Cal woke up to the sounds of birds. Ducks quacked, pigeons cooed, and the other nameless birds let out their high trills. There was not a skulg to be heard. And he was dry and warm, clean sheets hugged him as he sat up and stretched. His head felt heavy and his eyes bleary, but that wasn't from a rough sleep. He had drank too much last night and his gut felt sour. Luckily, he had left out a glass of water for himself before he fell into the unbelievably soft bed.

The clear, cool water soothed his itchy throat. He just sat there for a minute taking in the sounds, enjoying the pleasures of a house and room of his own. A hundred small joys hit him all at once and it was... too much.

He wept.

He couldn't stop it. He'd never felt such comfort, such safety.

Eventually, the tears stopped and he chuckled at himself. Silently he berated himself for crying about such stupid things. Then he realised that he would be sleeping in this room every night. That this way of waking was not a one-off miracle, but his new life.

He wept, again, choking out a laugh as he did so.

Cal stood, got dressed, and wiped at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. His stomach grumbled. He still felt sick from the hangover, but knew a little food would help settle his gut. And he had all the spices and food he had bought from the market. Another joy.

He felt a little guilty, he knew that he'd likely overpaid for some of the things he had gotten. But Lauren hadn't been there to help him haggle or warn him that he was getting ripped off, so he had to go with what he knew. And what better way was there to learn than to fail? At least that's what she'd told him when she started to tutor him.

She was beautiful and although it was easy to listen to her, and her explanations made sense, Cal couldn't help but fall into a stupor when he was with her. It was like she made him drunk.

Ame was the same, though he'd been actually drunk when he had spoken to her. He struggled to remember what they talked about. Probably alchemy, she was very interested in that. But mostly he just recalled her wonderful smile and her beautiful eyes, and her smooth skin and her vivid hair. Through that warm haze, he felt a cold stone settle in his chest, the feeling that he might have said something he shouldn't have. Maybe he had spilled a secret.

Cal shook his head, it didn't matter right now and he couldn't think at the moment. He grabbed his cooking Technique book from the bedside table and headed down to the kitchen. There he found his magic pan and a new pot. He set them on the stove and made sure there was wood to burn. Then he was in the large walk-in pantry, picking out the produce for the recipe he'd chosen to make.

Battered eel, chips and sausages. A simple dish. Greasy, but great for a hangover.

In a fit of gratitude, he decided to make enough for everyone. He'd also lay out some bread, butter and a jar of jam. He was eager to try those last two treats and Rosie would be too.

Finally ready, Cal started on breakfast.

"I could get used to this."

---

Fritz awoke, the faint scent of wood smoke then frying fish assailed his nose and stoked his hunger. He groaned as he sat up and stared around his room. The birds called and cried in the cacophony of morning songs they always sang. At least there were no skulg, they were horrible.

Less horrible, though still not ideal, were these scratchy linen sheets, he far preferred his sirensilk ones, even if he had to admit having bedsheets made of the sublimely smooth silks would have been the height of decadence. He supposed that only the king or maybe the most wealthy dukes and duchesses could afford such luxury.

Fritz slipped out of bed, letting his Grace guide him so he didn't wobble too much as he stood on aching legs. His shoulder also felt sore and he rapidly remembered why. Carrying Lauren. He laughed and it came out in a croak. The sound was too loud and caused him to wince. He needed to find an anti-toxin remedy, somehow he'd drank enough to surpass his bone's moonsilver lacing and those purifying properties it provided.

After dressing, he stumbled into the hallway, smoothly, then knocked on Bert's door hoping he knew where they had stored the spare remedies. There were hungover groans in more than one voice. Fritz turned and set off down the stairs, deciding he didn't want to see what was on the other side of that door, sparing both his eyes and his sanity.

He straightened and slowed at the base of the stairs, then strode into the kitchen.

"Cal, my good man," Fritz said with a small rasp. "Where are the medical supplies stored?"

