It had been two years since Jeremiah had left the Silvers, but sometimes he wondered if the dreams would ever end. They came by most nights, a parade behind his eyes of events and memories he’d rather- well, if not forget entirely, then keep tucked in a drawer, only accessed when he needed them. These were accompanied by what-ifs, could-haves, dreams where he’d left earlier, dreams where he’d never left in the first place, and dreams where he’d saved the day…

Jeremiah hadn’t wanted to do medical training. If he’d any intention of being a doctor, he would have trained to be a doctor, and would never have joined the Silvers to start with. It wasn’t something he’d sought out nor was it something he’d expected to need for at least a few more years.

As a Silver, there was ongoing training programs, and you were expected to finish one, maybe two, each year; but Jeremiah was up for promotion again, and that required field medicine. If you got shot while fighting, you wanted a commander who could stitch the bullet wound closed before you bled out. It was the first time in fifteen years someone had been promoted that quickly, and that was the only reason Jeremiah didn’t complain: he balanced his frustration at the requirement with his pride in himself and his accomplishments.

And the medical people were interesting, in a weird sort of way.

“Big Bad Bill,” Doc Claude said, a sad half smile playing across his face as he looked at the file. Doc Claude had a range of emotions, but he seemed to default to sad, wistful or rueful. Behind his back, most of the team knew him as Doctor Cloud, always with his head in the clouds. Too busy dreaming about how he was going to change the world to focus on the matter at hand.

“Is Big Bad part of his given name?” asked Jeremiah. It wouldn’t be the weirdest they’d encountered. Doc Claude laughed.

“No, but it may well have been- we’ve been after this man for a while and have never heard him referred to as anything else. I suppose when you’re a six foot nine rhinoceros wilding, just Bill would be underwhelming.”

“Oh, it’s that one- I heard people talking about it at breakfast. Part of the Props raid?” Doc Claude nodded. “He didn’t go down easy, did he? Someone said he took twenty shots.”

“Twenty-four,” replied the doctor, assembling his medical bags, “but they were small calibre: the agents were undercover, only pocket weapons on them. Still,” he got up to leave, “Big Bad Bill is probably in a lot of big bad pain. Let’s go ease his suffering.”

The room was bright when he blinked awake, sun creeping in around the edges of the drawn blinds. Jeremiah checked his timepiece and groaned. There were just under two hours until he needed to be awake. He debated whether to have a shot of whisky, to help him get back to sleep, or to give up on the matter entirely and brew a pot of coffee. He didn’t want any more dreams, but his body ached for respite: it still had more healing to do. Sighing, he took a double shot and went back to bed.

He was only 28; he was too young to feel this damn old.

*

3pm came around far too quickly.

Jeremiah was tired; the adrenaline had burnt out some hours previously, leaving him feeling flat and worn out. Residual jitters had plagued his sleep, leaving him tossing and turning through the dreams- or were they memories? He couldn’t remember. Even after the whiskey, all he’d managed was an uneasy doze. By the time the clock in the hall chimed 2, he was already awake and dressing.

He took his time walking over, pausing to examine a row of posters for the train project. Cutting edge technology… able to lay its own tracks… volunteer operated! Graffiti was scribbled around and over the text, some of it idle tagging, some rebuttals to the posters themselves. Volunteers? People need jobs! Read one flowing script. This is why we have the river? Read another. Towards the bottom, in thick marker: DON’T DISTURB THE FERALS This was accompanied by a crude drawing of a man with fangs and swirls instead of eyes.

Jeremiah grimaced and continued on, bidding the afternoon sunshine to banish the image of feral wildings from his mind. This is what happened when he didn’t get enough sleep- he got jumpy.

Bill didn’t look much better than Jeremiah felt; there were bruise purple bags under his eyes and actual bruises blooming across his neck and shoulders from Lee Rickardson’s crowbar. His clothes were rumpled, and Jeremiah realised it was the same outfit as the previous night: he had probably slept in them. Perhaps he’d been consigned to the couch for his behaviour.

“I brought coffee,” said the larger man, offering a large thermos that smelt mostly of coffee with a whiff of gin mixed in. Jeremiah hesitated, the alcohol from last night turning in his stomach; but the allure of caffeine won out and he took a sip. The bitterness of the two drinks sent a shiver down his back and his blood pushing. He managed a weak smile.

