Chapter 19: The Montage (part 1)

  He steps through the door, swings it shut behind him. The first thing he thinks is: damn, guess I was lying when I said it’s dry as a bone.

  A filmy layer of pale mud grits under his shoe. The smell of it is everywhere: wet dust. City rain. Cold smoke. Eric likes this smell.

  He makes a circuit around the top of his church tower, surveying the city. Clouds overhead, lights below, all the same as before. He notices one significant difference: a corner of his home base, the stone sanctuary of the church, has collapsed. His heart beats faster when he sees this. He descends at once down the iron steps and is relieved to see that the metronomes are unharmed. Still swinging, ticking away. He stops a moment to check the pulses of his friends and to marvel at how the red pendulum matches his heartbeat exactly. He tries not to think about whether the machine or his actual heart is setting the tempo. “I’ll add it to my list of things not to think about,” he mutters. Other items on the list: where the hell is Frisby? And why does everything feel so fucking weird? There is an immediacy to events now that he is pretty sure is new. It all started after touching Absolem, right?

  He finds Jacob Hollow in the sanctuary and they share a moment of mutual relief at the sight of each other.

  Jacob is limping, and he has cuts hidden by his hair that have leaked thin trails of dry blood. He looks exhausted.

  Eric glances at the corner of the church that has collapsed. It’s all wrecked to shit, pews thrown against the far wall, stone and plaster all over the floor.

  Jacob answers the unasked question. “Lady Rains,” he says. He sounds both reverent and shocked. But he puts a brave face on it. “She tried to break the hearts,” he says. “She was like a bird.” The bird thing matters to him, but Eric doesn’t understand it.

  Eric does not want to know what will happen if the metronomes (“hearts”) break. Hopefully nothing. But there is always a chance that one of his friends will drop dead of a fucking heart attack. So he says, “Thanks. Where is she now?”

  Jacob shrugs. He looks uneasy. “I think the Guardian might have killed her.”

  “What, the dragon? Cool. The bad guys can kill each other all fucking day for all I care.”

  Jacob is tired because he hasn’t slept since protecting the metronomes. Eric thinks that he should be a little more careful from now on about leaving the church. He figures that Jacob Hollow is one of the best security guards a guy could ask for, but still he’s just one guy. Maybe Eric should enlist some help. Maybe some of Heidi’s assorted monster goons would be willing to help. They don’t even know what exactly they’re guarding over on the Metal Moon, anyway. Bring ‘em here, give ‘em something real to guard.

  He tells Jacob to go get some sleep; the Hero of Time’s got it on lock for a while. Then he takes a walk around the immediate vicinity of the church. Down here he can see that the struggle has damaged more than just the corner of the sanctuary. Deep marks in parallel groupings score the asphalt and concrete. One streetlight has been severed, another bent out of shape and discarded on the street. An impact crater decorates the sidewalk just beyond the front steps of the church. Part of the brick structure across the way has fallen apart. Eric surveys this damage and more, trying to puzzle out how the battle might have gone.

  He remembers, after a moment, that he can probably just check the security camera footage. He is about to go join Jacob inside, maybe look for Frisby, when something catches his eye. It is a dark shape perched on a distant structure like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Except that it is a skyscraper, not a cathedral, and the gargoyle is ridiculously large, half the width of the roof it crouches on.

  It senses that it has been spotted. Its wings spread wide, big enough that even at this distance Eric can faintly see that they are tattered and torn. This doesn’t appear to inconvenience the dragon as it launches itself from the tower, swoops down to the streets below, and then soars up into the dark cloud cover where it vanishes from sight.

  Eric hates and fears that dragon. Even though, realistically, it has yet to do anything but help him.

  He turns away and skips a few steps up to the front door of the church.

  *

  Lord Friend was waiting for them when Elizabeth and Jimothy stepped through onto the cloudlit pinnacle of Skywater Citadel. He stood monolithic against the cloudscape and the city below, flanked by other doors here on this hexagonal peak.

