Kint stared into the endless gray of the Shroud, waiting for Nessa to get ready for school.

His fingers caressed the hilt of his stalwart blade.

He squinted, spotting two figures approaching.

“That’s far enough.” He called, meeting them outside. “State your business.”

“We’re here to corrupt your daughter.” Elsha smiled, laying a hand on the shoulder of her niece Kaycee.

“Good Morning, Inspector Kint.” Kaycee greeted, executing a perfect curtsey.

“Kaycee.” Kint replied.

The door opened behind him, Nessa stepping out.

“Good morning, Lady Elsha.” She greeted, giving a courtesy of her own.

His daughter moved to join Kaycee on the sidewalk.

“Hold on a moment.” Kint admonished. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, Papa.” She replied, annoyed. “Do you have everything you need?”

Kint reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a fresh pear, holding it out to show her.

“And I even packed a spare.” He grinned.

Nessa nodded in approval, mood shifting from mothering to childlike as she greeted her friend. The two began whispering immediately, entering their own world as they walked to school.

“Excuse me.” Elsha cut in. “I thought we were all walking together this morning?”

“I’m not a child anymore, Auntie.” Kaycee huffed.

Nessa kicked Kaycee in the ankle.

Kaycee gave her a hurt expression, but got the message.

“Apologies Aunt Elsha, that was rude of me.” She said, contrite. “Thank you for the offer, but we’d appreciate the time to ourselves this morning.”

She finished with a small bow and a self satisfied grin.

Nessa looked upon her with approval.

After an appropriate amount of time, Kaycee lifted her head, turning on a heel to continue their walk.

Elsha smiled, choosing not to pursue the argument.

Kint couldn’t help a grin of his own. When Kayce had begun her Turnabout year in the District, he had truly thought Nessa would be corrupted by her. But things had swung the opposite way.

“Nessa’s a good influence.” Elsha commented, mirroring his thoughts. “I can’t understand how a child so sweet came from a grump like you.”

“Agreed…” Kint grimaced.

An image of his daughter with red eyes infecting his thoughts.

“She’s a good one.” He stated, reassuring himself.

“I do wish Nessa would exert a little more influence when it comes to fashion.”

Elsha pointed to her niece as the two girls shrank toward the horizon.

“A black dress… in this heat?”

“She’s trying to be like you.” Kint pointed out.

“Well I hope she fails...” Elsha muttered.

“She’s a good kid, Elsha.” Kint noted. “And you’re not so bad a role model as you think.”

“She’s not as strong as she lets on.” Elsha grimaced. “I’m glad she has Nessa as a friend.”

They watched in silence as the children turned, moving out of sight.

Kint cleared his throat.

“Let’s get going.” He grunted. “I have a feeling we’re in for another busy day.”

—-------------------------------------------

Kelseen Square was already bustling when the Inspectors arrived.

Shop owners, restaurateurs, and hawkers were busy setting up for the lunch rush.

But, the Mercantile Exchange had the greatest crowd.

Dozens upon dozens of well appointed men and women shouted at podiums in front of the tall stone building. Men in uniforms stood behind those podiums, hundreds of information pipes behind them spitting out pricing and yield information for all swords of commodities. Above it all, a statue of Ash’teel Qinder, the Prophet’s Quartermaster, looked down upon the proceedings, observing their fairness with his holy eyes.

Kint grimaced as the Network pipes rattled and shook from behind the statue, extending from the building like a stiff head of hair.

Beauty sacrificed for the sake of efficiency.

More miracles of progress.

Kint moved through the crowd, Elsha acting as a plow to clear the way. They crested the HQ stairs, moving to open the double doors.

“Citizens! Citizens!”

The Inspectors paused, hearing an unfamiliar voice carrying across the space.

Kint turned, confused.

“Kadenites.” The voice called again.

The aged Inspector squinted, spotting the speaker below.

It was an old man standing atop a wooden box. A far cry from the young man who was their usual crier.

The priest was hunched over, weathered by time and effort.

His words cut through the crowd like a blade. His presence, full of wisdom and grace. When he spoke, the people listened.

A group of twenty had shown up this time. Laborers and factory workers mostly. Their faces lined with stress and caked in dirt, eyes tired.

“Hmm.” Kint grumbled, noticing small missives gripped in the hands of several men.

Elsha patted him on the shoulder, handing him a rumpled page.

“I snagged one on the way in.” She explained.

Kint frowned.

She’d probably pick-pocketed a poor kadenite.

He unfurled the paper, reading the message.

“I’m sensing a pattern here.” He chuckled.

Elsha nodded in agreement.

