Zizal returned to his room at the Sea Dog just before midnight with few answers and more questions than he had at the start of the day. The room was dark; but as a practitioner of pith manipulation, he was able to perceive his surroundings within a sizable radius. He barred the door and removed his coat and shirt as he made his way the short distance to the narrow bed. The cramped room was large enough to accommodate the narrow bed set against the back wall and the upturned box that served as a bedside table. Above the bed, a small window sat partially open filling the room with a steady stream of salt air.

He climbed onto the bed and wedged the window fully open. Agness was right, he thought to himself. A roiling mass of black clouds occasionally lit by veins of light had moved to blot out the stars.

The enchanter retrieved his valise from under the bed. After his wife’s death almost seven years ago, this wooden box had been the only constant in his life. Its lacquered surface marred by scratches and gouge was like a log of his travels and many trials in service to his master. He unfastened the leather straps and slid the case to the foot of the bed. That done, he removed his boots and climbed onto the bed. He sat legs crossed with his hands in a prayer-like pose. The mattress was less than opulent but was more comfort than he had seen in months. Rest would come later, Karissa's place in the weave was tenuous. He needed to make haste.

After many years of training, his mind and body fell easily into the trance-like meditative state. He gathered his pith began to press. As always, the nothingness swept over him like the softest blanket in the cold of winter. Weightless, he drifted feeling his fears, doubts, and excitement trickle away. He doubled his effort pressing his pith into a dense hot sphere that writh to free itself. Far away he heard the rumblings of the coming storm. Much closer he could hear laughter and music from the inn's common room. This too he pushed away.

He worked at the sphere until it was no larger than a grain of sand that radiated brilliant white hotness within the void. The strain was incredible, but he could hardly stop. He bound the tiny mass with his consciousness and flung it into the void. For a long moment, the speck on light drifted like pappus from a dandelion through the black nothingness.

Time passed, but in this place it was meaningless. Here in the void, a moment could be measured in eons while eternity could spend a single beat of a hummingbird's wing.

******************

Zizal awoke in darkness but could feel his body once again. He was on his side, arms and legs folded close to his body. Hesitantly he searched his surroundings. He was in his room at the Sea Dog. It came back to him. He climbed to his feet inside the valise and moved across the bed to the motionless body seated on the bed. In his dark sight of grays and muted colors, the man on the bed looked far older than what he remembered. He looked like a well-worked mule, with stringy muscles, hard lines, and many wounds. His eyes were pulled to the fatal wound in his chest that started it all.

Another flash of light brought his eyes to the hand that had reached to touch the scar. The hand was a child-sized wooden replica of his own. The transfer was complete, he was now a two and a half feet tall golem created with the help of the weaver and her children. He now subsisted on pith and used it to dive his new body in place of organs and muscle.

He pulled his eyes away and did a quick check of his body's movements looking for defects he might have missed while stowing it away. A malfunction during his task could mean his final death.

That done, he was ready to go. He vaulted over the body and scampered up to the window sill where he searches the night. Once it was determined that the window free of watchful eyes, zizal climbed out the window and pushed it close after. Unbothered by elements, the puppet climbed to the roof’s ridge and found his bearings, and ran east above the city across a rooftop byway. Even at the peak of his natural form, he had never experienced such control. Command of the puppet was precise and effortless. He found a childish delight in running across rooftops and jumping over narrow gaps; it would have been impossible to hide his amusement if not for the construct’s featureless visage.

Within an hour, zizal arrived at the old warehouse that now served as the customs office. Before the city became a hub, the warehouse would have been large, now it sat dwarfed by four other warehouses with another in the middle of construction. The faded sign above the door leaking light read Miller’s.

The information he was provided had yet to be wrong. It seems that the captain had grown complacent. Maybe he thought that the storm or his reputation would keep unwanted eyes away. Whatever the reason, they not posting a guard did not mean that this would be easy. Around the back, the old receiving bay was the site of current construction. The large double doors had been removed and were covered with an enormous piece of heavy canvas.

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The golem did not waste time second-guessing itself. He hopped to the edge of the roof directly across from the Miller’s and prepared for the next portion of the mission. His informant said that the captain would be by just after shift. That meant zizal had about thirty minutes to get into position. As he watched, two guards armed with a short sword at their hip and a spear marched up to the front of the building and were granted entry after a brief discussion that involved a bit of swearing.