  Lord Friend, up close, was too large in a way that played with her perceptions. He was simply too big. It was as if a normal man, five feet tall and heavyset, had been scaled up to seven or eight, every part of him equally grown so that you wouldn’t even notice unless you were up close to him. And with a cherry-red jacket, Lord Friend looked more like Santa Claus than ever. He was missing only the hat and a few more shades of white on the beard. He had two things that Santa did not: a cheery mask obscuring his face, and a three-bowled pipe from which rose a braiding column of tri-colored smoke.

  Lord Friend bows low in gratitude, in humble apology, in recognition, and in respect. He speaks as speaks one who has failed in his duties. Forgive me, heroes, he says, for little did I or any know of the treachery lurking deep within the hearts of the Ladies of Skywater, as a dark creature cringes from the light of day. And the sorrow of Lord Friend is as profound as his regret, and these matched only by his relief at seeing these two heroes unharmed. Their presence is to his anxious eyes as dawn’s first light at the close of night, or sight of home after weary flight.

  “Thank you, Lord Friend,” said Elizabeth, cutting in at an opportune moment. “Are any Ladies present?”

  Lord Friend assures her that she and the Hero of Lights are now safe, for they stand in the domain of Arcadelt, the angel of Skywater Citadel, and no harm shall befall them here. Indeed, the Doorkeeper was a marvelous sight at the moment that the Ladies and gods set themselves against the heroes. Great was his wrath, and fierce his judgment, and Lady Spirits did not escape it.

  Lord Friend answers her question: Lady Wings remains, for her loyalties stand true. Lord Friend watches over the Citadel, while Lord Fool roves about the city and Lord Fierce is abroad at the defense of distant Chiasm, which place cowers under the oppress of evil.

  Lord Friend straightened, relinquishing control of her volition back to Elizabeth herself. She shuddered to think if the gods had corrupted the Lords rather than the Ladies. Though fewer, they seemed far more dangerous.

  He swung the pipe around as he turned to lead them down below. The red, green, and blue smoke braided in the air as it trailed after him.

  “Can we see Arcadelt?” asked Jimothy.

  Of course! Lord Friend declares. His name is not friend, yet he is that to you as much as I! And Lord Friend proceeds to summon Arcadelt, a task which in this place is as simple as speaking his name.

  Maybe he had been there all along. That was the first thought to cross Elizabeth’s mind: that Arcadelt had been standing there off to the side this whole time, perfectly still, unnoticed. But no, that was ridiculous. She would have noticed. Yet Arcadelt was there now, a towering shape of all things shiny and sharp and pale: glass and ice and milky steel and snowy obsidian, all shimmering and sparkling in the cloudlight.

  Elizabeth braced herself against unsought knowledge, implanted directly into her mind. But it did not come. Or if it did, she could not tell what it was. Which terrified her.

  “Hello,” said Jim. His eyes were wide, marveling at Arcadelt’s appearance. Elizabeth thought she knew what Jim was thinking. He wanted to paint Arcadelt.

  Arcadelt bowed, but that was all.

  “Oh,” said Jim. “Uh. Okay. That’s good, I think.” He thought for a moment, then turned to Elizabeth. “Lord Fair said we should go get him, right?”

  “What?” She looked from Jimothy to Arcadelt, confused. Then she understood. She had asked Arcadelt last time to stop putting information into her head. To stop speaking to her, in other words. He was still honoring her request.

  She stepped closer to Jim, took him by the arm, and carefully turned him away from Arcadelt and Lord Friend. “Jim,” she whispered, though she knew volume likely did not matter. “Do you really think we can trust Arcadelt?” If he said yes, she would believe him.

  The strange thing about Arcadelt was how peculiarly absolute interactions with him had to be. You either trusted Arcadelt not to lie and committed yourself entirely into his hands, or else you mistrusted him, and as a result must doubt every single thing that you thought you knew.

  “Yeah,” said Jimothy after only a moment for thought. “I think so. I think we have to. After all, he’s an angel, right?”

  A message came for Liz. She checked it briefly.

  ZA: You can trust Arcadelt.

  ZA: Lord Friend is a sentimental idealist, but you can trust him, too.

