have an idea of how we could make some glitter."

He looked directly at the rapt Malorie. "Mal, how much does it cost to get threaded?"

He saw Rolan was about to rebuke but Malorie was too fast. "A full-body copper threading costs two platinum, counting mana vials, not counting the weaving license."

"What about half body threading?"

Malorie thought for a few seconds before answering. "One platinum twenty five gold. Still counting mana vials."

"And how much does it cost to get a singular limb threaded, not counting mana vials?"

"Thirty gold slates."

"And what if you had the threading done by a certain ethically dubious seamstress that would be willing to do the task without her client owning a license?"

Malorie's eyes widened in realization at what he was suggesting. And with that realization came a devilish grin. "Fifteen gold slates."

Rolan was scowling, already having known where Finnian was heading with the topic, and Milly took only a few more seconds before she yelled out in delight. "Let's do it!"

Both Finnian and Malorie looked to Rolan who ran a hand through his bark-colored hair. He sighed before looking to Malorie and asking. "Do you trust them?"

Malorie nodded. "With weaver numbers inflating, she'll be even more likely to do it. Nobody will give a second glance to just another Weaver"

Everyone watched Rolan with anticipation.

"Meet back here tomorrow at dawn. We'll do our usual split method while dressing as miners." He finally said. Then he stood up and walked through another archway, almost bumping his head on the top rim while grumbling. "I need something to drink."

Malorie looked at Finnian and nodded thankfully. Finnian grinned back.

And then Milly grabbed him in a chokehold disguised as a one-armed hug.