The two shifted their focus, the old man beginning his work.

He raised an ebony hand, drawing the crowd to silence.

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The hand was scarred and calloused like a knotted tree. Seasoned through a lifetime of labor.

“Kadenites…” He started, stillness falling over the crowd. “I come to you from afar, bearing a message from the darkest parts of The Noveriet. Beneath the earth where light fears to go.” He paused, meeting the eyes of his parishioners. “A message from the crystal mines.”

There was a ripple through the crowd, people leaned in. The mines were as good as myth in Kaden City. Used as a crutch for the hardest of times. Whenever things were bleak in the low ranking districts, ‘At least it’s not the mines.’ was a Kadenites comfort.

The Crier observed the crowd's reaction, an enigmatic grin growing on his face.

“Yes, I worked the mines.” The old man started, “Twenty years I toiled in darkness, spilling sweat in the earth to bring Crystals from its maw. Crystals, I was told, that would power the wonders of Kaden City.”

The old man swept his arms out to encompass the cityscape. The listeners followed his gaze, turning toward the Stalwart Tree. Its canopy barely visible through the Shroud.

“Well… maybe we’ll get a better view tomorrow.” The priest chuckled.

There were a few grunts and huffs of dark laughter.

“For twenty years I worked in those mines, and I paid a great tax for my efforts.”

The man swept his dark eyes through the crowd.

“I see many of you have paid the tax as well…” He said, somber.

“I’m not talking about the Apostles Tithe. I speak of the physical tax, the laborers tax.”

Many of the listeners nodded, understanding.

“For in my twenty years, the highest price I ever paid to the Apostles was not in pennies, but in pain. The price I paid was in my back, my knees, and my aching hands.”

He pointed at each body part as he spoke the words.

“I’m sure many of you have suffered similar ailments. Unable to clench your daughters hand, unable to bend down to pick her up.”

He shook his head.

“Memories lost, moments lost… Moments that seem so small, but make a lifetime of difference.”

There was a disgruntled mutter through the audience.

“They do not know the price we pay.”

The priest pointed again to the Shrouded Stalwart Tree.

“But how could they? How could the Apostles know our struggle?” He asked. “The Laborers tax is not written in the laws of The Herundus, it is not counted in the census, and they could hardly see it from their lofty perch.”

A few more dark chuckles.

He paused, pointing to the ground before him.

“It can only be seen here, on the ground.”

He raised his gnarled hand to the sky once more.

“The Prophet’s Second Tenet… ‘Peace is found in calloused hands.’... I have found those words to be true.” The Crier admitted, solemn. “But, the callouses… they have to have meaning… they have to have purpose… no?”

There were some mutters of ascent from the crowd.

“I toiled for twenty years in darkness with the belief that my callouses would find meaning in this great city. In Districts like this one..” He looked around, searching the square. “But, to tell it true, now that I stand in your midst… I see no purpose here…”

He shook his head.

“All I see is tired brothers and sisters… taxed to the bone, and weary. With only a dim view of what their labors might be making.”

He pointed again to the distant tree.

The crowd was quiet.

A sadness settled over them.

The Crier let the sadness rest, sealing the point.

“But I caution, do not blame the Lord.”

That calloused hand rose in a gesture of pause.

“For his works– his genius. They are something to take pride in…”

The old man gave a warm smile.

“No, it is not the job of our great Lord to hear our complaints.” The Crier shook his head. “But it is the Job of Mayor Fezelin.”

He pointed a gnarled finger at District HQ.

“A man elected by the people to bring their concerns to the Lord. Where else could the blame possibly lie.”

There was a muttering from the crowd.

“So tell him of your struggles. Tell him of the price you pay. Make your voices heard, so that your Lord might know your pain.”

More nods from the Kadenites.

“For even in my short time here, there is one thing I can clearly tell… Your Lord does not know the lives you lead, for he would not condone it if he did.”

A silence followed the man’s words.

Eventually, he broke it by stepping off the box, brushing dust from his robes.

The crowd dispersed, laborers melting back into the bustling square.

“Well...” Elsha started, “Looks like another bad day for Fezzy.”

“Yeah.” Kint muttered, deep in thought.

“For a moment there I thought we might actually be able to arrest this one.” She quipped. “But, he rode the line quite well.”

The Inspectors turned, making their way into the marbled building.

“This sermon had a bit more substance compared to yesterdays.” Elsha noted, following close as they moved upstairs.

Kint nodded.

“I’d bet half the audience were Creepers, though.” She joked.

“I’m not so sure.” He replied.

“You think Lord Crecius isn’t monitoring this situation?” She asked, incredulous.