  ZA. Who was that? It must be one of the gods. Elizabeth didn’t know which one, but whoever it was seemed oblivious to the irony of a god telling her who to trust.

  ZA: I am not unaware of the irony here.

  ZA: But I am truly trying to help.

  Elizabeth put away her phone without responding and turned back to Arcadelt. “I will trust you, Arcadelt,” she said. “Tell me what you told Jim.”

  That was unnecessary, of course; she already knew. She knew that Lord Fierce waited for them on the other side of Ardia. She knew they’d be safe with him, nearly as safe as they were here in the Citadel with Arcadelt. She knew that ARKO, Isaac’s artificial intelligence, had contacted Lord Fierce and fully apprised him of the situation.

  Wait. Had she known that already?

  Don’t think about it, she told herself. Trust Arcadelt.

  “Tell us what you know about the gods. And which Ladies can be trusted?” Elizabeth already knew from Lord Friend that Lady Wings had not turned against them. And she knew from Isaac that Lady Stars had not acted against him. Finally, Ladies Hearts and Paths had made no aggressive moves.

  And as for the gods, she already knew that they were not gods at all. They didn’t belong here, in this Narrative. They were not a part of this story. It angered Arcadelt, as it angered the Bright World. Neither approved of inference. Furthermore, although Arcadelt did not experience emotion in the normal sense, he bore some resentment against the gods because they had killed him once.

  “Nevermind,” said Elizabeth. She looked out over the city, thinking. What else did she want to know? Isaac believed that Arcadelt’s chief function was to provide information. Now was the time for questions. But now that the time had come, she couldn’t think what to ask. About her moon, how to make the flower bloom? She knew Arcadelt wouldn’t tell her those things. He wouldn’t just give away something like that.

  Her phone buzzed again. Elizabeth sighed, wondering if she should get something on her wrist so she wouldn’t have to pull her phone out to check all the time.

  ZA: Ask him about becoming Champion.

  ZA: And about wishes.

  Wishes? Wishes came from the Bright World; Elizabeth knew that. Wishes could do almost anything. But they had to be bought, bargained for. The price was usually memories. Wishes were a last resort, for the Bright World was not a place to be approached lightly.

  And as for the whole Champion thing, that happened upon the healing of a moon. When the corresponding ring around Ardia was restored, the Hero gained its power. Elizabeth would become Champion, for example, when the flower bloomed on top of the Mountain. Jimothy would become Champion when he collected enough light in his lighthouse to drive back the dark and paint the whole Color Moon.

  “Oh,” said Jimothy. “That’s good. But what exactly does it mean to be Champion? Like, what does it do?” He paused, thinking. “Is it like leveling up?”

  Elizabeth smiled. Jim was thinking about their Pathfinder game. And yeah, it was basically like leveling up. The world of Ardia would gain a ring and be stronger against the Dark World. And he, Jimothy, would be stronger too. She began to explain this to Jimothy before realizing that she didn’t have to.

  “Arcadelt,” said Elizabeth. “Could you, perhaps, clarify what exactly my…powers are?”

  Of course Arcadelt would not simply imbue her with mastery of her abilities, though he was quite able to do so. Yet it was possible, quite possible, that he could clarify one or two points. Since she asked.

  It took Elizabeth a long moment to grasp that this train of thought, possibly, had been his answer.

  *

  “So what are the limits of my spacey powers?”

  That data cannot be found in my files.

  “Rats. Any ideas, Charlie?”

  The angel (pelican form!) had no helpful ideas beyond a vague advisory to experiment. Charlie was busy ruffling through his plumage, something which baffled Isaac since the angel could change its form at will.

  “But there must be limits,” he said, speaking to both the angel and the supercomputer. He leaned on the white plastic of the table and drummed his fingers while looking out the window onto the shifting stars of the Empyrean. Anzu had moved the stars like they were sparks drifting on water, then reset them in their new places. The more Isaac thought about that, the more Downright Impossible it seemed. It went beyond breaking the laws of physics and on over into breaking the laws of reality itself. Could Anzu fold the dimensionality of space from three dimensions down to two and then back again? Was Anzu an escaped Looney Tunes character?

