By the time Mary Louise noticed the men at the door they must have been there a while. She didn't hear their footsteps outside the tavern, but these men were known to be quiet – one of Lord Henry's sentinels, and Angus, a local farmer. Angus was a bitter man, always complaining about a life of service to the land instead of whatever vague things he had done before. She knew he had been a warrior, and he dressed like one now.

Both were armed and armoured, each in a sombre dark blue. They looked at her with blank, grim faces, and she stood, knowing she couldn't stop them coming in if they wanted but not willing to act like she was afraid of them. Even if she was.

Angus stepped over the threshold, but didn't come close.

"What is you want, then?" she asked.

"Let us know if your Augustus the Brave shows up here," he said.

"Why would I need to do that?" she asked. "Isn't he on a mission for your Lord Henry?"

"Aye, he is, but if he comes here with his spoils instead of going to the Lord like he should then you let us know so we can take care of it." He grinned a sinister grin out of one side of his face. "I wouldn't want you to do anything that could be considered rebellious."

"You know I don't make trouble," she said, clutching her dishrag so hard her knuckles went white.

Angus nodded. "Good woman," he said, and turned and walked out, the sentinel following in his footsteps.

She stood and watched them until they were so far from her tavern she couldn't see them at all.

She didn't make trouble. But protecting a friend wasn't trouble, it was good sense. If Augustus turned up she wouldn't tell a single soul.

*

Gus followed the strange man into a darkened room.

The door slowly shut behind them and all that light and noise and heat turned off. He stumbled forward into the dark.

"Careful," said the man.

And then the room lit up all at once. The room was really a street, surrounded by house-fronts and greenery on both sides. The buildings looked humble, small, but people and strange creatures silently moved toward them, like workers heading home at the end of the day.

"Is that better?" the stranger asked.

Gus blinked. "Better than what?"

The other man laughed, and it was a soft, gentle sound. He was dressed differently than he had been when they first met, like a farmer in his best clothes. They were all black and silver and neatly pressed. Cared for, obviously, but not stiff like new clothing.

"You can call me Simon," the man said.

"Is that your name?" Gus asked.

"It can be, if I want it to be. And I want to be today."

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"You can call me Augustus."

"I know who you are. I've been waiting for you for a very long time."

Gus shivered all over and felt the prickling feeling of all his hair standing on end. But he bit his lip so he wouldn't ask. He didn't want to know.

"Can you tell me about the changeover?" Gus asked. "People keep mentioning it."

Simon turned and favoured him with a smirk and an arch of one of his finely shaped eyebrows. "You move fast. Don't you want to get to know me first?"

And then he twirled around and walked faster up the path. Gus sped up to catch up.

"I don't understand," Gus said.

"I have so many beautiful things to show you. Can't you wait a while until you ask me these questions?"

Simon flicked his hair out of his eyes in the manner of a dog on a wet dog, and looked to his side with evident amusement. Gus couldn't help but feel all these showy movements were for his benefit, but he couldn't understand why.

"Come on. I'll show you one of the work spaces," Simon said.

And Gus didn't understand why the world below would have a work space, or how it could help with his mission, but he nodded and followed.

*

Tiger stumbled forward with the fortune teller in tow, nearly hitting a wall in his haste to avoid the screaming crowds. Only when the crowds had passed, and so had the noise, did he disentangle himself from her entirely and step back.

She moved her shiny turban, which had fallen half over one eye, and her hair fell everywhere. "Zhang Jie, you will meet a series of dangerous women."

"Story of my life," he said. He looked around them, lost.

"And you must make the right decisions on who to trust or your mission will fail."

"You're not much of a fortune teller, are you? I could have figured that out for myself."

She stumbled and tried to right her turban again. The wide, shimmering sleeves of her semi-sheer coat fell back to her elbows the more she fiddled with it, revealing strange scarring on her tawny forearms. "I don't see as far when the master is in the house. He clouds my eyes."

Indeed, the longer he looked the more cloudy her eyes got.

"The lord of the underworld. Were there really twelve immortals ruling below him?"

She nodded. "There were, once. I told him 13 was an unlucky number, but he would not listen. Now there are fewer below him to help him lead and the changeover comes. His rule will have been short."

"How short?"

"Perhaps a century."

He whistled. "Not too shabby."

"The one before him ruled for three centuries."

"Maybe he doesn't want the job anymore. You wouldn't happen to know where we're going, would you?"

She looked around and smelled the air. "This direction leads to New Moon House."

Sure enough, a strange two-storey building rose in the distant darkness, its balconies lit up with sickly green lights. They stopped in the middle of the road to gaze at it.

"Can I trust it?" he asked.

"That's for you to decide."

"You're not a lot of help, are you? Then my last question is, what is your name?"

"I... Yasmeen. I once was called Yasmeen."

"That's a beautiful name."

She was elegant in spite of her slipping turban when serious, but that shy smile tipped her over into beautiful. "You're kind, in spite of yourself. But we must part ways here."

She walked off into the dark, and he readied himself to journey further in alone.

*

Where Ada had gone was dark, cold nothingness and very, very quiet. Finally, a moment of peace.

*

Rose stumbled further into the dampness of the cave. The walls were brilliantly phosphorescent, decorated with coral growths and slow moving algae. Everything smelled damp, stuffy, unpleasant. Beautiful but toxic. She was sure whatever she was breathing in was destroying her now-human lungs.

The black swans weren't in there. Such a shame, when they were such beautiful animals. She had almost wanted to touch one earlier, to stroke its beautiful beak. But she was no fool, and knew birds didn't want to be bothered by strangers any more than she did. And they must surely be used to getting left alone.

She fell against the wall. Too much of the ground was underwater, and the water too dark, for her to feel safe walking just anywhere. Who knew what swam in the deep. Her hands scraped against the rock, and were smeared with blood and sweat and whatever it was that oozed down against her. She wiped them against her dress, and felt sorry for herself, and felt foolish for feeling sorry for herself.

A large dead fish jumped up out of the waters, its rotting skin ugly in the lurid light, and dove back down beneath.

She walked on, and on, and on, determined to find somewhere to rest.

And then the waters dried up and the ground rose to a plateau, and she could see a tall, dark man in a long, dark suit standing, back to her.

"Nathaniel," she said.

He turned and moved no part of his face other than his eyebrow, and her suspicion was confirmed.

"You killed my brother," she said.

"He killed my wife," he said. "Have you come for me to kill you, too?"

"I've come for what you took from me."