Even if Paz didn’t know what Saxa Hortus was, they would have thought this eagle to be ancient regardless. Everything about it, the craggy feathers, the cracked beak. Its claws were the only thing that remained identical to Saxa Hortus’s true form, a dead giveaway to the animal’s fae nature. More hand than bird claw, they clung to the old mattress, nails digging into the fabric. 

“Do you know what a sour word is?” Saxa Hortus voice rumbled from within, her beak unmoving. Very similar to Lady Catarina. 

“No?” 

“It's a word that’s so nasty, so foul, that you have to stuff it in the mouth of a doll. Poor dolly, to always have a foul word in its mouth. My Grandame used many a-dolly to keep fairies away. Their teeth were sharp.” 

Paz stared, blankly. 

“That’s what Merouda did, to keep me away. Turning dollies into vessels. Not kind at all.” 

The encyclopedias didn’t mention anything about sour words, at least not in that way. Not even an alphabet of the Old Speech was preserved in these tombs, and Paz knew of writer's bias when it came to language. There was a brief mention of wards, particularly in the cleansing of spirits. 

“You will clean the dolly out. Take out the sour word. You’ll let me in?” Asked Saxa.

“I’ll try.” Paz worried at the hem of their sleeping tunic. 

“I will show you how.” Saxa Hortus replied. With a stretch of her great wings, she bounced off the bed and flapped onto the window seal. “But you mustn’t write the Old Speech down. It was spoken by us first, from mother to child. Long before your kind dropped from the stars.” 

“Wait, what- what do you mean?” 

She was gone, a single black feather left behind. Picking it up, Paz saw how strange it really was, more scale than a feather, a coating of moth dust. They tucked it carefully into their robes pocket, feeling a sense of calm come over them. Their night was still unpleasant, with their heart pained for home and terrified of the day before them. But where there was fear and loneliness, curiosity breathed anew, and it carried Paz to sleep. 

The day started earlier than Paz had thought or hoped. It was the tall Blanca daughter, Karmen, who knocked on their door and brought them to the docks the next day. Paz had hardly been introduced to her, and she had hardly spoken a word the whole time they traveled. Paz longed for their notebook, as Karmen was someone Paz knew had to be written about. Her status was of ill-repute but she held herself with the nobility of some knight in an adventure book. A strong jaw always turned upwards, her black hair tied in braids. She - 

“The wing is real.”  Said Karmen, her boots splashing through reddish puddles. 

“What?”

“You’ve been staring. Wondering about the wing right?” She said, holding up the odd appendage.

Paz’s ears burned. They struggled to keep up with Karmen’s stride as the pair wove around the busy crowd of the docks. 

“No, I was just taking mental notes.” They replied, sheepish. 

“Mental..notes? For- oh wait. You’re one of those little monks yeah? Always writing shite down.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well if you’re gonna write about me, spell my name right. It's Karmen with a K not a C.” 

“Understood.” 

A donkey, unbroken and having cut loose from their owner’s ropes dashed through the crowd, skidding just beside Paz. They tumbled instantly, only to be pulled out of the way by Karmen, gripping them by their tunic sleeve. She pulled Paz roughly along beside her as a little chaos over the loose donkey broke out. 

The docks were chaotic enough as it was before the donkey broke free. A permanent, liminal space of loading and unloading, with the heavy stink of ocean suffocating Paz. The waters were a brackish, foamy brown, colored by the mud of the Southern Scrape and churned by the constant movement of boats. Paz had never been on a ship before and hoped never to do so. They found the sea mildly terrifying in its infinity. Even as they hurried along, Paz couldn’t help but feel the grip of some existential dread. 

Thankfully they weren’t by the docks for long. A two-storied building with boarded-up windows was their destination. The building barely stood on a crooked foundation and looked like it ought to be abandoned but a steady stream of people staggered in and out of the doors.

Karmen stopped Paz just as they were about to enter. 

“How old are you?” 

“Sixteen?” 

Karmen looked down at Paz, then back to the sun-bleached door, unsettled. 

“Just, keep your eyes on the floor okay?” 

“What do you mean?”

Karmen stood in front of Paz and entered the building, pulling them gently along by the sleeve. It was difficult to see over Karmen’s tall frame, and the room was so stuffed with sailors and merchants Paz couldn’t possibly see what the crowd was so rapturously ogling. There was a stage, and curtains, and Paz could just see the very tips of feathery headdresses, but that was all they could make out. 

It wasn’t until they were seated in a little alcove and caught a glimpse at the several interesting posters of men and women decorating the walls did Paz suddenly realize the nature of the establishment. Paz coughed and nervously fiddled with the ends of their tunic sleeves. 

“Xun better be here on time. You can speak Westerly, right?” Karmen sat upright, her bound wing propped up on the table. 

“Yeah, only formal though.” 

“What about Greenie? You speak that too?” 

Paz soured at the slang but nodded. 

Karmen didn’t question further. Nor did she talk. Drinks were ordered, as was a generous serving of pinchitos. Paz eagerly tucked in, their only meal since that morning being the meager egg and milk provided by the inn. Bland meals were customary for a student, but no one could shame them for graciously devouring delicious skewers, especially since Karmen had paid for the meal. It would have been rude to turn the offer down.

As for Karmen, she quietly drank and impatiently picked at the grain of the wooden table. Her wing, semi-feathered and goose-fleshed, seemed to be bothering her. At intervals she rubbed at the thin elbow, wincing and cursing under her breath. 

“Did Merouda do that?” Paz chewed through the last of the pinchito. 

“You think?” 

“I won’t write about it, if you don’t want me to.” 

Karmen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She pulled out a single grey feather, the stem lightly damp with a black oily substance. 

“I wanted a new life for Josie and I. Not really into the family business. Orozco palace was hiring. Just kitchen work but it was honest, yeah? I thought it would be good to get away from Aunt- From Milla, especially for Josephine.”  She plucked out another feather “Guess I was wrong.” 

“And Josephine? Merouda has her hostage?” 

“Yeah.” 

Paz nodded, pushing the plate of cleaned skewers away. 

“But why work at such a place, surely you could have worked anywhere?”

Karmen didn’t answer, she didn’t have to. At that moment, a gnarled-headed man somewhere between the age of six and a hundred sat unannounced at their table. He wasn’t alone, an equally gnarled man of intermittent age and bad teeth stood alongside the table. The standing man had a few knives tucked in his belt, and a general roughness of quality that breathed “hired muscle”. 

“Xun? What the hell happened to your ear?” Asked Karmen. 

Xun pawed at the side of his head where an ear should have been, finding nothing but stringy grey hair and an inflamed mass of flesh. He shrugged. Karmen didn’t bother to press the question further. 

It was Paz’s turn to converse, and they did to the best of their ability. True, there was a significant gap in dialect as Paz had only ever learned the westerly tongue from books. Still, they understood enough to properly relay to Karmen that the man Xun presented was open to hire for mercenary work, but he wouldn’t be available any time this summer due to wedding plans. Xun didn’t bring only one potential hire with him, and as soon as Karmen rejected the groom-to-be, another hopeful took their place at the table, hands folded eagerly behind as Xun listed their credentials, all bloody and efficient. This too was a reject, as they were very insistent on pay up front but refused to explain why. 

It would be a few tedious hours of rejection. Every mercenary Xun brought on was either wildly incompetent, ill-suited for the job, or didn’t accept promises for payment. Truly it was the lack of solid finances that turned all hires away, just as Milla had predicted. 

Paz felt very dirty about the whole thing. Not only were they in a place of ill-repute while being of the tender age of sixteen, but they were actively participating in the hiring of professional killers. It was all far and away beyond what any Seraphim would ask of a respectable monk. By the time the last of Xun’s connections left they were feeling sick to their stomach and stiff in their legs. Karmen too was frustrated, leaving the building in a huff of feathers. Paz hurried behind as they made their way back to the warehouse, the day all but wasted.

