Ove travelled through the halls as quickly as she could, hoping to catch Holmfridur while her mana was still low. Without mana, she could not pull the walls from just anywhere, and would have to use her Key. The halls were oppressively bright, but were silent beyond the click of her talons. She reached the more comfortably lit sitting room, but Holmfridur and Braheem were not there. Had she fled as soon as she defeated Theophilus?

She quickly searched the room, but they had left nothing behind but the stench of sweat in the couch and pine perfume in the air. The Guild Hall shuddered, and a distant rumbling announced the walls sliding back into position. Holmfridur was out of mana, then. If she could not bend her halls, she would flee to Osvaldus’s chamber to search for Dew.

Ove left the sitting room, and only hesitated long enough to prod empty rooms with Sound as she passed them. She came to a wide chamber wrapped in tapestries depicting Luster’s Awakening, where again statues held up the ceiling. Her Key called the arms of the statue down, unfolding stairs gilded all along the rails in typical pretentious Guild fashion.

She flew up the stairs, into Puppet Master Mettemarie’s halls, every inch intricately painted and decorated with abstract scenes that only Mettemarie understood. Wooden depictions of trees, folk and even the Gods arched up the walls and across the ceiling to frame the halls at seemingly random intervals. Mettemarie was a creative and disorganised woman, but more importantly, she was not in West Eddy, and her halls were dark.

Now that she was beyond the blazing, erratic impediment of Holmfridur’s halls, she could pass easily to the upper levels. She wrapped herself in a tight bubble of Air and ducked into the shadows. She wriggled through the vacant dark up past Theophilus’s halls, Andersine’s, and Cyprian’s.

She finally emerged in Osvaldus’s Garret, beneath a row of enormous stone arms leaned against the wall. Osvaldus’s opulent chandelier swung awkwardly in the centre of his circular workshop, bending the shadows as it swayed. Holmfridur was frantically tearing the room apart beneath it, tossing the contents of drawers across the floor and emptying cabinets into haphazard piles.

Ove wrapped herself in shadow before Holmfridur could notice her. The workshop was a mess of scattered sculptures, most unfinished or broken. The loud tick of the clock on the tower filled the space, piercing through the steady groan of metal above. She crept up towards Holmfridur, passing a knotted oak desk with an elaborate sketch of Osvaldus’s most ambitious work, a statue of the seven Archangels that he had not yet managed to complete.

She looked back to the distraught woman, now hunched over with her hands on her knees. Braheem shook like an abused dog, under an armless statue. Holmfridur straightened, looking around the room with the crazed desperation of a woman gone mad. The safe she was looking for was in the wall in plain view. Osvaldus did not even lock it anymore, because locks would delay his drink.

Ove cast a Dark spell into the cabinet, and the shadows twisted together to form a throng of skeletal shadow arms that reached out and grasped Holmfridur around her face and waist. Wails flew from her throat like bats from the Bell Towers as they dragged her into the dark armoire. She kicked and clawed the shadows until they enveloped her like the threads of a cocoon, forcing her still. She thrashed against the shadows, only her narrow, fearful eyes showing.

“You really do need to see the rectors,” Ove said, “You’re getting worse.”

Holmfridur sagged, letting her head bounce loosely with each ragged inhalation. The silver cell had not been good for her mind, and she had already been agitable. Ove would have to deal with her after. She turned to Braheem, who was still cowering on the floor as if the statue’s legs would conceal him.

“Whatever you seek, I do not have it!” He waved a broken sword at her pathetically. His eyes squinted defensively, giving him an expression that was something like Holmfridur’s.

Ove looked at the white pommel peeking out from beneath Braheem’s coat, and turned to Lyrua in The Sleepy Kiln.

“He ran away with the dagger,” Ove said. “He is pretend-ing not to have it, even though I can see it. A fool of a man.”

“You’re there right now…?” Lyrua asked in a reticent tone. “Well, good, I warned him not to try anything.”

