Larsen paced in his office, ignoring the glorious sunset that shone through the huge window behind his desk. The view of Founder's Park, the Wall, and the Plains that spread to the horizon normally calmed him, but he was expecting a report from his Blade on the Polo situation, and the Blade was late.

Things were starting to spin out-of-control. Somehow word had gotten out that someone wanted to assassinate Polo, and that created a whole new set of complications for him. Larsen felt he could handle the murmuring in the streets if he actually was able to assassinate Polo, but the longer things went, the more unstable things would get.

To make matters worse, Orion's nephew was walking around the guild tower causing all kinds of mischief, reminding everyone that he was the Deputy Guildmaster and that they had to listen to him. It was, if possible, worse mischief than his brother had caused before he fled to the Wretched Quarter—guild members took the boy seriously and were listening to him as if he had a legitimate title, absurd as it was.

The boy, Keres, didn't actually do anything other than eat and boss others around, but it was how he was doing it that caused problems. He would often demand something minor but annoying—such as desirable quarters in the Tower or the choice of an especially fine Merchant ship for transportation—and the individual would appeal to Larsen to overturn the request. Not wanting to upset Orion, Larsen would always take the boy's side and reinforce his authority as the Deputy Guildmaster.

With the whispers in the streets about Polo and the whispers in his guild about Keres, Larsen was prepared to do just about anything to solve either problem. As he considered his options, the sun finally set, filling the room with a shadow. Larsen lit a lamp as a knock finally landed on his door.

"Come in!" Larsen yelled out as he marched to the door to meet his Blade.

A young man dressed in the deep blue of the Merchant Guild strode in. He nodded as Larsen strode over to him.

"Where have you been, Pattis? You are late!"

Pattis, the Merchant Blade, bowed. "I apologize, Guildmaster. I was delayed due to a meeting with a spy within the Harvest Guild. He was not punctual."

Larsen waved a hand, turned, and walked to his desk. "It matters not. Come. You have been gone a long time. I expect good news." The Blade followed Larsen and sat down in one of the chairs facing Larsen's desk. "Speak," Larsen stated, squeezing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"I'm afraid it is not good news. As we expected, Polo has retreated into Harvest House. He is unreachable."

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"No one is unreachable." Larsen slammed his fist onto his desk. "You simply haven't tried hard enough."

Pattis waited a moment, and then replied, "I have tried everything. There are no tunnels, pipes, or other methods of entering Harvest House. The walls are unscalable. Polo clearly knows this, as the grounds are lightly guarded. I have tried at least a dozen times. I cannot explain how it is done, but the walls move and change under my hands. Vines, cracks, and ledges that support me disappear from under my hands and feet. I nearly died in my last attempt. I swear the House was toying with me, letting me climb high enough to endanger my life as it tossed me to the ground."

"Nonsense. Buildings can't think. Perhaps we can find a better climber."

"Feel free."

Larsen hated moments like that. Part of what he liked about Pattis was that he was unafraid of Larsen. It made him extremely valuable, as it proved his fearlessness. Combined with his obvious skill, his lack of fear made Pattis a deadly and powerful Blade. The trouble was that his objections were dangerously close to insubordination.

Staring at Pattis, Larsen wondered if he should discipline him. At the last moment, Pattis lowered his eyes, and Larsen breathed out. "No need," he stated. "I assume the interior is similarly difficult."

"Not unassailable by a force, but certainly by stealth. The paths to Polo's quarters are too well-defended." Pattis shrugged. "He is out of your reach, Guildmaster."

Larsen nodded. "And he will not leave Harvest House?"

"He has not as of yet. I consider it unlikely. He isn't stupid. When your machinations became clear, he knew that the only other way for you to take control of Ness was for him or Ralan to die, and everyone knows Ralan is lost in the Wretched Quarter."

"Should I send you to the Wretched Quarter to take care of Ralan? That might be easier."

Larsen spoke the words more to himself than Pattis, but his Blade answered. "It is a fool's mission. If someone is in the Wretched Quarter and doesn't want to be found, you won't find them."

The response surprised Larsen. "You've been over the bridge?"

"Once. I wasn't even out of sight of the bridge when I was set upon by a gang. I killed one, but was lucky to get away with my own life. It is chaotic and lawless. You cannot enter safely without being already known to them."

"You are sure of this? Why not just disguise yourself as one of them? Wear rags and cover yourself in dirt."

"That is what I did. I looked as wretched as the group I entered with, yet the others were ignored, and I was attacked."

"Certainly they can't know everyone who lives there. Perhaps one of those you were with tipped off a friendly gang."

Pattis shrugged. "It is possible. Regardless, to scour the whole Quarter is an absurd risk. As I noted, if Ralan is alive, he is out of our reach."

"Then what are our options?" Even as he spoke the words, Larsen felt his anger building. "The disaster at the Founders Banquet has caused people to talk. We need to resolve things immediately!" Pattis said nothing as Larsen tapped his fingers on his desk. "Maybe I'm just not being daring enough." Pattis raised an eyebrow as Larsen smiled. "Yes. I have been too limited in my thinking." Larsen slapped his hand on his desk. "Pattis, how do you kill a snake?"

"You remove the head."

"And what happens to the head if you crush the body?"

"It dies."

"Exactly!" Larsen stood up. "You have a new mission, Blade."

"And that is?" Pattis replied as he scrambled to his feet.

"Research."

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