*******

It was an awkward meeting. Lady Catarina curled on a cushion, chewing over a bowl of lettuce and hay. Before her, the wide-shouldered Hugo and the slight Dogsbody stood, looking for all the world like a pair of naughty schoolboys caught putting tacks on the schoolmaster’s seat.

“Look. If I knew who you were, I wouldn’t have tried to off you, miss. I, rather..Dogsbody had orders yeah? I was just trying to get the job done.” Hugo had his wide-brimmed hat held apologetically in his hands, his head hung low.

“Shut up.  It was my fault okay Miss Rabbit? One hundred percent. I should have feigned deafness or idiocy, anything to get the witch off my back yeah? She’s the one who told me to do it! How was I ‘sposed to know who you were?”  Dogsbody chided. 

“You certainly don’t have to feign idiocy.” Lady Catarina said. Her soft mouth crunched away at the lettuce leaf. “Hugo. It’s Hugo, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, Miss.” 

“Hugo. Unsheathe your rapier.” 

“..What?” 

“Your. Sword. I see you have one yes? Or did you forget?” 

Hugo blinked, confused by the order but complying nonetheless. He was a disheveled, broken gargoyle of a man, a sad villainous figure from a children’s book, but with a draw of his sword he seemed to mysteriously transform. His posture instantly straightened and a practiced gracefulness suddenly animated his arms. Even his eyes seemed to clear of drink and worry, for an instant he was alive again.

Lady Catarina lifted her head from her bowl of lettuce. She couldn’t smile with her rabbit's head, but there was a satisfaction to her ruby gaze. 

“I knew it. I knew I recognized you. You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re a Camarada.” 

Hugo looked like he’d been stabbed in the back. Dogsbody looked just as struck.

“How…” 

“Merouda always put aside money to keep the Camaradas on as personal guards. Were you trained at the capital, like all the others?”

“I was but, how the hell–? No one except Dogsbody knows this, not even Milla Blanca.” 

“The position you took when you drew your blade. It’s distinctive, only Camaradas stand that way.” She hopped off her cushion and stood at the edge of the table, peering closer at Hugo’s worn face. She observed him, his heavy brow, the scar that hooked from one side of his mouth to his cheek in a half circle. 

There was a breath of silence between the two. Dogsbody coughed into a tattooed fist, lightly.

“So, what are you going to do to us then?” 

“Pardon?” Catarina cocked her head to the side.

“I mean, seein as you’re so bent on bloody vengeance, and seein as both he and I tried to kill you, and seein as you have some history with Hugo-“  

“I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to hire him. Camarada training is permanent, no matter how far a student has fallen. And it looks like you have fallen quite a ways.” 

Hugo nodded. He could hardly argue with that. 

“What happened? I never heard of a single Camarada fired.”

“I wasn’t fired. I quit.” 

Lady Catarina balked but didn’t bother to push the matter further at the moment. She would take what she could, even if it was second-hand. She lifted her paw and nodded her head solemnly.

“Kneel. I wish to dub you my personal guard.” 

“What about Dogsbody?” Interjected Hugo, indignant. 

“I have no use for him. He’s an idiot.” 

“Then you have no use for me.” He put an arm around Dogsbody’s small shoulders, protective. His voice was deep and stern. “It's the both of us or nothing at all.” 

Dogsbody sniffed smugly. If it was possible, and if Catarina had both working human thumbs and a musket she would have shot the grimy fool then and there. But she wasn’t nearly as powerful as she once was. She had learned many things in her time, one of many was the importance of compromise. It was something her father was never good at, for better or for worse. 

And what had become of him, anyway? If he had finally succumbed to Merouda’s steady poisoning by then, surely his death would have been on every paper and door-front. Just maybe he was still alive, just maybe there was still time. 

She would have to make do, there was too much at risk to be picky with her choices. What this once magnificent Camarada saw in such a wormy, spindly-legged ruffian Catarina could hardly guess. But, as she could see from the gentleness of Hugo’s touch and the way Dogsbody leaned into him, perhaps love really was blind as they say. 

“Fine. The both of you kneel.”

The pair did as ordered. She didn’t have a sword to dub them, as was proper, so instead she pawed each of their sweaty foreheads. Compromise. Never be afraid to compromise. 

Still, she couldn’t help but wrinkle her rabbit’s nose at the pair as they left. Why anyone would leave the most prestigious title of Camarada behind was pure nonsense to her. It would be as if she got up one day and rejected her place as an Orozco. It was just something no one did, at least without just cause. 

The little room she found herself in was a far stretch from the glass palace she grew up in. Marisol’s Inn & Bath was a place she never thought she’d ever find herself in. The room had cobwebs. Cobwebs! It smelled sour, the steam of the bath seeping up from the floorboards, leaving a sharp coating of mildew along the corners of the walls. The feeling of smallness threatened Lady Catarina once more, its presence lasting longer than usual. Looking outside her small window, she tried to focus on the nonsense movement of the people below. 

Masks and no masks, some already trailing streamers, and many, many holding little statuettes of Saint Gusti. It was the usual depiction of the demigod. He triumphantly speared a dragon through the neck, his knight's helm swooped and radiant. Many little Saint Gustis were set up in a pyramid, candles nestled between them, yet to be lit as the Feast was so very far away.

Peaking every so often between the ancient statues of Saint Gusti was a newer face. A beautifully serene woman, all painted white with a holy nun’s wimple framed neatly around her face. It was a humbler icon, almost plain amongst the gaudily painted Saint Gusti figures. She was kneeling, one hand clasped over her chest, the other around a book. Rage boiled in Lady Catarina just looking at it. The rage chased that useless feeling of smallness good and proper. She turned away from the window. Back to her beastly dish of lettuce and hay.

It was a wonderful lie everyone indulged in. A summer dream that ended in the unstoppable deluge of the hurricane, when the red desert turned to swamp. 

And the city sank a little more.

Chapter Six

A man walked alone, adjusting his devil’s mask. It was a clumsy thing and he felt ridiculous wearing it. He never had to wear something so outlandish for a simple rough-up job before. A plain domino mask, or even a pair of wooly stockings with holes was the standard for heists, but a childish monster mask was far and beyond what he was getting paid for. 

The idiot who hired him insisted all meetings be carried out on roofs. It was a completely impractical demand, especially since this whole operation was supposed to be kept quiet. Yet here the very grumpy mercenary found himself amongst a handful of other equally grumpy mercenaries, all in matching devil masks of green, and all wishing they could be anywhere else in the world. 

The only one on the roof who was feeling the spirit of the evening was a caped figure leaning against the chimney, the lights of the city illuminating only a fraction of his costume. All black, with a velvet cloak and dramatic collar, he was the very picture of gothic horror and an unwieldy budget. 

“Tonight is the night, my brothers. Tonight we put an end to Merouda’s reign of terror, starting with the lowly dogs who snip after her heels. The Blancas will be wiped off the streets of Kor Kura forever.” He punctuated the proclamation with a swoop of his cape. 

The others stood silent, their devil masks not nearly as well done as their dramatic leader. One of the faceless men raised their hand. 

“Yeah so… we’re getting paid tonight right?”

The question catches the leader off guard. He clears his throat a little and tugs at the collar of his cape. 

“Of course. Later, after we burn the place down. As promised.” 

The hired help removed his mask to the side, finding it difficult to breathe. Sweat dripped down his cheeks.

“You promised us last week.”  He lowered his voice, hoping to spare his leader a drop of dignity in front of the rest. “I need the money right now. All of us do.” 

Their leader’s emotions were unreadable behind the ever-grinning mask. He fumbled with his coat pockets, gloved hands shaking slightly. A leather pouch of coins was procured, its contents eagerly divided amongst the hires. 