“Is that why he shakes like a rattler’s tail? What did you tell him? He ran to hide at the Guild.”

“The… really?” Lyrua rolled her eyes. “I told him the militia would nail him to the bow of his own ship if he was not there with my dagger.”

“And the jumpy rat still ran off with it?” Ove’s beak clacked, and she returned her attention to Braheem.

He looked like a child with his legs crossed and his hands on the statue’s ankle. He peered past the statue’s grey stone robe with just one narrow eye, relying on the unmoving man to defend him while his broken sword lay discarded.

“You look like a fool,” Ove told him. She withdrew the bag of gold that Fourstaile had given her, and tossed it at his feet. “Six hundred gold. That’s all you get for the Oil. Now return that dagger.”

His eyes brightened, and his head came out fully around the leg. “The deal was a thousand.”

“The deal was we nail you to your ship if you run away,” she snapped.

He lurched back with a pathetic whimper, only hesitating long enough to grab the gold. “I sought out my sister only for p-protection! I am a respected merchant, I do not break my word!” He pushed himself up from behind the statue and faced Ove with renewed confidence.

“Your sister?” She turned to where Holmfridur hung from the cabinet, wrapped in a hundred arms of shadow.

“My half sister. My father was from Geodome.” His hand hovered near the dagger. “Give me the rest of my gold, and the name of the woman who left the dagger with me, as proof that you represent her.

“Her name is Ser-meledy Forrow, and you’ll get no more gold. Four hundred is the price of making me find you. Unless you would prefer the nails.” She tossed some nails to unnerve him, but he managed to hold his composure with only a meek shudder.

“Fine.” With stumbling fingers he unbelted the dagger and slid it across the floor, knocking the nails back towards her.

Ove snatched it and tucked it into her cloak. Then, at the Sleepy Kiln, she withdrew the dagger and handed it to Lyrua.

“That… thank you, Ove,” she said, a bit perturbed. She accepted the dagger and stuffed it into her bag.

Ove released Holmfridur from the spell, the shadowy limbs curled away and fell apart like flakes of ash to vanish back into the yielding shadow. The Puppet Master toppled to the ground, and lay flat staring at Ove with bitter eyes.

“There is some thing in your family, Braheem. Holm-fridur, I’ve been telling you, but you need to get to the Church and get help from the rectors, or that fear will continue to rot your mind until it is all that remains. They can listen to you and help you under-stand how you feel, so that it does not have power over you.”

“What could you know of what I need? I’ve seen the rectors before, and they could not aid me.” She pushed herself up to sit on her knees, her dress full of dust and wrinkles. “Then monsters like you come around, haunting me from dark corners.”

Ove stared at Holmfridur, wondering what she could say that would be right. “I lived my whole life in the dark, and I’ve seen all the worst things that lurk there,” she said, settling for the only thing that came to mind. “None of them are more dangerous than me, and I won’t hurt you.”

“You already have.” Her red dress crumpled around her waist as she stood. She brushed the fabric down, vainly trying to smooth it out.

“No!” Ove cawed. “I only harmed myself, and the rest of you took it as an insult and lost your minds.”

“You may be right,” the tall woman said. “But so are we. Your experiments were grotesque and had no place here. They never will. You never will. Take your dagger and begone.”

Ove stared at Holmfridur for a long moment, searching for something to say that could help. She wished she had Lander with her to say something blunt and true. Or even Athen, to blurt out the first thing that came to his mind, even when he should keep quiet.

“My fear is not paranoia when you are here,” Holmfridur finished. Her brother stood up and straightened his clothes as well. His fingers played with the sack of coins as he stared at her with renewed confidence.

Ove watched Lyrua reading to Athen in the Sleepy Kiln. She would not do anything to bring them harm. She would suffer seeing them hurt. She shifted around on her talons, suddenly conscious of their weight. A feeling of disconnection from her wooden parts afflicted all her bodies.