“Thanks. Rough sleep?” Bill barked out a laugh.

“Sleep? I wish. Mirabeth gave me a lashing and a half, chewing me out from when I walked in the door to when I left again.” His eyes took on the glazed, dreamy look they always got when he spoke of her. “I don’t know what I do to deserve that woman. She’s too good for me.” Jeremiah shrugged, and took another swig from the thermos- honestly, the relationship was a source of constant wonder to him too. It was more than he’d ever dared to hope for himself, but seeing how happy Bill was… it was hard not to feel a little hopeful too.

“Hopefully we can wrap this up quickly, so she doesn’t need to worry anything more about it. Where’s Gliridae?”

“Present,” said a voice at his elbow, making both him and Bill jump and swivel. In addition to his suit and saxophone case, the tiny musician was carrying a broom. Unlike Bill and Jeremiah, Gliridae looked fully rested and alert. Jeremiah was tempted to say ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed’, but he wasn’t sure if their mousey friend would take issue with that. Did Gliridae have a tail?

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Bill offered him the ‘coffee’, but Gliridae smiled and shook his head.

“I don’t respond well to caffeine- it gives me the jitters. Besides, I want to be clear headed for this part, and the gin won’t do anything to help with that.” He laughed at Bill’s expression. “I can smell it from halfway down the block. Now, do either of yeh have a plan?”

“Go up to Scapper’s apartment and take a look around; see if we can’t find anything suspicious, or anything that would indicate the Props or the Matheses more directly,” said Jeremiah.

“And how precisely do yeh intend to get up to Scapper’s apartment?” Asked Gliridae. Jeremiah frowned, and the smaller man rolled his eyes, gesturing to the apartment building.

“That right there is a swanky building- yeh can’t just walk in and out as yeh please. There’s going to be some degree of security.” He sighed and pinched his nose, then laughed it off with a grin. Jeremiah blinked in confusion. “Luckily, the two of yeh have me here to help out. How about this time, yeh let me do the talking?”

“Depends- what are you going to say?” rumbled Bill.

“I don’t know yet- I don’t know what’s on the other side of that door exactly. But I’ve been here the past hour chatting with the people who’re going into and out of the building, and I’ve gotten some useful information. So: will yeh trust me to do the talking?” Bill didn’t look convinced, but Jeremiah nodded to him.

“I think it’s a good idea; he was able to talk to the bartender last night, while we kind of bungled it with Julie Matthes.” Gliridae opened his mouth, as though to vehemently agree; but then looked at Bill and wisely shut it again. Bill squinted.

“Who were you talking to, and how?”

“I paid the man sweeping the streets half a clip if he let me take over instead. Told him I was trying to figure out if my wife was cheating on me. Then I swept right in the path, and made friendly conversation with the people coming past. It’s amazing what information people will volunteer up: nobody worries about the little guys.”

Bill sighed, but finally seemed mollified.

“Fine then, Mr Mouse: lead the way.”

The building was just as fancy inside as it was out, marble floors waxed so shiny that if Jeremiah was wearing a skirt he was sure bystanders would have been able to see up it. In the centre, a semi-circular desk was helmed by a cheery receptionist with a close-cropped afro and a dazzling array of rings. Gliridae removed his hat and hurried up, face suddenly anxious. This time, his ears didn’t immediately spring out; Jeremiah realised that he’d actually physically pinned them back.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but my cousin has been-“ he broke off suddenly, and looked to the ceiling. Jeremiah and Bill had caught up at this point, and Jeremiah realised he was pretending to blink back tears. “Has been in a terrible accident; and he’s in the hospital, but we’ve been sent to fetch his medication. There’s a chance he’ll die without it, but… I don’t have his house key.” Gliridae turned his gaze back to the receptionist; his voice was thick with emotion; his eyes were imploring.

Jeremiah was equal parts impressed and uncomfortable; the ease with which the smaller man lied was unnerving. If it was him behind the desk, he would have bought it hook, line and sinker.

Which it appeared the receptionist did: she covered her mouth with one glittering hand as she made a soft, sympathetic sound.

“If you can tell me his name and his room number, that will be enough,” she told him, and Gliridae’s shoulders sagged with relief- mock relief, Jeremiah corrected himself firmly.