“That’s all I have for now, alright? So just- can you not..” 

“Not what, sir?” 

If a devilishly clad creature of vengeance could look sheepish, he did. 

“Next time just ask before okay? You don’t have to bring it up out of nowhere.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Please? You kind of killed the mood man.” 

“Sorry?” 

“No, it’s fine.” A sigh rattled within the mask. “Let’s just go.”

Their pockets filled, and they watched their mysterious benefactor climb down from the roof, taking the lead. One by one the masked men took up their torches and bags filled with smoking sticks. While physically they were all present and ready for the job ahead, none really had their heart in it. They dragged their feet as they snuck from shadow to shadow.

*******

The pink ring of the moon was crisp and full that night. Storm clouds gathered still, but winds from the north pushed them further out to sea where they gathered together, plotting to return with vengeance. 

Below, citizens still lingered in the streets long after most shops closed their doors and windows. It was harder to linger these days, with the newly added spikes jutting out from walls and floors, all new designs ordained by the Orozcos family. It was more important to keep people moving, and thus buying, than standing around to chat. So metal grating, metal poles, and all those spikes as thorny as the desert trees surrounding Kor Kura were added to promote a better flow of bodies. It was Merouda, the newly appointed heir of the Orozco estate who had such an idea. 

But people always found places to linger, even when the buildings around them begged not to. Street children swung their legs off the sides of the iron scaffolding or dangled playfully from the brutal spikes. Merchants on their way home stood casually atop the cold, unfriendly fencing. Feral cats didn’t mind the new additions at all, slinking easily between the bits of metal as easily as liquid. And the many desert crows that lived their whole lives along the sides of buildings provided their own form of decoration with nests and droppings. 

Paz wrote everything down. Their new notebook was provided by Milla. It was an old ledger, unused and forgotten. It was a generous donation, and Paz feverishly recalled all of the events leading up until that point.

The butcher shop was quiet that night, most of Milla’s boys having long since left. The front of the shop once had display boxes full of fresh cuts of meat, with sides of pork hanging in the window, tempting customers. Now it was all empty, an obvious shell of a store without a single actual slice of product to its name. Paz sat at a table once used to rend shanks of meat apart, its wood still stained with years of blood, long since dried. Milla was tilted back on a rocking chair, discussing minutiae with Lady Catarina. Hugo and Dogsbody, newly hired as bodyguards, stood on either side of her, trying their best not to nod off as she talked. Karmen was there that night too, tirelessly practicing her sword-fighting form in the middle of the shop, using an old dangling rope as a small target. 

And Saxa Hortus, in her eagle’s feathers, staring from the rafters. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Catarina insisted. She was stretched out comfortably across the old checkout table. She refused to retire to Marisol’s Inn & Bath until her dealings with Milla were done. 

“And when we get a no again, then what?” Asked Milla.

“We won’t get a no again. There has to be someone out there who-“ 

A single, strange creak from the roof stalled everyone in their places. Karmen’s head shot up to the ceiling, and the grip on her rapier tightened. Quickly she turned to Milla-

“Someone’s on the roof.”

Before anyone had time to react, the boarded-up windows at the back of the building were kicked in, and a billow of smoke poured in. 

Catarina reacted first, her rabbit’s body twitched to life. She jumped off the table and into the arms of Hugo. Tucking her safely in his jacket, he turned with a rapier in hand towards the smoke and whatever was inside it. Paz dropped to the floor, scurrying under the tabletop for safety, watching as Milla grabbed for an elderly musket she kept tucked under the desk at all times.

Devils of different heights and varying levels of costuming rolled out of the smoke with swords upheld. Behind the best dressed of them stood in a leafy green cape, his grim mask smiling, all horns and painted-on teeth. 

It was a grand entrance, but it didn’t last long. Karmen was on them instantly. In a single swing, she disarmed the first devil, kicking him to the side with her boot. The second devil made an attempt at a parry, but his grip was too weak and Karmen easily batted him away. A second attempt was made and quickly ended by an elbow to the devil’s sternum. 

She turned to face down two more, but both realized their paycheck was not worth the formidable opponent and dropped their weapons with a shrug, climbing out the window with the other unarmed men. It was quick work, and soon only their leader, the man in the green cape and leafy devil’s mask remained. He said nothing, holding his ground with an expensive-looking rapier leveled at Karmen. 

In the end, it wasn’t Karmen who ended the fight, despite her best efforts. The man in the mask only took two steps when a mist dissolved behind him, its strange particles blending with the dying smoke of the bombs. Saxa Hortus materialized behind him, her true shape barely fitting inside the butcher shop. Her back brushed up against the ceiling, horns scraping against the sides of the building. She reached down and plucked the strange intruder from the ground, turning him around in her claws. 

He screamed.

And screamed,

And screamed.

Saxa Hortus regarded the now sobbing person in her grasp, those glowing eyes flashing under her grassy hair. 

“Oh by Gusti’s sacred balls please don’t eat me! Oh gods please!”  He cried. 

“You smell like flowers.” She said.

Carefully she placed him on the table as everyone, weapons ready, approached the stranger as he wailed. Even Paz crawled from their hiding place and crowded with the others, curious to see who this odd stranger was. 

“This is the idiot I told you about. He’s been eyeballing this place all week.” Karmen said. Still, she kept her sword at the ready. Hugo and Dogsbody too were cautious, especially Hugo who kept Catarina close. Her head popped out of his jacket, nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Remove the mask.” Ordered Catarina. 

Milla tore the devil’s mask away, exposing a very sweaty face with big, fearful eyes. It was surprising to Catarina, who did not expect to see someone who looked like they were from the Peninsula like Paz, or at least somewhere adjacent. He was surprisingly young too, at least as old as Karmen, his nobleman’s mustache just barely grown in all the way. 

He stopped screaming and began to cry instead.

“Do I know you?” Lady Catarina said, cocking her head to the side.

“Yeah, I think I know him too,” Milla grunted. “You a Desjardins?” 

The man swallowed between sobs, shaking his head. 

“F-Faustin Desjardins.” He coughed, frightened eyes shifting from one face to another.

“Please…Please don’t kill me.”

Milla and Lady Catarina looked at each other. A broad smile crossed Milla’s face as she fished for a cigarette behind her ear. 

“Miss Rabbit. I believe we found our bankroll.”

********

Lady Catarina wasn’t lying, she did know Faustin Desjardins, but only from afar and only ever in the context of his family. The one time she ever saw him in person was at least two years prior. She, but a girl of fifteen, attended her first public execution. It was a practice Merouda had insisted on bringing back to the streets of Kor Kura, and her father had put into action. All the noble families who knew their place and knew who they had to please attended, and that included the Desjardins. 

She caught a glimpse of them from across the way. They were easy to spot, all dressed in white and gold. Hailing from those very far away isles of Pucci, they were a handsome lot, unusually so. Four daughters and a son. She remembered him, arms held primly behind his back, scowling at the strange contraption on the stage. It was a device designed by Merouda herself. A chair of metal, enveloped in a case of a thousand blades, the entire thing operated by a single crane and a spring. A prisoner, screaming and crying, was loaded into the thing. Lady Catarina remembered glancing at the young man’s face. He was the only one who looked as horrified as she felt. 

And now they had this same man locked in a shed behind the butcher shop. He’d been there for the rest of the evening, and throughout the entire morning, and was looking to be held for the rest of the day due to his refusal to cooperate. Karmen was steaming as she left the shed. Dogsbody stood by, twisting a knife in his hands. He looked as feral as his northerner name, silver teeth catching the light of day as he chewed at a bit of dried fish skin. 

“He won’t compromise.” Karmen told Catarina, pushing her way back through the shop door “Nuisance.” 

“I’m telling you, we should just torture ‘em.” Dogsbody suggested “I did it plenty of times back in the pit. I’ll squeeze the money right out of the bastard.” 

