A little walk down memory lane. Factory on the flatlands. The gate. Dancing lessons. Another gate. The half-naked gangster.

The way to the Weeping River flatlands was easy and familiar. Things were different undoubtedly, yet at the same time, Sal could discern landmarks that had been there since the time of Grandfather Mood. There was the old wall, the old marketplace, and Fisherman’s Village, which had some new houses built up there.

From the little he knew, he thought that fishmongers were still under the control of the Yanir Republic government, which meant the governor held some power there. Sal’s father had used smoked fish for a special boiled bread sandwich he used to make. It was next-level breakfast food, and it involved cream cheese, capers, and red onion. If Sal was on the governor’s good side, he might have an in there. That was the hope at any rate.

Even from a distance, Sal could smell the chickens, wafting out of the warehouses where the Feather Pharaoh kept them. Showing up unannounced was a risky business, granted. However, Sal had a bit of a plan, given what Fabrizio had told him the night before.

Sal was still smiling, remembering Shivaun’s reaction to him taking actual action. If this worked out, they might be able to open next week. He’d have eggs, at least, maybe some chicken, though he didn’t want to add another menu item. If he started serving chicken right away, his customers would come to expect it.

But who was he kidding? What were the chances he’d have any customers at all? That would involve sales and marketing, a lot of sales and marketing. As a Dark Lord, he’d not had to do much self-promotion. Getting people to fear you was easier than getting people to love you. Swords and sorcery helped with the fear part. Good governance helped with the latter.

He had to think positive. He had an oath to fulfill.

At the center of the chicken warehouses was a tall spire, rather grand in fact, and if Sal wasn’t mistaken, it had been built where Riverglitter Manor used to stand. Yes, he recognized a sunken section of wall with rusted iron spikes stinking out of the muddy ground. The spire reminded him of the tower he’d seen southeast of Confusion Street, where the pork rendering plants were. Did all the Braggadorios have such towers?

Beyond was the Weeping River itself, a wide muddy stream that branched off to drain into the sea. There were docks there, and wide barges, taking the Feather Pharaoh’s eggs to other places on the island and maybe even to the mainland itself. It was a big, bustling operation, and there were workers everywhere, wearing bright yellow, tight-fitting jumpsuits. Some of the more slender workers wore them better than the chunkier ones.

Sal walked up to the main offices without anyone stopping him. The spire itself rose from the southern part of a building, and it was clear there was a courtyard inside. The building had been built out of yellow brick, a bit more muted than the outfits the workers wore, though he could see it had been painted in a vain attempt to match the theme.

Sal encountered a gate blocking his entry. On the other side, in a stone corridor, sat a woman at a desk. She was talking to a huge man, with bulging biceps and an expansive chest. He wore a short-sleeved, tight yellow shirt above bright yellow pants and even brighter yellow boots. A tight blond beard clung to his chiseled face. He had long, curly hair, which didn’t help the spots thinning up top.

Both the man and the woman were in deep conversation. Sal cleared his throat to get their attention.

The huge man turned on his heel. “Oh, there’s a guy there. Hey, guy, what do you want?” He spoke with an accented voice, maybe from someplace north, though Sal couldn’t place it.

“I’m here to see the Feather Pharaoh.”

The blond giant grinned. “Ja, that is me.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “Maybe you like eggs, guy?”

Sal had been called buddy, chief, ace, and pal o’ mine long enough that he didn’t mind being called “guy.” That was thanks to Betty, who was in his pocket, probably sleeping from their long walk to the Pharaoh’s flatlands. “I enjoy eggs a great deal, as a matter of fact. That is only one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Ooh, mystery guy. Maybe you pack weapons, guy? Maybe spells, guy? Any spells you want to tell me about?”

“Not a one.” That was the truth. His Diagraff remained locked down tight.

“The gate, she is open, guy. You come in, maybe.”

Sal pushed and was surprised that the gate opened inward. He stepped into the shade, thankful for the cool air. “I’m Sal Fang, and I was wondering if you could help me learn how to dance.”

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This was the truth. Sal was wondering if this gangster could dance at all, and if dancing was in his repertoire of skills, could he pass those talents along?

The blond giant glanced at the woman, who wore a yellow dress that was struggling to keep her body covered. There was a vast expanse of tanned cleavage. She was as blond as the giant, with similar features. She wore a yellow scarf, probably to hide her own thinning hair. If he had to guess, Sal would think they were siblings. Or was he an uncle? That could be.

“You believe this guy? I ask about eggs…he says maybe dancing. That maybe funny, maybe. What you think, Olga?”

“Ja, Otto. You have time before lunch. How about you give him whirl?” There was a small smile on her face. It was not one you could trust.

Otto and Olga. Sal had some names to remember.

Otto the Feather Pharaoh put his hands on his hips. “Out of all the dinglebricks in this tower town, you come to me? You think, maybe, I don’t have better things to do?”

