“Are my eyes really that conspicuous?”

“Yes.” I give Jeremy a look while he readjusts his sunglasses.

“Thanks for the clothes, by the way,” he mutters.

“I couldn’t have you walking around in a towel.” Before we left, I scrounged up a set of clothing from one of the guest cabins—a simple black patterned shirt, a loose pair of gray trousers, and cheap sandals.

It doesn’t take long before the consulate building is just up ahead, its golden tresses sparkling in the sunlight.

“What business?” an attendant asks as she scrolls through a collection of names and appointments.

Jeremy gives me a look.

“A ship containing civilian captives is going to arrive at Menocht Bay in a little more than one day,” I explain. “I have a cohort that has taken over the ship and steered it on course for this city.”

The attendant’s finger pops off her glosspad. “Excuse me?”

“Who should we speak to about this incident?”

“You’ll get in big trouble if you aren’t serious,” she warns us.

I nod. “We’re serious.”

She shakes her head, then stares at her glosspad. “Since this is...urgent, follow me.” She gives us a reluctant look before motioning for another guard to stand at the white-and-gold-filigreed entrance.

Soon, we’re standing before a large mahogany door. “One moment.” The attendant knocks, then enters. She emerges a moment later and beckons us in.

Jeremy and I enter the professional office of whom I immediately recognize as the captain of the guards.

“Esmerelda Conningway,” she says, introducing herself. She’s standing by the window, looking out. It’s not a particularly nice view, framing city instead of bay.

“Ignatius Black,” I lie.

“But you can call him Iggy,” Jeremy interjects. My eye twitches. “I’m Jeremy Sanderson.”

“...Mr. Black,” Captain Conningway calls out, “I see Death energy around you. Speak your business.”

It’s by no means illegal to practice the Dark Art, though I’ve found that decemancers typically enjoy lukewarm welcomes at best. When engaging with Menocht authorities, I’ve learned that it’s strategically useful to deny any decemantic association. Conningway, I suspect, will be no exception.

“It’s unsurprising that the taint I fight has seeped into my vestments,” I rebut, sighing. “A day ago, my assistant, Claude, and I traced the path of a peak decemancer back through the Illyrian Ocean. We thought it suspicious that a decemancer would use a flying construct to follow a circuitous path over water.”

The captain hums her assent. “Quite suspect. It’s faster and safer to travel over ground, especially for the decemantic type. But why were you chasing a decemancer?”

I smirk. “There was a bounty on him—wanted for human sacrifice.”

Conningway frowns, then makes a gesture for me to continue.

“To our surprise and dismay, we soon found a ship that had been boarded by undead. Moreover, not only was it filled to the brim with skeletons, but it also held over two hundred shackled people in a pool on deck.”

Captain Conningway’s eyebrows rise, her expression turning grim. “Heavens.”

“Jeremy was one of the better off that I managed to rescue,” I say, gesturing to the bony man. Even dressed in clean clothes and sunglasses, he looks half-dead. It’s not exactly difficult to believe that he’d just been liberated.

Conningway’s eyes widen. “So, what happened to the ship and its captives?”

I clear my throat. Y’jeni, I’ve talked more today than I have in ages. Not that I didn’t use to talk in this looping nightmare: There just hasn’t really been a need in the past however-many months.

“As I said, we only found the ship a few hours ago. Since then, we’ve defeated the skeletons and taken over the ship’s steering mechanism. With my partner at the helm, it should arrive at Menocht Bay soon—in about thirty-six hours.” While there was no human steering the ship, I did leave a skeleton in charge of keeping it on course.

The captain fingers her jaw. “Okay. Excellent.” She exhales while clenching her fist. “I swear, I can only handle so much evil in this world...”

I cock my head. “Has there been anything else going on in the city?” I take a step forward. “You probably haven’t heard of my name because I usually operate across the ocean in Turina, but I’m quite accomplished in the Arts.”

Jeremy gives me a look, and I wink at him.

The captain groans. “Nothing worth troubling a guest over.”

“I insist.” The problem at hand most certainly is my business after all the trouble it’s put me through.

She waves a hand dismissively but paces back over to the window. “We’ve been having problems with a drug called ginger,” she explains. “It afflicts people with a mild bout of insanity that only grows worse with further usage. Moreover, it’s contagious,” she spits. “I know, it sounds preposterous. However, when someone exchanges fluids with another on the drug...the insanity spreads.” I know from experience that even a sneeze is enough to spread the contagion, with fluid droplets lingering in the air for hours.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“How long has this been going on?” I ask.

“Two days”—she sighs—“and it’s already grown into a terrible headache.”

It’ll be far more than that if it isn’t stopped now, I think scathingly. Her information is correct, though: given that I’ve arrived a day and a half earlier than usual, it’s only been around two days since ginger began to be produced in the city.

“Do you have any leads?” I know the drug’s source, but I might as well see if the captain knows anything I don’t.

“We only know that the drug’s maker is skilled in the Arts,” she replies helplessly.

The consulate guards really don’t know anything, then. Disappointing.

“Is there a way that I can contact you?” she asks suddenly.

I blink. “No.”

“You can contact me through quantum channeling,” Jeremy interjects. “You do have a channeler in your office, correct?”

She nods. “I do.”

I’m mildly taken aback by this. Quantum channelers have been largely rendered obsolete by the emergence of glossYs, so it’s surprising Conningway has one on hand. They do have their uses, though, allowing for communication without a physical device serving as a medium.