“Violence is our last resort. Let me talk to him, I believe I can speak on his terms. 

Catarina shook her head, hopping towards the door of the shed. Clearing her throat, she turned to Dogsbody who dutifully picked her up and took her inside. Hugo, who'd been leaning against the shed stood behind them at the crooked door, hand on rapier.

The shed was a spider-webbed mess of unused tools and burlap sacks, their contents long since forgotten. It was unbearably hot in the shed, rays of painful sunlight spiked through the wooden sides and stabbed into the now very sweaty Faustin Desjardins. He sat as mournful as a reprimanded child, hands bound and head hung low. 

“Hello. I’m sure you do not recognize me in this form. I am Catarina D’Angelique Orozco. We have never formally met, but I am familiar with your family, as I am with you.” 

Faustin refused to make eye contact. 

“It's my understanding that Karmen has already told you of our plot. I know the Desjardins are quite prosperous, a rival to my own fortune in fact. Would it be so bad as to part with some of that wealth to achieve our goal? Don’t you hate Merouda as well?” 

“I do,” Faustin said. “And I also hate you! The whole Orozco family belongs in the Pit!” 

He spat. But it was clear to Catarina that the man had never actually spat in his entire life. He didn’t meet his target, it didn’t even leave his chin. Sheepishly he wiped his face against his shoulder. 

“I know my father has made some poor decisions as of late—“ 

“He gave Merouda the power to do as she pleases! She’ll turn us all into weird, ugly, scary…gooey monstery…things! Just look at you!” 

“I’m not a monstery thing. Neither am I scary or gooey. I happen to be a rabbit.”

“Yeah, well- see,  I took it up the mantle of The Green Devil to drive out the evil that has infected this city, and that’s including you!”

“And how has that been going? Have you driven out any evil yet?” Catarina squirmed in Dogsbody’s grasp a little. He let her go, and she hopped up to Faustin easily. She searched his face, demanding he give her the dignity of his attention. His head drooped lower still, her words cutting into him more than any knife Dogsbody could ever wield. 

“No…But I’m just starting out. Gotta put down some groundwork first.” 

“And how is that coming along?” 

Finally, shamefully, he looked up, bloodshot eyes finally meeting her red ones. 

“I do not fault your desire.” She said, voice calm and collected. "I too am ashamed of what my father has done, and I seek to end Merouda and try to undo some of the evil both of them have caused. The gates will open to all once more. The petty indulgences will cease. The trap chairs will all be burned. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see those savage contraptions done away with.” 

“More than anything.” He whispered. All bravado drained out of him. Catarina could see the same horrified youth in him, trapped under the self-righteous arrogance of someone born with too much money and not enough hobbies. 

“Then help me.” 

“But the Blancas, they are criminals— I couldn’t… I wouldn’t—” 

Catarina suddenly, violently thumped her back foot against the ground. Her patience snapped. She had enough of standing around in this hot shed, trapped in this painful rabbit's body. 

“Criminals? Criminals hm? Tell me, Faustin Desjardins, how did your family get so very, very wealthy in the first place? All those mines off the coast of your beautiful Pucci, the smoke, the fire? A scar on the face of an otherwise heavenly archipelago, that’s what I hear.” 

Faustin raised his head, indignant.

“My father’s father ran those mines, not me! I’m not responsible for all that. I can’t even shovel right, I don’t even know what a shovel is!” 

“That’s very convenient. Considering this, if you refuse to lend us the money I will see to it that your skin will be strung up on a pole, forever to wave in the wind as a dried-up little flag. Sounds reasonable?” 

He couldn’t say anything. He gaped like a fish, intelligence ran away long ago. 

“Or, you could simply work with us.” A cunning thought occurred to her, and her ears twitched in satisfaction “I’ll even let you fight alongside us. Wouldn’t that be something? Finally a proper outing for The Green Devil. Kor Kura would finally know your name.” 

It grew quiet in the shed, despite the perpetual noise of endless industry and chatter of the city outside. Even the buzz of the flies marching up and down the sides of the walls couldn’t disturb the tension of the moment. 

“Alright.” Faustin said. 

Lady Catarina could not smile, her features forever frozen to the stoic expression that all rabbits have. But she was pleased, her ears pressed slick to her back. 

“Dogsbody, cut this man’s bonds.” 

Dogsbody did as ordered, though he very much wished he could have skinned the nobleman instead. He kicked Faustin out of the shed with a boot to his arse, chuckling as the lad stumbled into the heat of the day.

Karmen was surprised to see him out, and after what seemed like only a brief exchange of words. Catarina hopped easily behind him, triumphant. Even Hugo and Dogsbody seemed surprised, and a little disappointed that they didn’t have to resort to dismemberment. 

Faustin looked greatly diminished in the light of day. Without a mask to hide his softish face he looked less like a mysterious creature of darkness and more like a confused, cheap thespian who’d forgotten his lines on stage. His dark, velvet costume was obviously of rich make, but without the shade of night, it looked ridiculously overblown and uncomfortable in the summer sun. 

He pulled at the popped collar of his cape. 

“So, I suppose a proper introduction is in order, yeah?” 

His audience encircled him, all crossed arms and hard stares. Even Paz, who had refused to witness torture of any form had joined the group upon spying that Faustin hadn’t been torn limb from limb. They quietly scribbled in the little notebook Milla had graciously provided. 

“So, yeah um. I’m Faustin Desjardins um..sorry about kicking in the windows and the smoke and all that.” 

“Which you will replace.” Said Karmen

“Well-“ 

“And then you’ll buy us some proper weapons, and warriors worth their salt.”

**********

There was no light. There hadn’t been any for a time. It was hard to keep track of the days in the murk.

Josephine sat in her cage, knees pressed close to her chest for comfort, for some sense of self. She had grown used to the iron bars, and the cold floor strewn with dirty hay. A ratty blanket and a bowl of water perpetually forgotten were the only occupants of her little prison.

Though it was dark, it wasn’t silent. For days on end, she had been tormented and terrified by the shrieks of birds and the cries of other people lost in the void. She tried to talk to them, tried to have some conversation for company, but whoever else was trapped could not understand her language, nor did they have the peace of mind to do anything but weep and pray. 

And then there was light. A door would open from above, stairs were illuminated, and a familiar figure in white drifted downwards. The woman in white was always accompanied by her Camaradas, their armor rattled and clanged as they marched dutifully behind. Upholding a lantern, she provided the only way for Josephine to comprehend her surroundings.

It wasn’t a dungeon. Though the lantern was not enough to truly see where she was, it wasn’t some dirty, cobblestoned alcove with chains and dangling skeletons from storybooks. It was a rich-looking room, as far as she could tell, with a domed ceiling and marbled floors. Old tapestries depicting long-forgotten orchards and astrological signs covered the walls. Saint Gusti himself was present everywhere. Stone statues of the demi-god flanked each corner of the room, his sword stabbing straight through the evil dragon’s neck. If she wasn’t trapped in a cage, she would think she was in a cathedral before it had opened for nightly service. 

She finally saw the others. Cages of various dimensions were stored, with various creatures inside. It was a flock of thinly featured, sickly parrots who were making the most noise, the poor creatures plucked at each other’s skin in frustration and cracked their beaks against the bars of the cage. Strange lizards Josephine had never seen before rested on their bellies, unmoving and unblinking. Snakes of all sizes peaked from inside burlap sacks, and toads croaked mindlessly in little wicker boxes. 

Josephine finally saw the other people, sitting mournfully in cages as dirty and empty as her own. She could just barely make them out by lantern light, but from their ragged clothes and warn faces they must have been impoverished. One man, who had been rocking back and forth in a soothing motion unfurled himself from the corner of the cage, reaching his hands out towards the woman in white. He pleaded in the Westerly tongue, tears streaming. 

