“She’s beautiful,” Tim said, pushing down the urgency to appear as casual as an agent in the lobby.

Princess Pearl’s handle had a smooth black casing designed with more class than Sheriff Lank could dream of, cut to show just enough of the polished wooden frame. Country Western with a magic kick born of Atlantis. If this became his, he’d put a capital A on the side and call it Atlantis.

The chamber was still hot to the touch. Its vents were frosted white. Tim broke it open where the barrel connected with the top and peered inside. He pictured how the bullets spiraled the grooves still glowing blue with magical residue. The site had a small, rounded rectangle glass with a micro window in the bottom corner.

Lank held one of the tiny bullets between thumb and forefinger for Tim to see. “Drop these into the cylinder and they expand to fit the mold. Shoots armor piercing rounds as long as my first finger and far enough to let you pick your shots. Armor piercing up to tier four. The explosion when they reach your insides sends a flash fire of light in a calculated pathway through your veins. First it fried your nervous system, then it calcifies in your arteries and chokes blood from your heart until you die of a heart attack. The best part is harvesting the organs to make more bullets. Lesser strength than the original, but you can store them in concentration tubes and get them pretty close. And then you have more. Which helps only a little that you made me waste a bullet.”

He extended a hand and Tim let him have his gun back. Till we meet again, Atlantis. You deserve so much better.

“On second thought,” Lank said, “the last time I saw S’Trace his s’tench was enough to curdle my appetite. I kinda like it how it is right now.” He planted a tense hand on Tim’s shoulder, as though daring him to pick another fight or submit to his rule here. “I’ll have Sal put it on his tab, then let you deal with his spiney demeanor later. Let’s head over and you can tell me how you learned to Peel.”

This close, Tim was in range to transport the gun back to Indi’s inventory. It would be the wrong pocket, though, and more truly, Tim wasn’t ready to give it up yet. More truly than that, he liked the challenge. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You mention his spiny demeanor,” Tim started. Swimming his shoulder to break free. A steal strength seized back. Along with a cheeky smile. “I’m not so keen on that spiney demeanor either. Or yours.”

“I know you’re not from around here. You’re smart enough to earn Peel, somehow, so I’ll clue you in to these gloves.” Lank wiggled a few fingers. The leather stitching gave it a sturdy look from a talented seamstress. Other than that, nothing extraordinary stood out. The dark green button resembling a flower pinned the pocket on the hand. A nice touch, but also nothing to write home about. Its design resembled a dried brown cone in the center with spots of green life, as though unsure if it were dead or just between seasons. A bud sprouted to form a popcorn kernel sized emerald knob on one end.

“You should see its power at full bloom,” Lank said. “Both the Princess and her gloves came with the mantle. Constable of Padstoligan, chief protector of all you see among these walls, and what you don’t. I could pry open a hoktha’s jaws with these on. You haven’t heard of a hoktha? They’re swamp lizards, some as long as you without counting the tail. Tend to chomp for the head and drag you in to play for a bit before they rip you apart. If the ever-honorable constable Lank puts these gloves on your person and tells you where to meet. You go. Or you meet them firsthand.”

He pinched Tim’s shoulder. A pressure point surged pain into Tim’s feet, buckling his knees.

The sheriff hooked an elbow to keep Tim from falling and off they went. “One might suspect S’Trace planning a heist by sending one of his men to arrive at daybreak unannounced.”

His volume in the last part carried enough for two of his goons to take the hint. The men acknowledged and started onto a street leading along the wall, leaving the female deputy to join Lank leading him down a central street. Rows of drying sheets and colorful cloths hung between multilevel squat homes.

Tim noticed a lightning bolt earring matched the engraving on the female deputy’s silver belt buckle. Tim’s Danger Sense pinged off both pieces and tapped a deep well of power. Her toned frame and no-nonsense gaze told him she also had a spiney side. Enough to kick him in the teeth for looking.

“Tell her to heel or I’ll quiet her myself,” she said.

He believed her. “Tonda, it’s okay, girl. They’re just scared. We’re going to get some food and see if any manners fall out on the way.”

Lank chuckled. His grip pinching Tim’s shoulder sent a reminder for caution. “How’d you get the Peel?” he asked and forced Tim’s stride toward a saloon tucked in the center of a cul-de-sac.

Tim made up a story of having earned it by saving a farmer from a cartel threat on their land. Taking Josim’s history and changing the names, he connected his reason for being here with an invite from the M’bochen neighbor with wanting to join S’Trace. He didn’t know what the mission was, but he too wanted to join the Krows.