“Douglas Scapper. He’s my cousin on my mother’s side, he lives in apartment 1225.” The receptionist checked through a book, and confirming this- that there was a man named Douglas Scapper in 1225- she passed over a large key. “Thank you so much, you’ve probably saved his life. I can’t tell you how much this… thank you. Truly.” Gliridae looked over at Jeremiah and Bill. “Let’s go quickly so we can get back to the hospital.” Dumbfounded at what had happened, not trusting themselves to speak, Bill and Jeremiah nodded mutely and followed the tiny musician into the elevator. Most of the ride up to the twelfth floor was silent; finally, Bill turned to Gliridae, brows low in a deep frown.

“One day, your web of lies is going to catch up to you, you know?” He rumbled. Gliridae grinned, and for the first time Jeremiah caught something mean-spirited in the smile.

“Lies are like children, Bill: yeh make as many as yeh can, forget about them quickly, and it never comes back to haunt you.” Bill rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but the elevator doors pinged open before the situation could escalate. Immediately, Gliridae took off down the corridor, listing from side to side. Jeremiah frowned in confusion, trailing close behind, with Bill in the rear.

Turning the corner, Jeremiah’s heart sank when he saw sat in a small chair beside apartment 1225 a very bored looking Silver, who raised an eyebrow as Gliridae approached.

“Morning, officer,” said Gliridae, words slurring together. “What’s the dealio? What’re you doing here?” The officer smirked.

“It’s mid-afternoon at earliest, young man, though I doubt you’ve got enough sense to tell midnight from midday at this point. I’m in charge of this apartment, to make sure nobody goes in or out.” Gliridae chuckled, leant against the wall, seemed to slip, but succeeded a second time. Jeremiah held out a hand to pause Bill, and the two of them hung back; he wasn’t sure what Gliridae’s plan was now, but so far everything else he had tried had worked.

“But officer,” ‘managed’ Gliridae. “Why don’t you want me going home?” At this, the officer frowned and rose from his chair.

“I don’t know how much sauce you’ve had, but this isn’t your house. There’s an active investigation going on here: the gentleman who lives in this apartment has been missing for three days. I’m here in case those involved come back to the scene of the crime.” At this, the officer looked past Gliridae to Bill and Jeremiah, and suspicion clouded his face. “And who are you two?”

Jeremiah couldn’t believe it: Gliridae was the one literally trying to get into the apartment, but somehow he and Bill were the suspects? Gliridae, however, just laughed and staggered back to them.

“They’re my- hic­- friends. They’re helping make sure I get home safe. See!” he pulled out the key which the receptionist had given him and passed it to Jeremiah. Angled as he was, he was able to shoot Jeremiah a meaningful look without the Silver seeing. Jeremiah took the key and- heart in his mouth- tried to play along.

“Aw man, this is room 1325,” he said, trying to slur his words too. “You told us the wrong floor.” At the sight of the key, the Silver had seemed to relax, and at this he laughed. Gliridae laughed too, tilting so far to one side that Jeremiah was compelled to ‘catch’ him.

“Heh, whoopsie-hic-daisy. Off we go again! Have a nice night, officer.”

“Get him home safe, boys,” said the Silver to Bill and Jeremiah, a fond smile on his face. Jeremiah had to fight to keep his expression neutral as they made their way back to the elevator. As soon as the doors slid shut behind them, he burst out laughing. Gliridae grinned, and even Bill couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“My gods, Gliridae,” said Jeremiah. “How do you do that? It’s like anyone you talk to, they… not only do they believe you, they end up liking you too. It’s ridiculous! Do you…” He hesitated, looking between the two wildings. “Do you have hypnosis or something? Is that a trait that wildings can get?”

Bill huffed and rolled his eyes, but Gliridae just laughed and pretended to puff out his chest.

“It’s not wilding to have an innate charisma,” The musician said. “They believe me because they like me. I just blink my big, brown eyes at them and they fall head over heels for the sweet little mouse man. Few things will get you further in life than treating people like people.” He sighed, face growing serious. “Unfortunately, we seem to have gotten as far as it’s possible to get down that route. Is there a plan B?”

Jeremiah grinned and pressed the elevator button for the sixth floor.

“You’re not the only one who’s been scheming.”