The woman held the lantern close to his face and smiled gently at him. She spoke softly, warm and kind, reassuring him and taking his hands in her own. He seemed to calm a little and willingly allowed the Camarada to help him out of his cage. 

 There was a table of wood and gold in the center of the room. Its legs, the serpentine bodies of dragons. The man was carefully led to the table and instructed to lay onto of it, his arms positioned serenely over his chest. One of the Camaradas wrestled a parrot out of its cage, while another removed one of the snakes and a toad. Each of these animals was bound to the table, except the toad, which the prisoner on the table was instructed to hold onto tightly. 

More animals were removed. A few lizards, and another parrot tied screeching to a weight on the table. Soon the prisoner was surrounded by a wreath of creatures, his eyes closed serenely and trusting as the women in white spoke calmly and kindly to him.

In her hands was a book. It wasn’t like the richly embellished tomes of Saint Gusti. It was a plain-looking thing, hand-bound and bulging with paper of varying length. She opened as reverently as any nun would, practiced in her movements. The woman’s soothing blue eyes scanned the writing until they found the passage she needed. She opened her mouth and began to recite.

Josephine knew the woman was speaking, but she couldn’t hear what was being said. Truly, as soon as the woman began her recitation, Josephine couldn’t hear anything at all. The squawks of the parrots were suddenly muffled, even her own nervous breath ceased ringing in her ears. 

But she could feel the words. It was a rumble deep inside her, somewhere between her chest and her belly. It made her eyes well with tears and her head felt wrong. Not dizzy, not ache. Just wrong. The feeling grew worse as the woman in white continued, and Josephine could see even the immovable Camaradas looked disturbed. 

And then all at once, something happened. 

The prisoners on the table were unwoven, and it all happened so fast. 

A mass of bubbling tar boiled and oozed where man and animals had been. The Camaradas leaped back in shock as the amoeba-like form expanded, and smoke sizzled as an indescribably foul odor filled the room. The woman’s white tunic was no longer pure, a splatter

of viscous marked her, just as ink marks a page.

Chapter Seven

Some used to compare the city of Kor Kura to an egg. The further towards the middle you go, the richer you get. So it was that all the major palaces were huddled together, protected by a vast cage of iron. It was a dome, constructed ages ago. Serving to keep the desperate out and the wealthy in. 

Space was always an issue for the city, as it was perpetually under construction but lacked any room to build outwards. Because of this, manors and palace gardens were tiered and stacked in pyramid formation, and so a person’s fortune wasn’t measured in acres but in levels. The more steps a person had to climb to reach their mansion, the more well-off they were. 

Karmen found herself climbing a seemingly endless incline of steps that day. Even with her daily sessions of training, she found herself catching her breath the further up they walked. Dogsbody was a lot worse off. Sweat dripped off his pale face, cursing every step he took. Still, the pair kept Faustin within stabbing distance as he led the way up the climb, his pace a trudging funeral march. 

“Move it lad!“ huffed Dogsbody “The sooner we have tea and biscuits with mummy and daddy, the sooner we can leave.” 

“And if you even so much as hint at being in peril I’ll cut out your throat,” Karmen said. She gave Faustin a rough push forward, hurrying him along.

The view would have been impressive. The Desjardins mansion was perched just beyond the hanging gardens. From this angle, most of the palace district and even the rest of the city beyond the iron cage could be easily viewed. But any grandeur was dampened both by Karmen’s mood and the thick storm clouds coating the sky. It didn’t help that her wing had to be painfully folded and wrapped up in cloth, an attempt to not alarm the many aristocrats they passed on their way to the palace. The sky threatened another summer drizzle and the air smelled electric. 

The Desjardins mansion itself was almost as impressive as the Orozco’s own Glass Palace. A newer building with a delicate structure made of stone imported from the mountains of Pucci, with finely trimmed shrubs lining its multi-tiered walkways. To anyone else, it would appear a home befitting royalty, but Faustin approached those tall gold-flecked doors like a truant schoolboy approaching the headmaster’s office. 

He knocked weakly and only because Dogsbody had a concealed dagger to his side. 

It only took a few breaths for the doors to open, revealing a primly dressed maid. She seemed a little surprised by both the presence of Faustin and the company he kept but announced his arrival nonetheless. Before he could even step beyond the hearth a tall, flowery woman nudged the maid to the side and embraced Faustin in a tight, overbearing squeeze. 

“Darling dear! I was wondering when you’d be back.” The lady said. She fussed over him, muttering reproaches in the soft Puccian language.

Karmen and Dogsbody glanced at each other, bemused. It was obvious from the resemblance that this was Faustin’s mother, Lady Desjardins, but from the way Faustin had been acting, they had both expected a much harsher woman. Instead, she was all grace and friendliness, welcoming them in despite their strange appearance. 

“Are you both a part of Faustin’s theater troupe?” Lady Desjardin asked. She scanned Karmen and Dogsbody curiously, amused by their ragged appearance. 

“Sure! I mean yeah, of course they are mum.” Faustin jumped in before Karmen and Dogsbody could say anything. “She juggles and he’s the knife thrower.”

“How fascinating! Any good?”  Lady Desjardins looked to Dogsbody, excited by the notion. 

“The best,” Dogsbody replied with a wink. The Lady Desjardins looked just a bit scandalized by his silver-toothed grin, but it was only the briefest moment of authenticity before pleasantry regained its footing. She led them both through the entry hall, giving a practiced tour of the grounds before leaving them to the sitting room. Faustin excused himself to his quarters, while his mother hurried off to the gardens to extricate the good Lord Desjardins himself. It was a whirl of excuses and promises of returning soon, leaving both Dogsbody and Karmen alone in a room worth more than either one of their lives put together. The two sat there for a painfully long time, occasionally picking at one of the many plates and bowls of treats left out for them by their gracious host. The centerpiece of the room was a large painting depicting the current lineup of Desjardins children. All four daughters, beautifully dressed and elegant, and Faustin himself posed in the middle, sad-faced.

One of the few things the rather obscure archipelago of Pucci was known for was unicorns. It was the only place on the entire face of the globe to harbor the animals, so much so that it was a rather cruel cliche to even conflate a citizen of Pucci and the creature together.

So it was painfully humorous that almost every single inch of the entire sitting room, and the mansion itself, was bedecked in unicorn imagery. 

Every decorative plate, every tapestry, every inch of the Desjardins estate was somehow related to unicorns. The fireplace Karmen and Dogsbody sat in front of was flanked by two unicorn heads, their gold horns pointing accusatory at these lowly guests as if the very walls themselves knew they didn’t belong. 

And then there was the living unicorn itself. Its short legs tucked under an overfed body, lounging in a gold embroidered bed, warming itself by the fire. Empty goats-eyes stared at nothing as it eternally chewed, its little beard bobbing along. The famous horn was much shorter than artistic depictions, and a lot less gold. A dull, cartilaginous thing with a disproportionate value to artisans and mystics alike. 

It wore a collar. The collar read “Pierre IVth” 

Dogsbody burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. The flowery opulence and sheer dedication to the brainless, one-horned barn animal were just too ridiculous. 

Karmen swatted at his knee, shushing him, but even she couldn’t hide her amusement. 

“Ooh, oooh, sorry master juggler!” He chuckled “Look at this!” He helped himself to a porcelain bowl filled with chocolate-dipped fruit, little cherubs chasing unicorns decorated the ceramic, sickeningly maudlin in design. 

“Put that down! If we so much as chip a cup these bastards will sue us for everything we got. It’ll be back to the pit for you.” 

“Never thought The Green Devil would be living in a mansion like this. Why run around playing demon when you have bowls like these?” 

“Boredom is the only risk of wealth,” Karmen muttered. 

As if on queue, Faustin re-entered. His devilish costume was gone, replaced with a nobleman’s jacket that somehow looked more ridiculous than his diablo attire. 