In exchange for convenience, they’re much more invasive. Just thinking of Mother screaming at a marketing agent over quantum channeler is enough to give me goosebumps. Granted, the agent deserved it: you can’t ignore someone contacting you via channel as their voice tunnels straight into your mind. Unsurprisingly, the marketer contacting Mother over quantum channel was illegal—a fact she repeated with feverish gusto.

“Excellent,” Jeremy says as he heads for the rectangular black receiver in the office’s corner. “I’ll input my signature into the system... There.” He turns back and smiles. “Remember: Jeremy Sanderson.”

She smiles back. “I’ll contact you if I have any further updates or questions, and I’ll keep men stationed at the docks to await the arrival of the ship. I presume that we’ll have much more business together sorting out everything when your partner arrives.”

I bow my head. “Excellent. You’ve been a pleasure to work with, Captain Conningway.”

“Likewise.”

❖❖❖

“We’re going to the Flower District,” I call out as we exit the consulate building. Jeremy follows behind, his steps sure enough that he no longer slows me down.

“Why?”

I give him a grim smile. “That’s where the root of the trouble is.”

He doesn’t ask any more questions, for which I’m thankful. I don’t have any good answers. None that are simple, anyway.

The Flower District is, on the surface, beautiful and decadent. That’s because it has two levels. Flowers line pathways and shopfronts on the surface, gardens of rose bushes and shrubs interrupting the monotony of the trimmed lawn. Throughout the Flower District are strategically placed lifts leading down to the lower level. Sections of the upper level peel away from below, allowing the sun to cast slits of light into the underground.

Instead of the park-like upper level, the lower level is a veritable warren of buildings. Thin streets crisscross shopfronts and lead off into seedier areas with less-than-legal businesses—such as drug dens where the ginger manufacturers worked. From my understanding, the lower level is largely left to its own business, so long as the debauchery and crime stay below.

I take Jeremy down one such lift to the lower, sunless level, not that he’d be able to tell. “What happened down here?” He breathes through his mouth, holding his nose. “Smells like something died.”

“Lots of things have died down here,” I murmur as I sidestep past a group of stringy-haired loiterers. “It’s only going to get worse until this drug is out of the picture.”

I almost can’t believe I’m in Menocht before the drug has reached the Central District. Things haven’t gotten out of hand yet. While I don’t want to get my hopes up, I feel like I might have a chance to nip this entire humanitarian crisis in the bud.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Pay attention to people’s vitality as we walk,” I murmur. Jeremy looks my way, his face rapt. “People who are taking ginger will look gray.”

Jeremy blanches. “They’re dying?”

“Something like that. We need to find the spot with the greatest density of people with low vitals.”

It doesn’t take us more than fifteen minutes to do so. We stand before the door of an abandoned factory.

“They’re making it inside,” I whisper. “But don’t worry.” I wave my hand.

“Holy shit,” Jeremy hisses. “You just killed all of them! They’re all black!”

Look behind you, Jer. I killed everyone else on the way over. “The drug’s new, so the captain doesn’t know...but the insanity is permanent.”

“So? I’m sure some healers could—”

“Do you trust me, Jeremy?”

He stops and looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Then trust that this is the only way.”

I place my palms together, then split them apart. I can’t use these bodies; the only thing they’re good for is a fire. I strip them of moisture, expelling it from their flesh, though even for someone like me, the process is inefficient. It would be much easier if I were a water elementalist.

“You’re a practitioner, right? What do you specialize in?”

He sighs. “I’m a fire and water elementalist.”

I give him an appraising look. Opposite elemental affinities of Sun and Moon? That’s a rare combo. He’s almost certainly been able to feel me moving water out of the bodies. Then he should have already guessed...

“You want me to light these bodies up, don’t you?”

“As if they’re all infected with plague.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “They’re already dead...” he mutters, as though trying to convince himself to light the dehydrated corpses up. “I need to see what I’m setting on fire to do it correctly,” he says, stepping toward the factory door.

“Fine. But if you need to get close, hold your breath.” I move the dead over to the far side of the factory and follow him inside. Tables of syringes and vials of yellow litter the inside, taking up a third of the factory’s floor space. Mummified people lay strewn over the ground.

He stays within a foot of the doorway, keeping his distance, hands shaking. “Before the ship, I would’ve vomited at this sight.” He immolates the corpses, his orange flames quickly turning shriveled skin black.

When we go back outside, Jeremy sets the rest of the people I killed aflame. The entire process takes around half an hour.

“Is that it? Crisis averted?” he asks.

I chuckle. “If only it were so simple. We need to kill all the infected, Jeremy. That’s the only way to prevent the city from going under.” I glance back at him. “But it’s easy to tell who’s infected, at the very least.”

“Can we stop for dinner?” Jeremy asks, his tone defeated.

“Why?”

“It’s been seven hours since I last ate,” he retorts, anger creeping into his voice. “I’m hungry.”

“Fine. If you can pay for it.” I mean this as a joke, but he takes my words seriously.

“Don’t you have money?”

“No,” I reply, cracking a smile.

He licks his lips. By now, we’ve returned to the upper level of the city, and the consulate is within view. “Why don’t we see if we can get money from the captain?”

I scoff. “For doing what?”

“F-for taking care of the ginger problem...”

I narrow my eyes and glare at him. “People don’t take kindly to solving problems with killing, even if it's the only way.” I sigh. “We’ll be busy ridding the city of infected for the foreseeable future; we’re bound to get money or food off the culled infected.”

“Oh...”

“We can take food then. Fair?”

He doesn’t reply.