  “Warner Brothers probably had to annul his contract,” Isaac informed Charlie. He affected the voice of a smooth-talking executive. “I’m sorry, Mr. Anzu, but you’re simply too harrowing. The children are having existential crises, Mr. Anzu, which as I’m sure you know isn’t supposed to happen until their thirties.”

  Charlie didn’t laugh. Tough crowd. Instead, the bird told him that Anzu knows everything. A startlingly loud squawk from the pelican accompanied this nonverbal message.

  Everything? This was new information. Isaac assumed his angel meant “everything within the Narrative,” not everything everything. That would make Anzu like God.

  “I’ll ask Thelonius,” said Isaac. He walked there, out of his quarters, down the hall, and up the grav-shaft. He hadn’t tried teleporting again. Not yet. He thought it was probably a Bad Idea to try it again before he was ready. It struck him as the kind of thing with Severe Consequences for getting it wrong.

  If Thelonius ever left the control deck, Isaac had not seen it. He was always there, like a huge decorative potted plant. This potted plant controlled the entire Ardian Defense Fleet. He and his five sons, of course.

  “Mr. Milton!” sounded the deep, croaking voice of Thelonius as Isaac approached. The big leafy fronds, navy and maroon, twitched about in the air. “Welcome back.”

  “Is he?” said Trepidation.

  “Of course!” answered Valiance.

  “Why not?” asked Woe.

  “Well, why so?” countered Furor.

  “Look. Stars.” That was Felicity, not paying attention.

  Isaac waved a hello and approached to see what Thelonius was working on. He stood beside the levitating plasteel pot full of gravel from which Admiral Emberstar grew. The Admiral’s fronds tapped him on the head and shoulders, possibly in greeting.

  Three screens flashed on the other side of the Admiral. One displayed rapidly scrolling lines of green data against a dark background. It might have been computer code, or some language Isaac didn’t know. One screen was split into nine smaller sections, most of which featured some face staring into the camera. The largest screen lay flat in the middle of the console and projected a three-dimensional map of Ardia and its five moons, rendered in extraordinary detail.

  Admiral Thelonious Dantalion Emberstar was busily engaged on all three fronts. Half a dozen of his ferny fronds crawled over consoles and keyboards designed specifically for him. He was inputting data into the rapidly scrolling text, receiving and delivering information to the lesser officers shown on the other screen, and manipulating the real-time map of Ardia’s local space at a dizzying speed. The three-dimensional rendering zoomed in on seemingly empty space where tiny motes of dust swelled into a flotilla of cruisers, then the projection blurred sideways onto a busy spaceport on the surface of Ardia, then blurred again and magnified further into what looked like a battle on the other side of the planet, frozen in time. The view flickered back and forth across this frozen battlefield as though counting something, then zoomed out in a second back to the planetary view, then back in to a collection of wreckage that Isaac identified as the ruined remains of the fleet that Anzu had destroyed. Then the view snapped over to some other place. Isaac had to look away from the flickering 3-D map or risk nausea.

  Admiral Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar had a bombastic name, a ridiculous appearance, and a chattering collection of literal hangers-on who could speak up to three words at a time and process but a single emotion. Yet the Admiral was no joke. He possessed a vast and furiously swift intellect, distributed in some mysterious way that made his ability to multitask legendary. Just what you’d want in an admiral. Still, Isaac couldn’t help but wonder if ARKO made the Admiral redundant.

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  “Have question?” asked Thelonious.

  “Bad news?” quavered Trepidation.

  “Fear not!” advised Valiance.

  Woe sighed theatrically.

  “Rake ye stone!” added Furor, helpfully.

  “Beautiful,” whispered Felicity.

  Isaac had already learned to only pay attention to the words of the father. “I’m trying to work out my powers,” he said. “And the powers of the other heroes. It seems like we ought to have…like, rules or something. But I can’t even find a single common thread between how our powers even work! It’s like our abilities are obtuse by design.”

  “May be,” said Thelonius. “Bright World. Not be understood.”

  (his sons had various things to say about that)

  “The Bright World? What does that have to do with it?”

  “Source energy. Source powers. Source life.”