“Master. Juggler? Really?” Karmen said. She swatted at Dogsbody who giggled once more.

“Sorry, I had to say something okay?” 

“She thinks you’re an actor? That’s your excuse for running around all night?” 

“Yeah, not bad right? She’s seen my costume and everything.” 

He crouched by Pierre IVth’s bed and scratched behind his ears. The animal cocked its bearded head to the side, leaning in contentedly. 

“And what were you planning on doing once you got big and famous for..what was it you’re trying to do again?” 

“Clean up the city of Kor Kura?” 

“Yeah, that.” 

“She never travels past the iron cage. Pop doesn’t either.” 

“Convenient.” 

He chose to ignore Karmen’s attitude. He patted Pierre’s distended belly.

“So we’re getting the money eh? Or are we gonna have to explain to your dear mum why we had to gut her darling little son?” Dogsbody popped a chocolate covered berry into his mouth. 

“It's not so easy, okay? We—“ Faustin was interrupted.

Standing at the door was Lord Desjardins himself, his wife at his side. She was smiling, he was not. 

“Finally pulled him away from the garden, you know how caught up your father gets with planting?” 

Lord Desjardins grunted. 

He was a giant of a man, taller than Karmen even. He also looked like he never smiled a day in his life. 

Together the Lord and Lady cut an imposing pair as they sat adjacent to their guests. Faustin awkwardly sat between Karmen and Dogsbody, hands clasped forlornly. 

There was an awkward silence between the parties. Lady Desjardins made a few attempts to spark a conversation, but it fizzled every time. Eventually, it was The Lord Desjardins who spoke up. 

“We’re cutting you off.” 

Faustin’s mouth fell open. Karmen and Dogsbody both looked at Faustin, carefully.

“But- why?”

“Son, we love you and we are so very happy that you have finally found a pursuit in life..but son.. acting?” Lady Desjardins cleared her throat “It’s just not something we Desjardins do, it's just so..oh, you know—“

“It's vulgar.” Lord Desjardins said. 

Faustin slumped back into the sofa, all posture gone. 

“We also thought it best if you weren’t uh..here when your sisters come back from boarding school. I think it’d be best for everyone.” 

“Ok,” Faustin murmured. 

So that was that. In but a few moments the three of them were cast out of paradise, the doors shut on their faces with nothing but the humid mist of the summer afternoon. Together they began the slow march down the stairs once more, with Faustin trailing behind, as silent as the grave. It wasn’t until there was a decent amount of distance between them and the Desjardins palace did Faustin finally speak. 

Or rather, he cheered. 

“YES!” 

“YES YES YES!” 

“YESYESYESYESYES!” 

He jumped and ran back and forth, up and down the steps like a dancer in a stage show.

Karmen and Dogsbody stared at the display, completely confused. 

“He’s lost his damn mind,” Karmen said. 

“I’m free! Ahah!” Faustin gave a final mad spin, just missing a step and falling square on his arse. The pain didn’t seem to bother him much.

“I’ve been waiting for them to cut me off. Look at me! I’m free as a bird!” 

“No, you’re not. You still need to pay up.” 

He smiled then, smug and self-assured. Giving just a quick glance over his shoulder he reached into his pockets and quickly removed fistfuls of jewelry. He allowed Karmen and Dogsbody only the quickest of glances before hiding them again, swiftly continuing his happy march away from the palace gates. 

“Think I’d leave empty-handed? I have more than enough to sponsor whatever the hell Lady Catarina needs.” He took a deep, cleansing breath, head cocked towards the sky. “Sweet revenge for her and fame for me.” 

“Fame? What about cleansing the city of evil?” Karmen asked. 

“Oh, oh yeah. That too. ‘Course.” 

He turned on his heel and practically skipped the rest of the descent, while Karmen and Dogsbody kept their distance. Quietly, Dogsbody leaned in his voice just beyond a whisper. 

“We’re killing him as soon as we’re done, yeah?”

Karmen smiled. 

“You hold him, and I’ll drive the sword through.”

**********

The egg sat cold and unmoving. No life seemed to spark under the speckled surface, yet Saxa Hortus kept it safely tucked and pillowed amongst the great mess of the nest. Paz felt drawn in by its vacant presence, wanting to ask Saxa a million questions about it, but only managing two. 

Firstly, it had been exactly three hundred years since Saxa had laid the egg. Saxa was unsure of how long the normal incubation process took, as it had been so long since she had come across one of her own kind. Paz realized Saxa actually remembered very little of the ways of her kin. They supposed, if there were any other giants left in the world, they would be very different from Saxa. The giant had been living under the city long before the first building’s foundation was built. Before the lake had dried. 

Secondly, once the child hatched, Saxa wanted to name them Marigold. She didn’t elaborate as to why.

Paz sat in the nest alongside Marigold, writing down every branch, scrap of cloth, and fishbone they spied amongst the strange home of Saxa Hortus. Now that there was no longer the threat of being boiled in a stew it was much easier to document the last (as far as they knew) giant’s nest. There was something oddly cozy about Saxa’s dwelling, charming even. The wicker sides of the nest were decorated with shiny treasures and trinkets Saxa had taken a liking to and recovered during all those nighttime flights in her eagle’s form. 

The trip back to Saxa Hortus’s lair had been easier. Milla had shown Paz the many hidden tunnels and passageways all over the city that led to Saxa’s home, fenced off to all except the Blancas. According to Milla (and confirmed by Saxa herself) great, great, great grandfather Blanca had befriended Saxa so many years ago, and in return for many kindnesses Milla did not elaborate on, Saxa allowed the Blancas visiting rights. The weekly offering of pig's blood, leftover meats, and entrails had been a tradition between Giant and Blanca for generations. 

“Once a winter Blancas visit. We sing songs and drink.” Saxa said, settling herself in the nest.

Paz couldn’t help but smile in amusement at the image of the rough and ready Blancas sharing a solstice cider with an ancient giant. An unlikely party, but a merry one. 

Saxa Hortus seemed caught up in the memory, gently swaying her great head from side to side and lowly humming a drinking song. Her countenance suddenly darkened, and the humming stopped. 

“It was a winter’s eve, you know. When she first visited.” 

Paz didn’t need to ask who Saxa was referring to. 

“I nearly smashed her. I should have. She was scary. But she said she had heard so much about me. She wanted to meet me. And I wanted a new friend.” 

“Did the Blancas…tell Mer- tell her about you?” 

“Nay! Hah! But, I am not so unknown. Many whisper about me.” 

Paz stared at their notebook, adding in the information. It was all making sense really. Though Paz had yet to talk to this Merouda face to face, they could easily see what had happened. Merouda must have heard rumors of a Giant living under the city. A giant with a powerful language, one that Paz was intending to learn more about, at least enough to help Saxa get into the Glass Palace.

It was not easy to learn. Mostly because they hadn’t even begun. Paz was finding it hard to redirect the conversation to getting Saxa to teach them even a single word. It was a difficult subject to breech, the last time Saxa had shared her language was with…well… 

“So…” Paz cleared their throat. 

Saxa Hortus little glowing eyes flickered in the dull, strange light of the nest. Paz chewed nervously at their inner cheek, trying to find the words least upsetting to the beast. 

“I- so… you said, you would teach me-“ 

“To break the dolly? To get through?” 

“Yes?” Paz scratched their head, a little lost in the conversation.

Saxa Hortus stretched over Paz, making them flinch in a sudden terror. Saxa delicately plucked something from the sides of the tower, a flurry of branches and leaves rained down. The giant sat the trinket between her and Paz, as carefully as a child presenting a friendly visitor with their favorite toy. 

It was an old, battered doll. All corn husk and yarn hair. With her large claws, she unthreaded the doll’s head, grotesquely splitting its little painted face in two. Stuffing poured from the wound. Then bowed her large head towards the crevice and whispered into the sawdusty head. It was too low for Paz to hear, though there was something about the words that made the back of their teeth ache. 