It was clear a complete backtracking and attempt to smooth everything over between them would not work. Lank and his female deputy, Kari were both no-nonsense and wouldn’t respect buckling anyway. In this picture, they might have an issue if either were on the cartel payroll, but then again, Tim wanted to test that by how they reacted. His read on Lank was softer than Kari, which he suspected might mean the constable had some shadow deals with them. Kari’s comment, “serves em right. They’re lucky they didn’t try that on my dad’s farm,” made Tim wonder if he could negotiate another ally to the cause.

Lank retorted, “that’s why we make sure our farmers pay their protection tax. The cartel takes what the people let them have. Our value here is safety and a community where they can supplement their needs with trading and the kindness of their overseers to keep them safe.”

The audacity to say that with a straight face as he kept his vice grip on Tim was as damning as anything Lank had shown so far. Tim expected its record wouldn’t age well.

“It’s probably obvious at this point I like Kari more,” Tim said, matching Lank’s straight face. “Since we’re all being honest.”

Kari opened the door and Lank slapped Tim in the back. The force sent a spasm making Tim useless to the knees. He sprawled on the entrance to the sparsely populated saloon.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our new court jester,” Lank said, sending the patrons from stunned silence to forced laughter. It died with the effort of an old man rolling from bed. Tim suppressed a chuckle at the clear statement on the public opinion of the constable. Now to how he’d use it.

“I’d like to use it to wrap a noose around his neck, climb up and stab him between the eyes,” Indi said through their mental connection.

I’m not sure I want him dead just yet, Tim thought back. Is there anything in Padstoligan law that could force him into a holding cell? Tim asked Dryfu, then thought, no, we don’t want to draw attention to what he does or doesn’t have before being processed. What if we incite a small riot? Then we can blame it on a pick pocket.

“Oh I liiiike that idea!” Indi said.

You know, I kind of agree.

Alright Dryfu, you start it. Go knock over some drinks.

Tim felt Indi rubbing his hands together like an excited teenager. You stay where you are. Sorry. I want you to get recon for us when we leave.

“It smells like a Nazi’s butt in here,” Indi said. “I think he takes pride in it.”

A patron hollered. Tim feigned clumsiness trying to get Dryfu out of their Shepherd’s pie. His elbow dug into the sternum of a man with oily hair curling like a pig’s tail on his balding dome and enough battle wounds to exhibit a pattern of behavior. The man took exception at his nakedness on show and threw a jab. Rocks and stars. Then a good night right cross to invite the rest of the table to join the fun.

One of them truly said, yeehaw.

Had Tim known starting a brawl would be this easy…

Lank couldn’t help himself—as Tim expected.

He kept his gun tucked away, preferring fists and a good tossing.

Apparently, ahTuf—which could have been his name or a sound made when his friend took a gut punch deep enough to choke a turtle—Mr. ahTuf was a wiry strong chap with a hidden stun staff and a grudge against Sheriff Lank like he couldn’t believe.

Tim’s bright idea was like a blessing from on High. The brawl’s inception may have come from Tim’s plan, but it went off like gangbusters when ol’ ahTuf swung that charge staff high and hard into Lank’s groin.

All Tim had to do at that point, with Kari turning her attention to Lank’s new best friend, was grab a couple sandwiches and some milk on their way out. “Put it on Lank’s tab,” he told the cabinet secluded chef as they ran through the kitchen. And, “I think your oatmeal’s done.”

Tim let a giddy cheer escape while running in the back alley. Dryfu did, too, to his surprise. There you go, bud.

He scaled a fence and climbed to an overlook in the terrain.

Padstoligan stretched for about five miles, lit by early morning sun and its calm blessing. The trees here were fascinating, and Tim wasn’t sure why, but a strength emanated throughout. The taller ones eclipsed six or seven stories high. Built around these ancient towers were the pockets of their more elegant architecture. Swirling paint and engravings paid image to the flowing wind shape to the branches. Their tips curled over like his hair if he let it grow.

They scaled the eroded stone and on to a path skirting a nice property hedged in by younger but still venerable curling trees. Casting Analyze informed him that Ominio was the native name for them. They smelled of vanilla and pine, and every inhale seemed to ride a euphoric journey in their embrace. Near the base hung flowers like yellow lightbulbs. Nios were strong mana and energy producing fruit with the texture of a green banana. Sweet like lemons.