  (“source this!” cried Furor, which wise counsel Felicity failed to comprehend)

  Isaac puzzled out what he could from Thelonius’ limited ability to put together verbal sentences. The Bright World was the source of their powers? A message interrupted him from responding as his wristband vibrated, then projected a message into the air.

  Incoming communication from Acarnus, the Chained God .

  “Put him through,” said Isaac. Then, to Thelonius. “I’ll take this. You seem busy. See ya!” Admirals Thelonius and Sons said goodbye, or good riddance in the case of Furor, waving some fronds vaguely in his direction as Isaac left to go take a seat by an observation window. He was pretty sure that he’d never get tired of looking at the field of slowly drifting stars, more colorful and definitely more mobile than those seen on Earth.

  AC: You are correct.

  AC: The heroes’ powers are obtuse by design.

  IM: Well that’s dumb

  AC: I agree.

  IM: How are we supposed to do things if we don’t know what we can do?

  AC: Unfortunately, even should you become Champion, you will discover many functionalities of your domain, as you call it, of which you were previously unaware.

  DX: eSpeCialLy if he Becomes cHAMpion

  IM: But *someone* must know! There must be rules. Otherwise it’s just bad narrative design!

  IM: heheh—Narrative design I should say

  DX: hA Ha

  AC: The intent of the obscurity seems to be the enabling of narratively convenient contrivances.

  DX: pLot twists, he Means

  DX: hAt triCks

  IM: We’d call it deus ex machina

  DX: whaT does That mean?

  IM: And again, if this is a story, that’s just Bad Writing!

  IM: Lampshades for everybody! Look, I’m doing it right now!

  IM: just stacking these lampshades

  DX: heHe what?

  IM: It means “god from the machine”

  IM: what you were asking about

  IM: It’s when something unexpected happens out of nowhere to save the protagonist from a tight spot

  DX: yeah Sounds about RIght

  DX: that’S the Bright wORld for yoU

  IM: The Bright World?

  DX: yeAh it’s liKe a regulator

  DX: advice: dON’t fuck with It

  DX: doN’t even Go there

  IM: Again with the advice. I ask you: why the heck should I listen to the advice of a god that’s trying to kill me?

  DX: oh, tHAT

  DX: yeAh we’RE not doiNG that anYmore

  IM: Nice try.

  DX: ok, bUt for Real

  DX: the princeSs cAn be a Majority alL by herselF sometimes

  DX: so sHe and Fiora maDe a fuSs

  DX: preTty easy for the SCAles to tip oNce zAYana got inVolved

  DX: rASmus was Never doWn with This fRom the start

  DX: anD i can’T kilL a coloR pRiest

  DX: aNd AcarnuS, whO jusT left, hE alREady got atTatched to your Scientist

  DX: i wArned hIm abouT that

  DX: heH Heh

  DX: i’D stiLl watch ouT for the oTherS, though

  IM: And I should just trust you on that? You, the Laughing God

  DX: oF courSe not!

  DX: bUt stilL, it Is True that out oF the Eight of Us, oNly two are actuaLly murderERs

  DX: so, yOu know

  DX: 25%

  DX: coULd be wOrsE!

  IM: I thought there were ten of you?

  DX: oH, tHEre were

  IM: What happened?

  DX: (reFer to my pReviouS note aBout muRdererS)

  IM: Huh.

  IM: Well, okay

  IM: So are the Ladies still out to get us?

  DX: lIke i sAid, i’d wATch out for Fires, sHadows, and raINs

  DX: yoU guYs should be Fine though

  IM: Yeah you gods suck at killing us

  DX: iT was mainLy your Guardians

  DX: wE didN’t Count on them iNterfering thE way thEy did

  IM: “And we would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling Guardians! And their dog!”

  DX: anD of Course, I wasN’t reaLly tryinG

  DX: also Fiora

  DX: i Knew she would MedDle

  DX: buT i diDn’t stop Her

  DX: sO i’M a gOod guy, seE?

  IM: When you said ‘color priest’ you were talking about Jim, right?