“No, he probably is.” Kint agreed, “The Kadenites certainly are.”

Elsha shrugged, ceding the point.

They opened the doors to the Law Enforcement Offices and were greeted by shouts from across the room.

“God’s blast it all! Where are those bloody idiots! They were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago!” The Mayor Screamed.

His reed thin assistant stammered, struggling to respond.

A look of relief overtook him as he saw Kint and Elsha.

He pointed frantically, relaying their arrival to the mayor.

“Well what are you waiting for you bloody dunce! Send them in!”

The waifish young man scurried down the hall toward the two inspectors. He stopped in front of them, stuttering “Th–The Mayor requests–”

“We heard.” Elsha said, moving past.

“Thanks.” Kint muttered, apologetic.

----------------------------------------

“What took you so long.” The mayor huffed as they moved to sit. “You were supposed to be here a half an hour ago.”

“Apologies, Mayor Fezelin.” Elsha responded. “We were working on a lead for the Sentinel case.”

“Oh…” He perked up a bit. “and what leads have you been working on exactly?”

“It’s the Church of the Prophet.” Kint answered.

The Mayor let out a breath, face paling from the angry red of before.

He dabbed a handkerchief to his brow.

“And your evidence…?” He asked.

Kint tossed the Sentinels message to the mayor.

He grabbed it in his stubby hands, opening it.

There were two images on the paper, side by side. The first was of a group of workers on a factory line wearing rags for clothing. Their hands were mangled, blood covering the toys they were building. Next was an image of Lord Crecius as a fat child playing with the bloodied toys, a mountain of broken trinkets behind him. ‘No Peace.’ Was written below the two images. Obviously in reference to the second Tenet.

The Mayor’s frown deepened as he scanned the paper.

“There was a new Crier outside this morning. One suited to deliver a very specific message.” Kint stated. “That their work is without purpose if Kadenites do not prosper from it.”

The Mayor frowned.

“That’s two days in a row now… so they have to be getting the message beforehand to plan these sermons.” The Mayor murmured.

He sighed, shaking his head.

"It changes nothing." He grimaced. "The source is what we need..”

“But, if the source is the Church, what can we do?” Kint asked.

“It’s never just the Church, Inspector.” Fezelin grumbled, giving him a condescending look. “The Church hasn’t been an independent faction since the Second Age.”

The man admonished.

“If this is being run through the Church, then most likely some Lord is trying to screw with Crecius, or maybe even the bloody family.”

The Mayor dabbed his face.

“In any case, we need to find out how they’re getting their messages into the district. Lord Crecius can put a stop to it from there. Hopefully before the Kadenites tear me to pieces.”

“They’re getting close.” Elsha poked. “Today’s sermon was far more pointed… in your direction.”

“Of course it was!” He sighed, “The Church can’t go after the Lord directly, now can they?”

Fezelin’s lip twitched. He took in a deep breath to calm himself, putting stress on his buttons.

“Yes… well… The Sentinel is no longer of any concern to you.” He diverted, reaching down into his desk.

There was a click, as a lock was opened. Coming back up, the man pulled out a sealed massage unlike any Kint had seen before.

The tube was black, with an intricate pyramidal structure on each side, and the owl and quill of House Vorva in its center.

“A message came for you early this morning.” The large man said. “I suggest you open it.”

Elsha sat back in her chair, shocked, refusing to touch the ornate vessel.

Eventually, she gritted her teeth, reaching forward to grab the tube with gentle fingers.

She took a breath, closing her eyes in concentration. There was a hiss of steam, then a click, as the tube popped open. She reached gingerly inside, pulling out the message.

Kint watched in anxious silence.

“We’ve been summoned to the Ignatium…” She whispered. “We are to call on Lord Crecius… under The Black Seal.”

Kint’s eyes widened.

“What?” The mayor chided, “No clever remarks?”

He met both of their eyes.

“I’m glad you’re treating this with the gravity it deserves, because you’re not the only ones on the hook here.”

“They asked for us?” Kint said, incredulous.

He reached out, examining the scroll himself.

“By name.” Fezelin stated, face severe. “Don’t ask me why because I haven’t the slightest.”

Kint looked at Elsha. Her face was clouded with concern.

“What I do know,” The Mayor continued. “Is that you and your partner will be representing me in the Ignatium. So please... don’t fuck it up.”

There was a long pause as the words settled.

Both Inspectors were lost in thought, imagining what a Black Sealed Mission might entail.

“Inspectors, the first part of not fucking up… is arriving on time…” The Mayor cooed. “So please… get off your asses and move!”