She had called the Puppet Masters her friends, but she had done something that harmed the Guild and brought shame upon them all. She had never felt towards them as she felt about Lyrua and Athen. And Lander. It was uncomfortable looking at Holmfridur and Lyrua, and she did not know why. Something was juxtaposed between the two that made her limbs itch with regret.

Holmfridur crossed her arms, watching Ove twitch through squinted eyes. Her black feathers rustled as she began to understand. Her talons tightened on the stone floor. Head lowered, she stared at the delicate laces in Holmfridur’s slippers, afraid to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Holm-fridur,” Ove murmured. She hoped Holmfridur could not see her eyes glistening. “I didn’t know what I was doing, did I? To you or myself.”

“Regretful that it took you coming back here and tormenting us to realise that.” She frowned. “But I’m glad you did. I might get some sleep tonight after all.” She turned her head away and waved dismissively. “Off with you then. Take your shame back to your Queen.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Holmfridur stood quietly with her back turned, waiting for Ove to leave. She did not know what else she could do, but with her brother, perhaps they would see the rectors and see their treatment through to the end.

Ove made her way out of the Guild Hall. She breathed the fresh air deeply, letting it fill her and wash clean her stress as she exhaled. It might do well to see Osvaldus, she thought.

She found him in Town Hall, standing over a pair of Lyrua’s muddy boot prints arguing with his clerk.

“Osvaldus,” she said quietly.

He turned, his eyes narrowing as they fell over her. His lip curled with contempt. “Your Master already told me you were here. Why don’t you just leave? We have no business.”

“Yes we do,” Ove insisted. She had not wanted to return to West Eddy, but now that she was here, she did not want to leave things unresolved.

“I have guests to attend to. Come back later if you insist on ruining my day.” He spun on his good leg and limped up the stairs.

Ove followed him furtively, standing just out of sight whenever he turned around, until he opened the door to his office. A gust of salty, sweaty air insulted her nostrils, but a familiar earthy aroma accompanied it. He slammed the door shut, forcing Ove to go between shadows to enter the room.

She poked her head out under his desk. His room was usually immaculate, but the rug looked like it was developing salt stains. All of his chairs, carved and polished by Mettemarie, were scattered around the table. He must have recently finished a meeting with the captains.

His new guests were looking out of his window, taking in the view of the clock tower where Osvaldus’s workshop was.

“If Her Highness already told you, then there is nothing else to discuss,” Fourstaile said.

Captain Spilde nodded. “The town will be safe with us around. Just don’t go prodding about our business.”

Fourstaile turned from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. “Where did you say Lyrua was staying?”

“I have no idea, she didn’t say.” He grumbled, shambling over to his desk to sit in the thick-cushioned chair. Ove slipped back into the shadow and moved behind the curtains.

“No matter.” Fourstaile was saying as Ove climbed out. “Ove will know we are here, and will lead us to her.”

Ove brushed the curtain out of her way. “Yes, Four-staile.”

“There you are, finally.” Fourstaile tried to stare the information out of her.

“The Sleepy Kiln, east side of town.”

“Really? An Iron inn? I would have guessed The Opal Roost.” She waved Spilde off, and he was gone before Ove could clack her beak.

“The Opal Roost is better, but it does not have Lander’s pretty friend,” Ove chirped.

Fourstaile’s face softened a little. “Is that so? I can’t wait to be introduced. Come on then. Let’s not keep them waiting.” She opened the door, and looked back eagerly at Ove.

“I’ll meet you there. I have some thing to settle with the Mayor.” Ove dragged a chair across the room to the desk and perched on it.

“Fine,” Fourstaile said, “But let’s not keep them waiting.” Her impatient tone made it clear she was the one who did not want to wait, but Ove was already at the inn, so she was not worried about discipline from Fourstaile.

Ove stared at Osvaldus until the door clicked shut behind the Highward.