Quietly, and with surprising dexterity for claws so large, Saxa Hortus sewed the head back up and gave it a final, proud pat on the head. 

“If there were fairies, they would be dead right now. Wriggling on the floor. All dead”  She said, a little pleased with herself. 

 “It's a ward then? Keeping spirits at bay?” 

Saxa Hortus wagged her tail. 

“And she- she has something like this at the palace that’s keeping you away right?” 

Saxa Hortus' tail stopped wagging.

Paz inched closer to the doll on their knees, making sure to show Saxa that they had put pencil and notebook away. There would be no recording of anything, just as promised.

“So..what do I do first?”  Paz put their hands out, in a gesture they assumed a witch would make. 

Saxa Hortus batted their hands away. 

“I will speak the words. Do not try to repeat after me. They will hurt the first time, and they won’t make sense. Cover your ears.” 

Paz did as they were told and braced themselves for whatever Saxa was going to say. The giant bowed its head low to Paz. She was close enough that Paz could smell her, an old, damp odor of distant forests. 

The first time Saxa Hortus spoke, Paz didn’t hear anything at all. At first, Paz thought maybe Saxa had simply whispered the words, and Paz had set their hands too firmly against their ears. Then Saxa mouthed the words again, and this time Paz felt it. Right in their chest, above their stomach, and below their heart. A rumble, and then it was gone. A third time Saxa spoke, and that’s when Paz felt pain.

They cried out, doubling in on themselves. They pressed their hands tighter over their ears as tears stung their eyes. A cold sweat broke out all over their body and some distant fear conjured from a primordial memory bit down on them. Paz was away then, hearing things that humans shouldn’t hear. It was like glimpsing behind the backdrop of a play and seeing all the actors sitting around, their costumes half off and mulling over their lines. The illusion of life was breaking for Paz, and it was terrible to witness. 

The words unraveled.

“Child?” 

Paz didn’t realize they had fainted. It had all happened so fast. They were no longer inside, nor were they in Saxa Hortus half-world. They were lying down by the small tunnel they originally entered, the one behind the abandoned packing house. The familiar sounds of evening revelry brought Paz back to full consciousness, though their head felt like it was ready to split in two. 

Saxa was there, in her eagle’s form. She stared at her with the same milky white eyes of her giant’s body, cocking her head from one side to the other. 

“Did I fail? What happened?” Paz could hardly focus from all the pounding in their head. 

“You did not fail. You needed to listen first, to absorb the language. You’ll see, when we try again, you will not faint.” 

They didn’t like the sound of trying again, but what else was there to do? They had already gotten so mixed up in this complicated situation, and they knew the Seraphim floating just above the globe’s hemisphere already disapproved of almost everything Paz had done up to this point. 

But Saxa had promised they would not faint again. Paz felt a trusting of Saxa, as sure as they trusted gravity pulling them towards the globe as they walked back to Marisol’s Inn & Bath. The Giant had a presence that seemed incapable of deception to a fault. It was contrary to most books surrounding the old creatures, but Paz realized that so far this journey had proven most books inaccurate. 

Perhaps what they were told of the Seraphim was inaccurate too. Perhaps they wouldn’t be nearly as cross with them as the monks would be once Paz returned home. 

If they even managed that.

Chapter Eight

Marisol’s Inn & Bath was not just an inn and a bath. A busy pub roared with constant life under the floorboards of the establishment, serving cheap drinks and even cheaper food. Paz was hardly in the mood for a crowd, but they were hungry enough to brave one. Echoes of the Old Speech had left their head spinning, and they knew a good meal would at least coddle their sickness.

Milla Blanca was friendly with the owner of the Inn, and as such a simple “I’m with Milla” was enough payment for a small bowl of watery chowder and bread. Hungrily Paz devoured the humble dinner, hunching over a barrel that served as a table. The only seats in the small establishment were at the bar itself, and since Paz didn’t drink, they didn’t join.

But they were pulled to the bar anyway. It seemed they were not the only one of Blanca’s associates to be attending the pub that night. Karmen, Hugo, Dogsbody and that new fancy fellow who Paz couldn’t quite remember the name of were all sharing in spirits together. It was Hugo who spotted Paz, and waved them over. He was halfway to the wind already, a big grin on his shaggy face as he swung his arm over Dogsbody’s shoulder, stealing kisses and laughing at in-jokes. Paz reluctantly took a seat next to Karmen who was absorbed in conversation with a barmaid across the table. To Paz, Karmen almost seemed happy for once as she traded banter.

To their left was the stranger who once wore a devil’s mask. He now wore clothes like an everyday human, leaning thoughtfully against his fist. Hugo would occasionally elbow the lad in the side and Dogsbody would try and bait him into a crude bit of wordplay, but he was still very much kept at a distance from them. He must have sensed Paz staring because he turned away from his quiet revelry and spoke.

Paz was not expecting him to use their native coastal tongue.

“You from Pucci?” He asked. The verbiage was clearly high-born, the accent less of the Peninsula and more of the islands, but it was clearly the coastal speech all the same. It had been years since Paz had heard anyone else speak their language.

“No, I’m from the Peninsula,” Paz asked. They were rusty, but speaking it felt like a warm embrace from an old friend. It made them feel both safe and homesick all at once.

“Lovely place. I’m Faustin Desjardins by the way. Think the last time I saw you I was uh, almost eaten by an ancient fairy creature.”

“Paz, pleased to meet you.”

The man scanned them, a little smile twisting their mustache upwards.

“You're a Monk of the Quill yeah?”

“Yes Sir,”

“Heh. You know, my parents tried to get into one of those monasteries.” He chuckled, taking a sip from a battered cup. “Served for a few months.”

“Really?”

“Really. Didn’t stick obviously. Way too boring.”

“Yeah, I guess it could be…”

“Then they tried to get me into the Royal Academy for Health and Sciences.” He expanded his arms a little drunkenly. “Wanted me to be a doctor. It also didn’t stick. Obviously.”

Paz could see the man was more than a little morose. They weren’t sure what had transpired for him that day, but it was clear family and expectations were on his mind.

There was a sudden crash of overturned barrels, and the cheerful energy of the pub was killed in an instant. A large, intensely sweaty man with three hairs plastered over his bald head was swaying uneasily on his feet, a hand on the hilt of a rapier.

“Who's speakin that sea combing trash?” He slurred.

Dread clenched Paz’s heart. For a moment they had forgotten how unwelcome they were in Kor Kura. Not all monks were from the Peninsula, but to most, they were one and the same. They felt heat rush to their neck, unable to say anything. They didn’t have to, Faustin swayed in front of them without a second thought.

“It was me, sorry ‘bout that. Just get tired of speaking Southern. It's just so..bleh. Uncouth. Like running my tongue up a sheep’s arse.”

Hugo and Dogsbody broke into laughter, while Karmen sighed wearily and leaned away from the bar, hand on hilt. There was a scene gathering, and before it could escalate the entire population of Marisol’s Inn & Bath were shooed into the streets, where an even bigger crowd formed a frenzied circle, the outraged man with three hairs to his name in the middle. His sword was already unsheathed, and he shouted a thousand threats, energized by his friends. At first, Paz’s noble champion Faustin made to enter the ring but Hugo staggered ahead.

“Hugo..” Karmen warned “Back down..you can barely stand.”

It was true. Hugo’s knees buckled and he looked as if he had fallen head first into the sea, so drenched in sweat was he. But he turned around, looking outright hurt by Karmen’s words, pride wounded beyond reason.

“You..don’t think I still got it in me, aye Karmen?”

“She aint meanin that love, she’s just-“ Dogsbody tried to intervene, grabbing Hugo by the wrist but was quickly brushed off.