Tim stuffed his mouth and cut as many—

“I think you left something.”

Kari held Indi by his whip, like a rat by its tail.

Tim couldn’t tell if she was happy to see him or mere breaths from showing him what the lightning bolts could do. “I want the ledger. If you hand it over without making me repeat myself, I’ll let you have your friend back on one piece.”

Tim pegged her as the kind to enjoy being called out. Unlike Lank, who was just a bully with a lucky tool belt.

“I need to get this to S’Trace,” Tim took the ledger out. “What the two of you do with it after I deliver it is another matter.”

“You’re here two minutes and think you can start calling shots?” Kari softened, let Indi down gently into her vest pocket and started on a determined stride toward Tim. Her grin could have set oil aflame. The bolts charged with heat and a glimmer at the tips.

Tim channeled c-mana into prepare for a Peel and Steal. Knock her off her feet while he snatches Indi and then off for that gap in the trees.

“I’m just kidding,” Kari said, releasing a harmless smile. “I’d like to talk to S’Trace, too. I just needed to know if you were headed the same way.” She tapped his chest. A spark of electricity shocked him hard enough to make him throw his arm sidelong.

“Whoa!”

“That’s what you get for saying no. Let’s go. I’m keeping the Treasure Hunter.”

Tim stuttered. “What?” Did she mean Indi?

“I’m in love,” Indi said. “We’re going after treasure with or without you.”

“How’s that?” Tim asked.

“The Krows are here to escort the Rooster to a special tomb. Did you not know that?” Kari asked.

Tim shook his head, feeling like honesty would get him the farthest with her. “All I know is S’Trace needs me here, and when Indi snatched that ledger I knew it was why we got here when we did.”

“You think S’Trace planned that without telling you?” Kari asked.

“He’s a mysterious man.” Tim’s thoughts trailed back to the preceding weeks with more clarity than the previous day, which he couldn’t place to save his life.

“I guess so,” she said.

“What’s this about a special tomb?”

“Rooster’s great grandfather was a friend of locals. Wachamia’s Highlord granted him a tomb to guard the treasure they both found. Had been business partners. Now the treasure inside his tomb is some of the most sought after. Something to do with a secret deal between Wachamia and the Dutchy. The ledger has the directions and notes from Lank’s excavating. He came here to be constable to get that for himself. Always been his goal. Too bad he didn’t see it was mine too.”

“Will it be hard to reach even with the ledger?” Tim asked.

“Yes, but we have to worry about getting S’Trace and his group into the dungeon before Lank gets there. He’s a hot head. Not stupid. I imagine that’s why you created the diversion, to get the ledger before he noticed it?”

“Yeah.” Something clicked about the treasure and when they were. Six years ago the artisans started the rogue leveling. There might be something else in this, Tim thought and started untying the ledger’s leather strap from the button.

“Did you hear me?” Kari asked, waving him to follow. “We have to get to your friend before Lank.”

Tim relented and took off behind her, following a calculated path to cut through the woods. They ended up overlooking rows of run-down houses set around an ancient, black diamond garden. Shoulder high crystals were sculpted inside flower boxes adorned with matching black crystal symbols molded onto the four sides.

“What’re those?” Tim asked.

“Those are why you’re here, Gatewalker.”

A garden archway overgrown in pink flowers and vines partially concealed an adult sized replica of the door he took to get here.

“I can’t go back,” Tim said. “My brother’s here.”

“Couldn’t even if you wanted to. Ever since they used the garden to massacre the niveladors and gain the skill to enchant their Eiyero, we haven’t been able to open a gateway.”

S’Trace emerged from a bush, quiet as a dream. He reached out and Tim handed him the ledger. A flash and a surge of heat blasted into Tim’s grip.

He bolted upright in bed, shaking his hand. Sweat soaked his clothes and dropped from his brows.

S’Trace rolled off his beds quick as a whistle, and silent as a mouse, to pick something off the floor. He rose to a knee with Lank’s Ledger and an exhale of relief. “Nice work, Tim. Now get some actual rest. I need it, too. We take on the vahkel tomorrow night.”

Every question after that was met with a mumble or nothing, then snoring. With that, he gave up and let the layers of this world wrap around him, carrying him to sleep in a plethora of adventures to come. Among their numbers was added the quest to find Atlantis, whom he’d name when Princess Pearl became his. He couldn’t wait for the look on Lank’s face when he took it.