Cal looked up from a streaming pot and smiled wide, he looked happier than Fritz had ever seen him. It proved there was a fine man underneath all that grumbling and grousing. It suited him.

"They're being stored in the pantry for now," Cal said.

"Good, have we got tea?" Fritz asked.

"We do. Got some yesterday," Cal said. "And the kettle has almost boiled."

"Did I say good man? I meant great man," Fritz said.

He seized upon some doses of the anti-toxin and grasped the tea tin right by them. He left the pantry and the kitchen, then laid them out on the dining table. He swallowed down a dark pill with a glass of fresh clear water. He sighed and waited for the remedy to work.

Then, once he had felt his head clear, he rejoined Cal in the kitchen and made tea, somewhat poorly. Although Fritz was a great enjoyer of the delectable drink, his skill at steeping it had yet to catch up to his discerning palate. He did, however, graciously pour out some for Cal who didn't complain at all about the imperfect taste.

"That's good," Cal said.

"Thank you," Fritz said. "Though my brewing leaves something to be desired."

"Tastes fine to me," Cal said.

Fritz would have normally chided the man, he was an urchin and as likely to be able to tell the difference between good tea and bad as a horse was.

"Brewing," Cal muttered frowning. Then his face paled and he glanced over to Fritz with worry.

Fritz sighed.

"What is it? What have you done?" He asked.

"Uh.. I may have umm... spilled the beans... to Ame... about that Technique we have," Cal admitted.

"Which Technique?" Fritz asked quickly. "What did you tell her?"

"I uhh, told her about the raider scrolls. Not how we got them, but how we had them. And they were just sitting there in my Personal Pack and she seemed so interested so I just... you know..."

"Showed her a scroll?" Fritz asked, relaxing as he leaned on the kitchen counter.

"Yeah," Cal admitted. There was quiet for a minute while Fritz enjoyed another sip of tea and Cal cooked.

"Are you mad at me?" Cal asked.

"I have all the right to be," Fritz said. "But no. I was intending on entering into an agreement with those two anyway. It could be mighty beneficial to have two such talents working for us. I was just waiting to run it by the team first."

"What's that?" George asked, his head appearing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.

"Plans for the future. We'll go over it later. Come have some tea," Fritz said.

"Sure," George said, joining them.

Bert and Rosie thundered down the stairs next, together.

Cal and Fritz frowned at them, but the two were grinning smugly and totally unrepentant. Still, no one said anything to their dumb, pleased faces. Fritz knew doing so would just prompt Bert to boast about the disgusting details of their debauchery.

"Breakfast is ready, get plates," Cal said.

Soon they were all eating ravenously in the dining room, too hungry for chatter. A terrible moaning came from the stairway and Lauren trudged down the steps like her feet were made of lead. The team couldn't help but smirk at each other as she stumbled into the dining room. Her hair was a mess, she squinted blearily and looked like she was about to be ill.

She sat in a dining chair heavily and dropped her forehead onto the table groaning and shielding her eyes from the light coming in from the rain spattered windows.

Cal rushed to her aid, providing her a glass of water, one of the remedies and a plate of fried goodness. She drank the water and took the remedy muttering unintelligibly, but pushed the plate away.

"Look's like someone had a lot of fun," George observed with that rare sly smile he sometimes wore.

"You don't know the half of it," Bert said. "She made friends with one of the waitresses."

"Is that so?" George asked.

"Noooo," Lauren groaned, her face still hidden and her ears reddening.

"Yes, indeed. But you also missed Rosie's first tavern brawl," Bert added, sparing the woman more embarrassment.

"A fight? Are you okay?" George asked.

"Yeah, not a scratch. I'm tough," Rosie said, through a mouth of bread, butter and jam. "Hurt them both good."

"I doubt that man you punched will ever piss straight again," Bert laughed.

Rosie snorted then began to choke.

"Is that really appropriate talk for the dinner table?" Lauren grumbled.