“So the Queen managed to cure you. A shame. What do you want?” The disgruntled old Master spat as he spoke, owing to a few missing teeth.

She fidgeted nervously in her seat. “Cyprian wanted to kill me, but you beat and banished me instead.” The words came reluctantly, from a place in her heart she had kept carefully closed off for nearly a decade.

“So what?” Osvaldus looked as uncomfortable as Ove felt, letting himself be distracted with something outside the window instead of looking at her.

“I mis-understood you.”

“I don’t think you did. Just because I don’t care if you live, doesn’t mean I want you here. It doesn’t mean what you did, what you are, is any less abhorrent. I just don’t believe in killing.” A flash of concern crossed his face, but it was gone before he could meet her eyes. “Cyprian… He was the one who poisoned Holmfridur’s delicate mind with evil thoughts. I don’t know what he said to Theophilus and Andersine, but it must have been quite something to get those two optimists worked up. The only reason I’m telling you this is because Cyprian is not headed towards Manataklos with Andersine and Mettemarie. He is headed for Kraken’s Boundary, to aid the Captains with Highest Tide.” He squeezed his hands. “I told the Queen already, but go to Flow if you aren’t keen on meeting him.”

“Thank you,” Ove said. She calmly repositioned herself to avoid denting his chair with her talons. “I would rather not have to face Cyprian.” The old Paradisian, with his Origin spells, would be a greater threat than Holmfridur and Theophilus together. “What can we do about Holmfridur? She isn’t well. Her brother was with her, and he isn’t well either.”

He scratched the patchy hair on his chin. “I did bring rectors in to speak with her, but it does little to help if she will not speak to them or take their medicine. What would you suggest?”

“I don’t have any new ideas,” said Ove, “but she is stronger with her brother. They might do better together.”

“Then I can send for the rectors while he is still in town, but I can’t force her to sit with them. Was there anything else you wanted? I have a lot of work to do.” He slapped a stack of documents on his desk, and then grabbed frantically for the scattering sheets as the top slid off.

“She used up her mana and tossed your attic about looking for Dew.”

Osvaldus’s eye began twitching like a dying flame. Only a low, pained groaning escaped him. As his face began to turn red, Ove hopped off the chair and opened the shadow of the desk.

“Sorry for spooking her!” She climbed into the shadow.

Athen giggled furiously as Ove tickled him. Lyrua was curled up with one of her books on the bed, pretending the racket did not bother her, but her subtle sideways glances told Ove otherwise. She stopped tickling so he could catch his breath, but her fingers wiggled threateningly near his ribs. She had to tire him out a little or he would never sleep on time.

“I saw Four-staile, my Lady,” she said to Lyrua, resuming her attack on the prince. He crumpled with laughter, and Lyrua gave a resigned sigh as she tucked her book away.

“Finally. When will she be here?” Lyrua reached over the bed and grabbed her son under his arms, pulling him to her to rescue him from Ove’s unrelenting attack.

“I don’t know,” Ove shrugged. “She is on her way from Town Hall. When will Lander be back from his date? We should try to leave tonight or those Captains will be gone while we grow fat in bed.”

By the way Lyrua rolled her shoulders, Ove could tell that she still ached from Skoverdant’s tantrum. “Osvaldus recommended I seek out Delibera. I saw her taking lunch with her crew in The Royal Chamber.”

Ove split her attention between the docks and The Royal Chamber. She reached The Royal Chamber first, and did not waste mana hiding. The extravagant inn was finally getting their mess sorted out. Rugs once again graced the floors, and candles danced all around the entrance, casting the young clerk in an inviting glow. Ove hopped confidently through the front doors, ignoring the clerk’s startled squeak.

The bushy cat she saw with Sullivan accosted her with claws bared, but he did not give her a hard time when she asked about Delibera. The Orphan of Insight was not staying at the inn, and had not returned since lunch.