  DX: yEp

  DX: hEy, he sAid yoU’re the Real Priest

  DX: wHat doeS that Mean?

  DX: dO you coMmune with the goDs on youR home woRld?

  IM: There’s only one God. One *real* God, that is

  DX: wHat is hE the god Of?

  IM: Everything

  DX: woaH!

  DX: sO theRe’s onLy a single, Solitary god foR humans?

  DX: mUst be Lonely

  IM: Not entirely accurate to say He’s a single, solitary God

  DX: do eXplain

  IM: The God I believe in is tertiary. Not one god, also not three gods, but three distinct beings, or persons, all being god together at the same time

  DX: wHAt

  IM: Hang on, I bet I can pull up the Athanasian Creed around here somewhere

  DX: souNds like wE’re back to The ‘obtuSe by design’ tHing

  IM: Oh, just wait and see if I find that creed

  IM: It’s all like, “coequal, coeternal, cosubstantial, begotten-not-created, but *definitely* three of them but also *definitely* only one God”

  DX: mEaninGless dEfinitions?

  IM: It’s illogical, right?

  DX: sEems so, yeAh

  DX: buT to bE honesT I’m not the Best One to ask about lOgic

  DX: thAt guy juSt left

  IM: Well that’s kind of the point. It’s super complicated and also it doesn’t really make sense. But, like, how transcendent could the True God be if I was able to fully conceptualize Him in His entirety?

  DX: wAs thaT a hypothetical questioN?

  IM: I don’t know. Do you want to answer it?

  DX: hMm

  DX: a peCuliar god yOu humans folLow

  IM: Well, not everyone follows Him

  DX: whAt does iT even Mean thAt you can’T concepTualize him?

  DX: whAt does hE loOk like?

  DX: whEre doEs he liVe?

  DX: doeS he fiGht monsters or heal peoPle or What?

  IM: He’s transcendent. Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent

  DX: wOah

  IM: Most humans disagree about what exactly He’s like, or if He even exists at all.

  DX: ...

  IM: Is this boring you? Are you getting god-envy?

  DX: nOt at All

  DX: thIs is prOving to be a Fascinating and sOMewhat Alarming inSight into hUman psyChology

  DX: bY alL means, Continue

  *

  Kate’s message interrupted Heidi’s workout. She released the bar’s gravity and let it clang to the metallic floor. One convenience of her control over gravity was that she never needed to adjust the weight during her lifting. In fact, it enabled her to do away with most things necessary in a gym. All she really needed was a bar.

  She gulped from a bottle of tepid, tinny water, wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grimy cloth, and checked her phone. She had opened CHIME’s code earlier and written in a simple command for it to only alert her if the message came from one of her five friends. So she knew she wasn’t wasting her time.

  Heidi read Kate’s message, read it again more carefully, and then abandoned her workout. A half hour later, she had created the goggles.

  It was simple for Heidi to integrate Kate’s goggles into a protective helmet. The helmet did cramp her style—not much point to the headband, wearing a helmet. But ‘style’ did not rest at the forefront of her concerns. Not for her, not for anyone on Orpheus. When she and Black and her guards had fought off all those rue, she had thought: Why the hell am I not wearing a helmet? Well, that had been later. Her thought at the time had been more like aaugh! My head has been cracked open—shit!

  It fit perfectly when Heidi tugged it on for the first time. Why wouldn’t it, when she had made it herself, just now? The goggles came down, adjusted their brightness. They had settings: infrared, etc, but Heidi left them on default for the moment. She went to the window, three inches of reinforced bulletproof fantasy-material. She looked out at the great expanse of Orpheus.

  Everything had a faint bluish tinge. The blueness was grainy, like billions of distant pixels forming a 3D mesh. It moved, undulating in broad, slow sweeps. One wave approached, a slow tide rolling through the blue. Heidi felt the faint tug of a gravitational tide the moment that the wave arrived at the window.

  She grinned. With this, she could see the waves. She experimented with the settings and found that she could adjust color, brightness, sensitivity.

  “Thanks, Kate,” she said. How on Earth had Kate been able to do this? Heidi had thought the same thing when Kate had analyzed the October Industries tech. Kate was on another level. But Heidi had her own job to do, and she would see it done.