"It's breakfast not dinner," Bert contended.

"Urgh... you know what I mean," Lauren said, lifting her head, her eyes sharper and that stricken look of sickness receding slowly. "Could you pass me the bread and jam?"

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Of course," Fritz said, passing her what she requested.

They ate in some quiet once Cal had joined them, focusing on consuming rather than conversation.

Fritz found the meal strangely nostalgic, even comforting. Although it was unlike his breakfasts when he was still a young noble, being far less refined and stuffy, he found it had a certain sense of closeness to the team. It was also completely different from scrounging and scarfing whatever he could survive in the street, far less of that pressure, desperation and shivering. Guilt bubbled briefly, he knew that down there in the Sunken Ring there were children suffering as he once had.

Could he find a way to help? He set the thought aside for now and pushed away that self-admonishment. He had to worry about his own skin for now. Though it wasn't just his own skin he had to worry about, he had his team, his siblings, and Bert to keep safe as well.

"Stop scheming and eat, Fritz," Bert demanded.

Fritz was about to protest that he was eating, but found he had barely touched his battered eel and he'd just been staring at his plate. He decided to listen to Bert for now.

When they had finished breakfast the plates were cleared and stacked. Bert took the bucket of table scraps and carried it up to his room, ostensibly to feed Dale.

"How do we decide who does the dishes?" Cal asked.

"What?" Lauren asked, perplexed by the simple question and seemingly feeling much better now that the anti-toxin remedy had come into full effect.

"We could draw cards again, or have some kind of rotation," George said.

Lauren looked at them like they were mad, then coughed and smoothed her features.

"We will have a servant do it," she said as if it were obvious. "Do we not have one already?"

"I think not, it wasn't stipulated in the contract," Fritz said.

"Stipulated?" Rosie asked.

"Written," Fritz said. "Sorry, spent too much time with an advocate yesterday. He must have rubbed off on me."

"He better not have, what would Sid say?" Bert asked, rejoining them in the dining room.

George snorted, Lauren made a face and Cal blinked. Rosie stood up and began to walk out, she grabbed Bert by the shirt as she passed him.

"Let's go have a shower," she said. Bert obliged eagerly, waving and grinning at the still-seated and somewhat disgusted team.

They were gone for only nine seconds when Lauren asked, "Are we going to allow.... whatever that is?"

"I think we must," Fritz said. "Forbidding it would simply stoke the fires of contrarianism that burn within Bert. And I'm not sure it would deter Rosie either."

"What?" Cal asked.

"They'll continue just because we say not to," George said sagely.

"So, what? We just let him and my sister..." Cal trailed off, looking mortified and a bit sick.

"They're free to do what they want," Fritz said. "We don't have to like it, but we have little right getting in the way."

"I thought one of the rules was no entanglements in a Spire," Cal said sullenly.

"It's creating new entanglements in a Spire that is forbidden," Lauren corrected. "Married couples and otherwise promised peoples go in together plenty. Though people don't always follow those rules anyway. What with all the danger and excitement, it's easy to forget."

"Won't it get in the way of climbing though?" Cal asked.

Fritz shrugged and turned to see Lauren thinking the question over.

"It could, though I doubt it'll be a serious danger," Lauren said. "Will it even last?"

"You don't know this yet, but you will. Bert can be, well, fickle, and somewhat frivolous when it comes to bedfellows," Fritz said. "A love-typhoon if you will allow it."

"I won't, though go on," Lauren said.

"As it stands I'm sure this will blow over soon. I just hope Rosie ends up unbuffeted by the whirlwind," Fritz espoused.

"She'll be fine," Cal said, frowning. "She's tough."

"Anyway, shall we cease the gossip and present our plans for the day?" Fritz asked.

"Sure," George said.

"Lauren, are you able to start selling our great haul today?" Fritz asked.