With a flex of will, zizal extended the steel talons housed within the wooden digits of each hand and foot. The talons were intended to help zizal climb difficult terrain, but in a pinch, the puppet had found that the steel barbs provided a modicum of protection. He hoped that it would not come to that tonight, they worked well enough on old men in bed chambers but would be useless against armed and armored men.

With that thought, zizal scampered over the roof’s eve and down the wall. Halfway down, he kicked away from the wall and fell to the ground in a shallow pool with a splash. Then he was off, he ran across the street before disappearing into the shadow of the warehouses. Again zizal extended the talons and began to climb the wall toward the opening hidden by oiled canvas.

Once inside, he found that construction did not end at the door. Poles and beams outlined new walls, floors, and other architectural features. Through this cage-like frame, he saw the guards toward the front of the building seating on barrels and crates around a cast-iron stove.

There were six of them, city guards from the Eastern gate who worked the market district. His information counted the six and their captain as amongst the most disreputable characters on this side of the city. It seems the men were open to bribes and were known to bend the law and exact punishment with brutal efficiency on those that went against their interests.

The men’s attention seemed to be divided between a set of dice and getting warmed by the contents of a skin as it was passed about. While the men were distracted, zizal decided to get closer. He crawled across the outer wall of the building to the heavy beams that crisscrossed the first floor. He crawled toward the men until he was just outside the radius of their lamplight.

Maybe fifteen minutes after he was in place, the front door rattled as someone hammered. The guard closest to the door jumped to his feet and called out, “Who goes?”

The reply was a growl that came with a loud thud that sounded like a boot against the door. “Bloody hell man. Who else but us would be out in this here storm? Now open the damn door.”

The guard quickly threw the blot and stepped aside for the man who could be none other than Captain Cogan. The captain stepped into the room and shot the doorman a glare. He passed his cloak over and transform it to look to a broad grin. “Now then. A got a bit of good news and a bit that ain’t so good. But, we can turn it round.”

Zizal watched the men gather around the captain like a bunch of hungry dogs. The captain set two pouches on the table. “This here is the good news.” He upturned the punches to make a small heap of silver coins. The men around the captain cheered, those nearest the captain clapped him on the back. “Ook, count the shares.” A guard near the fire came forward and pulled the heap to himself.

The captain smiled as Ook built eight stacks of silver coins in the center of the table. As if it were a ritual, when he was done, the guard stepped back from the money and looked to the captain.

Finally, the captain nodded, and each soldier scooped up their share. Finally, The captain scooped up two of the remaining three and Ook took the last. The men gave the captain another cheer and settled down once again

“It seems I was right. The priests has got the girl. She must be something awful special for them to risk the common folk finding out. But that don't concern us none. We always find a way to make it.”

A sandy-haired guard who seems to have forgotten to pass the wineskin piped up. “Captain, do ya suppose this is the first time them priest tried to cut us out of good silver. It’d be awfully easy in a big city like this. Maybe they got to thinking that we ain’t worth their silver.”

Zizal watched the smile slip from the captain’s face as he realized what the sandy-haired guard was saying. The captain gritted his teeth, “We need to know what that lot been doing with the children. If-in they was doin’ right, our purses wouldn’t be getting their silver. City guards on patrol have seen um' up in the Westhills. Now if-in my memory serves, them priest is got right desperate for new stock on the regular."

With each word, zizal began to understand the depravity of the priests and the greed of these guards. He wanted to bring judgment upon these men that were charged with the protection of the very people they prey upon. He wanted to rip them apart, beat them, punish them, kill them. He wanted vengeance. His steel claws dug deeper into the wooden rafters as he listened. He forced the anger away, if it got the better of him now Karissa would die. After a long moment, the need to exact judgment abated.

In zizal's estimation, the man was little more than a thug in the gize of captain. The way he paced about gesticulating in a well-reheresed manner that came off pompous rather than noble.

"And now, the not so good news just can a little more bothersome. A was going to have us look into them priest later. But… We has got to find what those basters is after now." He flashed a smile that discouraged dissent. Finally, after a bit of planning and more promises, the captain told the men to gather their things and meet at the gate to the road leading into the hills.

********

When voices and clouding boot were gone, and only after its own pounding heart had settled, a small shadow pushed open a bit of loose skirting and crawled from beneath the old warehouse. This shadow searched the darken checking for signs of danger. Satisfied, it replaced the wooden bolt hole and scampered away into the pouring night.