  “Name is Winnow,” Winnow reminded her from the corner of the room. Winnow liked to stand in corners and be forgotten. She could remain perfectly still for hours, like an overgrown mop leaning against the wall.

  “I know, Winnow,” said Heidi. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “It work?” Winnow asked.

  Heidi nodded. She turned from the window and tapped her helmet. “It work.” She had taken the opportunity, since she was here in the storeroom making things, to create some additional protective gear. Kneepads and plated gloves to add to her growing defensive ensemble. She was sick of getting beat up every time she went out. And she could probably thank Abraham Black that getting beat up was the worst of it last time. She and her crew had fought through the assault of the rue, but barely. Turned out that Abraham’s bullets worked just fine on those creatures. It also looked like he never needed to reload. And he never, ever missed.

  Winnow trailed after Heidi, rope whispering on the cold metal, as Heidi descended to the lower quarters. Heidi swung her arms as she went, acclimating herself to the feel of her new gear. She skipped and jumped, testing. A little heavy. But that was okay. The heaviness felt good. It felt like protection. And anyway, she could control gravity. What was heaviness to her?

  She found Balazar outside the mess hall. Everything in here was dim lights and deep shadows, everywhere, all the time. Many of the guards were more comfortable that way. Balazar liked the shadows too, but his horrid cough made him easy to find.

  “Have they left?” she asked.

  “Indeed…” He paused to hack up a lung. It was definitely getting worse. “Six, as you requested. Not…long ago.” Six guards posted to Eric’s moon to help him defend his home. One was Cthkashk-or-whatever, who was recovering with surprising speed. He’d be the leader there, under Eric.

  She nodded. “Good.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears in the helmet. “Where’s Ruth?”

  “With the…prisoner as…requested.”

  She ventured onward to the part of the prison most closely resembling an actual prison. It had cells, anyway. No doors, but at least cells were a start. Heidi paused to contemplate Vyrix and Cazzie. According to Abraham, Vyrix hadn’t been lying about being a cursed witch, one that knew things about the Bleak Machine. Sooner or later, Heidi would have to wake them up and find out. But not yet. She had another interrogation to conduct first.

  She found Ruth with Splitter. They waited beside a captive Darkworlder who had been brought in from one of the increasingly common skirmishes along the outer range of Orpheus. Intel had it that the Dark World was looking for something. They wanted something in Orpheus. But what? Now, with a prisoner, Heidi intended to find out.

  “Has…” Heidi began to speak, but ran into trouble at the first pronoun. He? She? It? Hard to tell. The captive looked like it was built of some dark rubbery material rather than of flesh and blood. Did it even have a face? Heidi was not sure. “Has the prisoner said anything?”

  Ruth answered in the negative. The captive flinched away at the sound of Ruth’s voice. That was good; that meant it could be frightened. It could be coerced into answering questions. Heidi had already decided against torture, though Winnow had earlier suggested this as a solution without actually saying it, and had also implied that it could happen technically without the Warden’s permission. No, Heidi had said. At least, not until she was fully aware of the stakes. Unless it became truly necessary.

  No torture, but she wasn’t above scaring the living tar out of an enemy. Orpheus was the perfect place for that. Situated between Ruth and Splitter, the poor captive was trembling already. It looked about ready to spill everything it knew.

  Apparently, Heidi herself was not as intimidating. When she asked, as authoritatively as possible, what the creature knew about the Dark World’s intentions with Orpheus, it clammed up. It shook its head, or the part of its body that seemed most like a head, in a firm negative.

  Heidi tapped the gun holstered at her side. She sought for Bahamut and felt more than saw him off in the shadows to one side. Mostly recovered by now. Angels healed quick, apparently.

  The captive was afraid of Ruth and Splitter, but not of her. This was understandable, given their appearances. Everything on Orpheus was scary. But it was her moon, and her prison. She had to show this thing, show everybody, that she could be scary too.

  She drew the gun. She aimed it at the captive. “Bahamut,” she said. “Fetch.”

  She pulled the trigger.