"Not yet," she admitted. "I'll need to check the markets and see what the prices are like. Maybe make some deals here and there."

"Are you fine doing that yourself?" Fritz asked.

"Once I've recovered and had my bath, I should be capable of roaming the Thoroughfare Market alone. Although some help wouldn't hurt," Lauren said. "Does anyone want to accompany me?"

"I would love to accompany you," Cal said quickly, pouncing on the offer.

Lauren nodded, wincing a little from the pain. She rubbed the back of her head.

"I feel wretched. If you'll excuse me I'll rest for some time," Lauren said, standing and taking her leave.

"How about you, Fritz?" George asked. "Will you be retrieving what you commissioned from my father, today?"

"Hmm. I think so, why do you ask?" Fritz inquired.

"I would like to go with you. I need to return and tell my father what's happened," George said. "And I don't want to do it alone."

Fritz nodded. Though the task wasn't high on his list of things to do this day it would have to be done eventually. And if George felt uneasy, it should be remedied quickly. Fritz could lend the man some support.

"We'll go as soon as we can, I have many many things to do and I want to get started as soon as possible," Fritz professed.

George nodded seriously.

"I'll go have a shower," he said, leaving only Fritz and Cal in the dining room.

"So I'll leave this for the servant?" Cal asked, glancing at the dirty dishes.

"I think not, we'll do them this time," Fritz said, standing, then helping the man with the chore. It was okay to get one's hands dirty, some of the time.

Once they were done they each showered in the outside stalls and made ready to go about their errands. Fritz gathered up the shark and eel skins, he wanted to get them treated properly by a tanner and much of that stinking work was done in the steam district where the Anchorwrought smithy was also located. It would only be a small detour and the quicker it was done the quicker he could have some new armour.

George was waiting in the lounge and wearing his half-plate armour when Fritz finally found him. He looked on edge, like strained steel under a great weight. Fritz nodded to him and they left for the gates to the Sunken Ring without a word.

The rain was light and warm this day, the wind blew powerfully, pulling at his clothes. Fritz opened his umbrella and led the way forward.

They joined the surging crowds, eventually making their way to the steam district's gates, then passing into the district itself. Plumes of white and black clouds spilled into the sky, staining the rain and filling those falling drops with foul muck. George stepped closer to Fritz to take more advantage of the umbrella's protection.

The man gave Fritz an apologetic grin.

Eventually, they found their feet before the door of the Anchorwrought smithy. George gulped then set his features into a fearsome frown.

"Would you like me to go in first?" Fritz asked.

"No, can you wait here?" George asked. "I would like to face him alone."

Fritz shrugged. "Do what you must. I'll wait."

George nodded gratefully, then strode into the smithy.

Fritz expected to hear shouting or a flurry of fierce reprimands but he heard nothing of the sort, just tense silence. Curiosity getting the better of him, he wrapped himself in dusk and peered through the open doorway.

There he saw the two men simply glaring at each other with near identical flinty, yellow gazes. The older man, Bruce, moved first, leaping over the counter and charging his son with all the care and candour of a raging bull. A table laden with axes was knocked aside, the blades falling, then clanging on the stone floor.

Flesh met steel with a thud, then there was a deep belly laugh as father embraced son. George seemingly didn't know what to do with himself and returned the hug warily.

"You fool!" Bruce yelled, still laughing with a toothy grin that was missing a few teeth. "You're back!"

"I am," George said

"You've made me proud. Didn't know you had it in you to run away and Climb a Spire. Hah! You got some spine, Boy!"

"You're not angry?" George asked.

"Course not, Climbin's a great thing," Bruce said. "How high did you Climb? Get a Path?"

"I have my Path, but I can't say more than that," George said.

"Why not?"

"Captain's orders," George answered mysteriously.

"Hah. Fair enough, find any good metals?" Bruce asked jovially.

"No metals, apart from some lightning eel teeth," he said. "But I'm not sure if the team can part with them."

Bruce nodded sagely.

