Jorge returned to his temporary home after the incident with the soothsayer, or whatever that was. He slept uneasily in the night. His dreams were haunted by inexplicable imagery and a foreign presence. This time they weren’t as clear as when he was approached by the entity. Jorge woke up in the dark. Groggy and frustrated at the stressful sleep, he exited his cupboard room to scatter a few steps. Maybe that’d calm him down.

There were candles in the headquarters. Miraculous things he might’ve caught being sold by multi-level marketing people back on Earth. Except these were real magic. The tiny flame burned down the shaft in the day, which had been marked fourteen times. One tick per hour. At midnight the flame turned a cool, ambient blue, and then burned the other way. He saw three ticks on the candle’s shaft. Three a.m. The world evidently ran on a twenty-eight hour clock. He had never noticed in all his time in the Heldrazi wilderness. Maybe it was the first couple months of starving and fearing for his life that made him less observant. The stars would have to move slower after all to accommodate the longer night.

They were a particular distance North on this planet. That much he did notice. He stepped out onto the cool night—or was it morning—air to gauge the heavens. If he squinted, he could just barely see the center point around which the starry canvas spun. If he stared hard enough, rainbow eels rippled near the most cloudless parts. Auroras. Except one of them left the flock and turned the front part of its body, facing his squarely. Jorge blinked, but it was no illusion. The aurora descended. Jorge held out a hand, watching the ribbon of faint color encircle his wrist and swerve between his fingers. Then it departed, returning to the sky as though it had never left. It was so far away. Jorge wondered how it ever felt so close.

In his rapture he hadn’t noticed the movement to his side, sharing his terrace. It was the captain. Yavi. Jorge almost couldn’t recognize him in casual clothes. In the man’s hand was a mug of steaming drink.

“You’re not Wolfrim at all, are you?” Yavi said.

“Never was, but I’d be glad to know why you thought so.”

“I never truly thought so. But all it takes is that one in a million. Duty is to be meticulous.”

“You force yourself to perform tasks you don’t believe in.”

“I believe in caution. And in Faleria.” Yavi took a sip. “Want some? It’s called coffee.”

“What?” Jorge turned his head, a single eyebrow raised high.

“Some noble or lord or some such brought the recipe from a faraway land. Nobody thought you could actually make a drink out of the bitter beans. You really know nothing about this world, do you?”

Jorge shook his head. This world’s ecosystem apparently supported many familiar creatures. It stood to reason a coffee plant analogue existed. He nodded, as if to make sense of it himself.

“Think of me as a newborn,” Jorge said.

“Wolfrim people are dogmatically secular,” Yavi said. “They’d never be caught dead trying to catch the attention of the Malanas snakes.”

“It’s so strange.” Jorge squinted again. “They’re in the sky now. No doubt many leagues away. But for a moment it was right in front of me. Then it was gone. Like distance isn’t real.”

“They only interact with children. And seers, mages, people with a certain kind of ‘open mind’. Wolfrimites would sooner try to bottle them. Falerians couldn’t care less. Especially the people of this city.”

“Tell me about Wolfrim.”

“Their technology is beyond compare to ours. Derived from Nephilim artifacts.”

“The people that disappeared forty thousand years ago,” Jorge said, recalling specific tracts from Five Thousand Feathers.

“The truth is the Nephilim were masters of the planes, while Wolfrimites reject their existence. Their technology is but the underperforming scraps of an immeasurable empire.”

“Where did they go?”

“To know that would etch an archeologist’s name permanently in our history, Jorge.” Yavi sighed. “There’s so many things we do, that we commit so readily to, without fully understanding the consequences, or even knowing all the variables of. Personally, I don’t even remember why the Wolfrimites hate us. Maybe it’s ideological. We fraternize with technology and Spellpower. Maybe that’s all it takes. But if they get a chance…”

“Apology accepted,” Jorge said.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were. You just explained why you dragged me all the way here when you didn’t need to humor me.”

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“If you say so.”

“This… process of yours. The mental check.”

“It’s an inquisitorial mage. They’ll probe your thoughts for anything related to key concepts all Wolfrim spies would need to possess to do their job.”

“Is there any way to cheat it?”

“Nothing in the realm of pure science could fully protect one from something purely of the Mind.” Yavi made a fanciful noise. “Or so I’m told. Typical caster confidence.”

“Then after this, your duty with me is complete.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Jorge began to leave. “We should have a coffee once this is over.”

He was escorted to the palace came morning. They took a carriage, perhaps to attract less attention from the citizens. As if they would care. Jorge could already glean the attitude of the people, that seen-it-all smugness they carried, and a certain holier-than-thou air. The blight of big cities everywhere, he supposed. The deeper they moved towards the center of Ralagast where the palace was built, the busier it got. He somehow got the impression that business wasn’t doing so well, but here the streets were by no means empty. The city wasn’t at a standstill, it simply wasn’t at its best. Although he admitted he knew nothing about the minutiae of economics.