Sal smiled. “It sounds like you are enjoying a moment of relaxation before lunch. The dancing was just one of the things I wanted to see you about. It perhaps is not the issue of major importance, and yet, I thought I would start our conversation there.”

Otto frowned. “You not from around here, guy. Maybe you come from other places?”

“I am new in town.” Sal then gambled everything. “I want to open a diner in Champion Plaza, in Tony Belly’s old place. Do you know if Tony Belly liked peaches?”

There was a moment of painful silence.

Then Otto grunted laughter. “This guy, he kills me. That my great great grandad. He dead long time now. What I know of peaches?” Then he turned deadly serious. “You get that place how? Tell me, guy, because maybe me and other Braggadorios not like it much.”

“Not like it at all, Otto,” Olga agreed. “I not like it.”

“You not alone, sister, in this not liking.”

So they were siblings.

Sal chose his words carefully. “Verily, my tale would be long to tell before lunchtime. In short, I sought shelter there, and managed to befriend one of the ghosts with the help of a Ponti. If you were to ask me, I would say it was a matter of destiny. Not to be confused with Destiny Square.”

“Befriend a ghost?” Otto erupted into deep-throated laughter.

The sister wasn’t laughing at all. There was only suspicion in her eyes.

“I will soon have the legal paperwork,” Sal said quickly. “What I do not have are eggs. How can one cook without eggs? They are the very foundation of most every meal. That and onions. I grew up with a father who taught me how to chop onions only a few days after I learned to walk.”

“Not from around here at all!” The giant guffawed. “The brass eggs on this guy. I like. I like. So you come to me before you go to the Viscount?”

“I might be mistaken, but I do not believe the Viscount knows how to dance.”

That brought more laughter, and even a quick smile from the sister.

The giant spun. “Come then. I have Ollie drum. He in the courtyard. We talk while we dance.” He turned back. “Maybe I don’t get Ollie yet. Maybe I see if you have any rhythm, guy, before you waste my time. I clap. You dance.”

It was the very acme of indignities. Sal was about to turn and march right out of the gate, when he thought of Mendica the Penniless, the lost middle sister of the Sacred Family. She’d danced for her Deux Coin, and he would do the same. It was time to put his pride in his pocket. Betty would take care of it.

He motioned for the giant to commence clapping.

Otto did, clapping away, with a rather vile look of expectation in his blue eyes.

Sal couldn’t remember the last time he’d even attempted to move to a beat. He had to give it to you the giant, his clapping was hypnotically rhythmic.

Sal took a few jerky steps, trying to move his feet to the beat, but what should he do with his hands? He did some very awkward hand motions, and all in all, he didn’t think he was doing too badly. And he did have Youngin Reflexes proficiency. That seemed to help.

Only the pair laughed. He thought this was the end of it. He’d be ousted without another word.

Otto, though, nodded. “We can work with that. This, this guy, he do anything for eggs. We can work a lot with that. A willing mind brings happy feet, maybe. Come. Come.”

Following the giant, Sal left the woman and walked through the corridor. He saw a rusted gate to his left, with steps leading down. Could it be that led to Riverglitter Manor? It had to be around here somewhere.

“Sir,” Sal started. “I heard rumors of a great mansion that used to be here in the Weeping River Flatlands. Do you know if its fate?”

“Buried by the river, guy. I built this place on top of it.”

“Has anyone been down there, to, how do I put this? To see what might lie underneath. The Chanticleer family had a great deal of wealth.”

“Buried, guy.”

Sal wasn’t sure about that. He’d very much like to see for himself. That piece of business could wait. First, the dancing lessons.

The corridor opened up into a courtyard, made of cobblestones. Above the stones was a dancefloor made of polished wood that included a stage with big candelabras on either side. There were several trees there, planted in circles of dirt, cut into the wood. Couches lined the walls underneath canopies.

Sal could imagine what the place would be like at night, with the candles burning, a band on the stage playing, and the dance floor packed. At this point, there was only a drummer relaxing in a cushioned chair up on stage.

The blond giant caught him looking. “That Ollie Ovum, a nephew, he drum. Ollie, you drum, okay? This guy came for dancing lessons. I show him how to do it good.”

Well, Sal corrected the giant in his mind. Well is an adverb, that is meant to describe how well you dance.

Ollie Ovum grabbed a big drum next to him and started up a rhythm.

For a second, Sal considered the name. Was it Otto Ovum? Did they have the same rather awkward surname? It was a miracle of vocabulary as it was both awkward and very on the nose.

Otto laughed. “Now, that is the beat, ja? Can you feel beat, mystery guy? I think maybe you can feel it. I can. I can feel it with my whole body. It is the heartbeat of the world!” The giant stripped off his shirt and kicked off his boots. A second later, after pulling off his very yellow stockings with chickens embroidered on them, he stood there barefoot, only wearing pants.

Sal smiled, a bit uncertainly. “What kind of dancing are we talking about, your feathery highness?”