"Have you come back to stay?" He asked, changing the subject. "Or can I finally use your room for storage again?"

"I have a new place, for now," George said, then he went into something of an explanation of his doings and plans for the future.

Fritz left them to it, searching for a tannery to treat his many monster skins.

He decided first to visit a couple of leatherworkers to find out who was best trusted to handle such materials. Discovering that they were mostly of commensurate quality, and getting some recommendations and warnings he decided to heed, he made his way further into the district and towards the sea.

He found the tanneries quickly, mostly by following his nose, then found who he sought. A Tanner by the name of Grohle. He was a foreigner who had settled in Rain City. The story went that he was rescued from a Krakosi slave ship by the king's navy and though he found himself free he was unable to return home due to the incredible expense and risk of crossing the seas. So he plied his former trade and did it well. Then he was married, had children and no longer felt the need to leave.

Fritz heard this story from no less than three people, including the man himself when Fritz inquired about his services. It seemed Grohle liked the notoriety and the whispers that he knew a tanning Technique from faraway lands. When Fritz asked about such rumours the dark, hairy man merely smiled at him knowingly.

All in all, Fritz paid two gold triads to get the hides and skins treated, those that were salvageable that is. Many were too rotten, soggy and spoiled to be anything other than waste. Still, Grohle guessed that there was enough for at least one full suit of each type, maybe more if they only needed vests, leggings and boots.

"Will some of the properties of the monsters remain?" Fritz asked.

"Maybe, if you go to one of the fancy leatherworkers in the Upper Ring. Some of them will have some skill in enchanting," Grohle said. "Not to the quality of Deskaen runed leather, of course, but I'm sure they can sew up something passable. You Rain City folk are good at making do with the little you have."

Fritz smiled and handed the skins and hides over. "How long will the tanning take?"

"It'll take a couple of weeks, maybe a month before they're ready," Grohle said.

"Any way to speed that up?" Fritz asked flashing another triad.

The man shook his head. "Not if you want it to be done right."

Fritz supposed the man knew his business and left an address so he could be reached as soon as the skins were done. Then he was off, back to the smithy.

He found George standing by the door and waiting.

"Where'd you go?" He asked.

"Just sorted out the skins and hides, didn't want them to rot any further you know," Fritz said. "And I didn't want to intrude on you and Bruce."

George nodded solemnly, then smiled and gestured one thumb over his shoulder.

"Your commission is ready, and it's quite flashy. Not sure it's suited to a Scout," George said.

"I'm hardly a normal Scout," Fritz said self-assuredly.

George smiled at that. "No, I guess you're not."

Fritz pat the man on the shoulder and strode into the smithy.

He was greeted with a great grin and Bruce couldn't wait to boast of his work. Fritz had to admit it was a beautiful sight and was more eager than ever to show it off. Unfortunately, the moonsilver it was made of was mirror-bright and far too conspicuous to carry about, so he had the man cover it up for transport.

Fritz received his cloth-wrapped package, it was far less heavy than he thought it would be, still, it was a little awkward to carry and he wouldn't be able to do so on his next task, which was checking his hidden safe out in the drowned district.

He asked George to carry it home for him.

"Just put it in my closet. I'll want it close by," Fritz said.

George nodded, setting off without complaint with a slight spring in his step.

Fritz smiled at the man's back then made his own way out of one district and into another, stink and steam replaced with floods and forgotten places.

He entered the drowned district clad in dusk and a slight pressure fell on him, he stretched his shoulders and it seemed to ease, though not entirely. He slunk down alleys and a creeping dismay accosted him when he looked on the sickly starved faces of the poor and desperate.

As he travelled over roofs, across beams of wood and arches of stone he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He pulsed his Awareness, searching for the set of eyes he knew was beholding him. There was nothing, but birds, rats and skulg. Still, Fritz was cautious and to doubled back, then took twisting routes to out whomever was shadowing him.