The confusing topic that moved tenths and decimals in ways people swore were mathematical. If God didn’t play with dice, people certainly did. The goal of the game wasn’t to win. Keeping it within tolerable bounds of almost predictable rises and falls was the key to sustainability, would investors bother teaching that to folk outside their connections. Maybe if these prim lords and ladies deigned to share some of their knowledge there wouldn’t be so much tension between those in the outer districts.

As interesting the architecture was, Jorge eventually grew bored. Across from him sat June, who had been quiet as of late. Ever since they entered the city, as a matter of fact. It was the noise. To Jorge it was annoying. To the priestess it must have been overwhelming. He had garnered over their time spent together that she wasn’t just sensitive. Pity moved him to try to at least get her talking.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, rather awkwardly.

June smiled. “I’m fine. You ought to be the nervous one.”

“Was never afraid of tests,” he said.

“You should be afraid of this one. It takes a sadistic persona to pursue Mind reading as a career.”

“Maybe I’ll make some friends.”

“Ha.” The laugh was unconvincing.

“It’s loud here, huh.”

“I can hear them, you know,” June explained. “Not their idle talk. Their feelings, intentions. This ability of mine would have made me a perfect inquisitor. Except I didn’t enjoy it. Reach out into the hearts of these people, and you see all the worst of us. Jealous, vain, insecure little lords and ladies afraid of losing. They are so powerless in their own domain. It’s sad.”

“What about the poor souls in the outer districts?”

“Life is hard for them. But it always is for everyone. So few of us are lucky enough to have easy lives. I felt their anger when we passed them by. As if directing rage at the palace would solve their woes. The tide needs to raise all boats. Sinking the biggest ship won’t get you to shore quicker.”

“But there’d be more fish for everyone else.”

“Not everyone’s a fisherman.”

“I suppose not.”

The carriage took a turn into the palace courtyard. The first thing a guest saw is the pristinely maintained gardens to the roadside, bordered by square hedges. Servants tended to them. Then the roads would swerve into a large array of stables beside the palace walls. The palanquin’s door was opened, and Jorge was greeted by a dozen armored guards. He couldn’t resist a grin. They looked about as elegant as a human would clad in an inch of steel about the chest and shoulders.

“Get out of the car!” The sergeant ordered.

“Yes, chef,” Jorge replied.

The stern man ignored the strange comment. With six per side and Yavi leading the way, they corralled Jorge through the palace’s pearl-and-marble halls. Tiles of the opulent mineral formed seamless floors. The doors were heavy ironwood. He was walked past many an office and official looking personnel.

“Hard work, isn’t it? Running this city,” Jorge commented.

“Shut it,” the sergeant said.

“A lot of quill pushers here.”

The sergeant curled his fist. Before he could do anything more, Yavi put a hand on the man’s shoulder, shaking his head. The sergeant settled for a growl.

Somewhere along the way they took a turn down a flight of stairs. The scenery changed instantly. From official affluence to austere brick and rust. They had entered the palatial basement. There were cells here with bars over an inch thick. Arcanery was thick in the walls. Jorge could smell it. If he was put here, he doubted even he could escape easily. They walked past a prisoner who sat tucked away in the corner of their cell, shaking uncontrollably. Another kept screaming with a stony face and open mouth. Most stayed quiet, angry, but very few had a guilty expression. Some even struggled against the bars.

“—nothing wrong! Please let m—”

There was a Spell at work. No matter how hard a prisoner shouted, Jorge did not hear them the instant he passed their cell.

“—as just one piece of bread—!”

“—ey deserved it! I protected myse—!”

“—again! I’d do it again you pigs—!”

“—not what she seems! She’s pure evil! Please lis—!”

“Charming place,” Jorge said.

“It goes down about twenty floors,” Yavi said. “It’s even lovelier down there.”

They finally arrived at a chamber lit by a brick hearth. A man in black-gold robes covered with arcane devices turned as they entered. He stood alone among a field of equipment that made even Jorge lose a layer of cool. He tried not to let it show.

“Ah, my nine o’clock,” the inquisitor said. “Which one was this one again? How much of him do you want intact by the end?”

Jorge gulped.

“All of him,” Yavi said quickly. “It’s a routine espionage check. I want him in one piece, not in a dust pan.”

“What’s with the entourage, then?” The mage said, pointing at the guards.

“He… exercises,” Yavi answered.

“I know a chemist who’d love to test on a build like that. Shame.” The mage readied the chair at the center of the room. “Lay down.”

Jorge did so, but his every instinct rebelled, telling him to run.

“What is your capacity for pain, child?” The mage asked, bearing down on him with a face blackened by shadow.

“I’ve been mauled by wild animals before,” Jorge said. “And I’ve been to a dentist.”

“Mmm, baby steps.”

Jorge really wanted to leave.

“Don’t worry,” the mage said, as if empathetic to his discomfort, “If you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear.”