Ove simultaneously approached the docks on the north end of town, where the packed dirt roads of West Eddy turned to mud and long shadows blended the low buildings with the rolling, dusk-mirrored sea.

In a port of rough ships aged by decades of seafaring, crusted with barnacles and crawling with burly sailors, the Underbolge was easy to spot. Although much of the ship was just as beaten as the others, there was a delicate silver trim along the rails and figurehead that gave the whitewood ship a soft appearance, like a cloud rolling along towards the setting sun.

The tide was rough, already high enough to lap over the docks. If they could make it through Kraken’s Boundary before Highest Tide, it would be impossible for anyone to follow them. Ove stepped carefully as she made her way down to the docks, trying to keep her feet from sticking in the mud. She could see Delibera from a distance, the curl of her green horns glittering in the setting sun.

The mud covered her talons until she regretted ever trying to walk through it. She rinsed her feet in a puddle and lifted herself up with a gust of Air. Wings spread wide, she sailed towards the Underbolge, tilting as she drew close to land on the rail, away from Delibera’s aggressive stare. The crew looked at her quizzically from the boarding ramp as they hauled provisions aboard, but trusted their Captain to announce anything of concern.

Ove did not move towards the towering Captain. Her sword was as long as a human, and edged with silver to cut through spells or anyone dull enough to anger her. She assessed Ove carefully before waving her forward.

“What is your business with me, little crow?” She asked, in a lilting voice that boomed like trumpets. She crossed her arms behind her back.

“Osvaldus said you might take us to Flow for the right price,” Ove said carefully.

The Captain smirked, “If he did, then he is a fool. I never take strangers, and we do not take passengers before Highest Tide anyway.” She took a few steps forward to examine Ove more closely. “Not even to Flow.” Her grin widened a little, and her eyes narrowed as if considering something devious. “Unless you are willing to pay the ultimate price?”

Ove cocked her head. There was surely no way that Delibera intended to submit them to Judgement and turn all of West Eddy upside down with a plague of unshakable guilt. “You wouldn’t do that,” Ove said plainly. “What is the true price?”

Delibera laughed, and her crew joined her, filling the air with raucous mirth. “Three hundred gold per head, half that for children under ten. If you can feed yourselves, it will be two hundred only.” She leaned in close again until her strong nose touched the end of Ove’s beak. “Each person must submit to Diagnosticate so I know I can kill you if you cause trouble.”

Ove turned south, as if she could see Lyrua and Athen from her perch on the Underbolge. Her other eyes saw Lyrua conversing with Fourstaile, but she stayed out of the conversation. Fourstaile was angry about a sarcastic comment Lander made about her being late.

“That won’t work,” Ove said to Delibera. The Captain stood straight and her chest began to rumble with laughter again, but Ove continued. “Diagnos-ticate doesn’t work on Irons, but you know their weakness already. And I won’t let you point it at a seven year old. You can do it to me, and to the mother.” She sighed. It would reveal Lyrua’s identity, so Ove had to consider whether she should warn the Captain in advance.

Delibera placed a hand on the rail near Ove, leaning forward so she was nearly engulfed by the massive woman. “Ah, really?” she said disappointedly in Ove’s ear. “Here I was hoping you were trying to refuse, as they all do. Whatever you seek must be quite important.”

Ove made up her mind. “The mother is Lyrua Kirke-gaard, High Queen of Nythyemere,” Ove whispered, so the crew who were meandering about, trying to look busy just within earshot could not hear. “Diagnos-ticate will show a Gear on her head. Better you not be surprised but I would use dis-cretion.”

Delibera raised an eyebrow, somehow leaning in even closer. “You know quite a bit about Orphans of Insight, little bird,” she smirked. “I will not lie to my crew if they ask, but I suppose I can Diagnosticate you somewhere out of sight… for the beautiful Queen.” She stretched to ease the knots out of her back. “Off with you then. We leave at dawn.”