Again he caught no one, save one foul, scaled rodent. It swam under him, then scampered on webbed feet into a pile of refuse. It glared at him with dark beady eyes filled with malice.

"Piss off," Fritz hissed at the rat, and it scrabbled further into the filth.

"A smart rat, well I'll be damned," Fritz said to himself. "Almost as ridiculous as a smart snail-"

Something clicked into place in Fritz's mind. All those small details, and now obvious hints coming together to form a theory.

What if the Nightshark, like Bert, was some kind of beastmaster? What if the birds and other vermin could be spies? With that concerning thought, new questions and answers came to light.

His stomach dropped at the realisation, a stone of dread settling in his gut. He recalled that there was a stromhawk perched by one of the tunnel entrances and remembered how they had treated it. Now he suspected, as he should have before, that the bird, Bastard, had been watching the alley rather than just nesting there. If his guess was correct, the Nightshark would already know about his safe, or would eventually.

Fritz shook his head, he didn't remember being followed by the hawk, though any number of other birds or even rats could have seen him.

He decided to only check the grounds, or rather waters around the flooded manor. There were no people to be seen, but there, sitting on the patchy, tiled roof was a seagull. It was strutting this way and that, ostensibly keeping an eye out for fish, though it might be on a mission to keep watch.

Jittery cold slithered through him, and his skin crawled. However paranoid he had been in the past, it seemed it wasn't nearly enough to fully fool the Nightshark.

Instead of venturing forth to check the safe and risk being caught, Fritz instead changed tack and set off to find his other, far more meagre, stashes and recover what trinkets and clothes he had stored away. That course of action should look far less suspicious than simply turning around and leaving empty handed, especially as there was one such stashed bag nearby, stuffed just between a rotting windowsill and a wall.

With that plan in mind, he left. It was an easy thing to gather all the odd coppers and small items he had stolen and stashed around the drowned district. He also found and liberated his fancy purple coat, though he didn't put it on right away, he would wait until he was in the Upper Ring for that.

Armed with new insights and needing to warn his team, he made his way home. Before he left completely, he did, however, take the time to speak with some of the local gossips and get a handle on what was happening in the gutters.

It was bleak and bloody, and just listening to the tales of the 'Scarlet Storm' and the new upstart gang boss 'Sid Smiles' made his heart ache. Then his chest burned with barely controlled fury when he learnt of the ongoing siege of her territory and the whispered approach of a gang war.

"The Nightshark won't let a war happen," One gossip had said. "They'll have to get rid of this new kid. Too big for his boots he is. Keeps stealin' whores I hear, trying to build his own harem I bet. Takes kids too. The sick bastard. They also say he has a red scarf. And folk are beginning to whisper that he and the storm are the same. But that's all rumour and maybe one he started himself to seem deadlier than he is."

Fritz seethed inwardly at what he heard. All too much scorn and a lot of derision. Not many believed that Sid was up to any good, their cynical husks for hearts just couldn't accept such a thing.

"It'll all be over in a month," another gossip stated as if they had all the facts. "Nothing ever changes. Nightshark makes sure of it."

Fritz wanted to yell at them, and deny their hopelessness, but knew it would do no good. Unless they saw the truth for themselves they'd blind themselves with bleak platitudes about how it's always been and always going to be. Embracing the dark, siren song of despair that demanded that you accept: "That's just how it is. Get used to it."

That old lie.

Fritz was about to stalk off and break the siege himself when he felt he was being watched, again. He stopped in place and cooled his temper into something more cruel and deliberate. A cold knife for when he later hesitated, like he knew he would.

Although he desperately desired to find Sid and perhaps speak to her, he instead heeded Tallie's advice to watch and wait. He'd be no good so riled up anyway.

After a long exhalation, he straightened, strode to the Upper Ring gates and left the desperate district behind.

Fritz had things to do and power to seize. Once he had that, then he could help.

He just needed more power.