“And you as well? Hm? My love? Think I’m just a wasted..bloated bastard then?” There was real hurt in his voice now. The growing crowd caught wind of it and began cheering the three-haired man on, eager to see humiliation. The man sneered, beckoning Hugo forward.

“I used to be someone you know!” Hugo pointed bleary at the crowd, which was doubled in his vision. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew. If only you knew..” His voice stalled, almost pensive.

Taking a deep breath, Hugo’s posture suddenly straightened. Sheer blind muscle memory puppeted his arms into a practiced form, rapier unsheathed surprisingly graceful for someone near-dead drunk. The three-haired man seemed a little less eager all of a sudden. Hugo bowed his head, indicating the fight to begin. His assailant came at him, sword swinging wildly and teeth gnashing.

The man was disarmed in a single elegant swing of Hugo’s rapier. He landed face-first in the red mud of the street, completely bewildered by what had happened. Hugo grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to his feet again.

“Come on now. Try again.” Hugo said.

The man was just drunk enough to try again. This time Hugo didn’t even use his sword. He dodged each loose swing the man attempted, finally felling him with a single knee to the stomach. The loyalty of the crowd had changed then, as they bayed for blood when the now thoroughly humiliated man attempted a final attack. Hugo broke the man’s arm at the wrist.

The crowd was swept in a frenzy, cheering as Dogsbody jumped onto Hugo and smothered his sweaty, shaggy cheeks in kisses. Hugo didn’t seem to register what was happening, his old training eased from his drink bleary mind and he slumped into Dogsbody’s embrace. The ring of the crowd suddenly blurred and dissipated as a harsh voice called out for order. Some even ran away from the sound.

An Inspector, flanked by two lower officers parted the crowd with ivory cane in hand. In clothes as red as the buildings of Kor Kura, he hollered at the crowd for silence and order, his royal medals glinting proudly on his coat.

“You there!”

The inquisitor approached Hugo, the hooked end of his cane catching Hugo by the shoulder. Hugo unalarmed, rolled his eyes and nodded his head, paying the authority figure a meager fraction of respect.

“Hey hey, fine evening Señor. Out for a nice walk?” Dogsbody smiled.

“I should have known it’d be the Blanca boys. Been real busy lately, haven’t you?” The inspector glanced over at Karmen, a suspicious glimmer in his empty eyes. Karmen said nothing. She knew how the Kor Kura justice system worked. Anything and everything anyone could say would be held against them.

Wisely, Faustin had popped his generous collar up over his face and pushed further back in the crowd, obscuring himself from recognition. A common man on the streets of Kor Kura would only have a vague idea of what a Desjardins looked like up close, but someone in authority like the inquisitor definitely would. Paz hid behind Faustin’s cloak, ready to bolt into the crowd.

“In fact, I heard there was some sort of skirmish at the Blanca Butcher shop only a few days ago. ‘Course, Milla didn’t have the common courtesy to let me know about it. How strange, to not let someone like me know..” The Inquisitor’s cane dug deep into Hugo’s shoulder, painfully so.

“It was just petty thievery. We took care of it.” Karmen interjected, stepping alongside Hugo. She gripped the cane and pushed it aside.

“Even petty thievery deserves to be looked into. Don’t you think? I was just on my way to the shop to do just that, amongst other things. What divine providence of Saint Gusti for us to meet here.” The officers suddenly clustered around Hugo, Dogsbody, and Karmen, nudging them forward.

Paz wasn’t stupid. They knew what was going to happen. The Inspector was going to pay the butcher shop a surprise visit. If they happened upon Catarina while there, everything could fall apart. They acted on sheer instinct and disappeared into the crowd, weaving between bodies as they hurried to the butcher shop.

They were thankful the shop wasn’t very far away from Marisol’s Inn & Bath. Gasping at the door, they stumbled through to find Catarina and Millia pouring over floor plans. Both were surprised to see Paz in such a state.

“Catarina! Hide! An inquisitor is on his way..”

Catarina didn’t need further explanation. She bounced off the table and fled right out the back door. Paz followed and Milla scrambled to hide the floor plans and papers on the table. Outside, Paz hid in the safety of the dark shed, while Catarina crouched by the door, her back ears pricked, ready to listen in on whatever happened inside.

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

Karmen always hated him. The Inquisitor had been a constant thorn in her side since the very first day they met. She a child of six, he perpetually old. He had yanked her by the hand and roughly demanded if she had stolen from the paper stand. She’d told him no, what would a child want with a boring old newspaper? He had almost struck her if Auntie Millia wasn’t there. It was the first time she’d ever seen Millia as anything other than a lovable aunt. The tough but kind Auntie who had taken her brother’s kids in when he ran out of Kor Kura. The Auntie told them sweets weren’t allowed before dinner but kept the drawer of the cupboard open just a little and turned a blind eye when her hard candy diminished.

Auntie Millia became Millia Blanca. Standing up to the Inquisitor, calmly but firmly telling him if he ever even so much as looked at her niece again she’d bury him. She was a force of nature then, and she still is now, standing up to the exact same man all these years later.

“And what of it? What’s a scrabble with some masked loony have to do with you lot?” Millia said.

“You’re under new management now, yes? Beatific Merouda of the Second Sight has given your family some grace.” He gripped the ivory cane, its dragon’s head design seemingly staring straight at Millia. Its carved eyes are dead. Unblinking.

“So?”

“So… I am under her grace as well. All Inquisitors are. She’s Saint Gusti returned after all.”

“Allegedly.”

“Here once more to slay the great dragon, its evil finally defeated.”

“You know, I always heard that story a different way.” Dogsbody piped in.

“Oh really? How so?” The Inquisitor turned his attention to the smaller man in the corner, his lover napping against his shoulder. Karmen cringed at his intrusion, hoping he wouldn’t say anything to escalate the situation further.

“Well. I always heard that this Gusti bloke was actually in love with the dragon and the whole piercing the beast with his blade thing was a big euphemism yeah? That’s how the story goes in the north anyway. Geezer stuck it in a dragon. Hell, I’d worship him too if it was real.”

The situation escalated. The Inquisitor’s face darkened like a storm cloud and he advanced towards Dogsbody with his cane raised. Hugo lurched forward, drunkenly swiping the cane away.

“Shut your heathen mouth!” Spat the Inquisitor, pushing the languid Hugo aside.

“Hey now, don’t take offense! That’s just how I always heard how it went!” Dogsbody grinned from ear to ear, gleeful in the face of a guaranteed beating.

None of that. Karmen had to put an end to the whole thing. She grabbed the inquisitor roughly by the shoulder. He tried to strike her but she caught the end of his cane and pushed him away. Her hand fell back on the hilt of her sword and in an instant it was unsheathed.

“I can’t lie. I would kill you if I could. But as you said, we’re Merouda’s ward under circumstances I don’t wish to discuss..though you probably know anyways.” Karmen looked him dead in the eyes. “Yes it's true, we had a run-in with this mysterious Green Devil, and we took care of it. He’s still at large but we have no further business with him. Any other questions?”

The inquisitor’s authoritative composure was gone, he fumbled in his coat pocket while keeping an eye on the sword aimed at his belly. A letter retrieved he shakily handed it to Milla and began inching away to the door.

“Lady Merouda did inform us about your agreement. It’s why she sent me to invite you, Ms. Milla to supper tomorrow evening. I’m sure she’d like to discuss some of the finer details of Saint Gusti’s feast with you.”

Milla stared at the letter, emotions unreadable.

“Oh yes, Lady Merouda also told me to tell you two things. Firstly, if you start any trouble with this masked madman she will have the shop burnt to the ground. No fighting, no mess, yes? And secondly, she says Josephine is doing well.”

He slunk out of the shop without another word, and the breath held between Karmen and Milla was released in two ways. Milla groaned, slumping into a well-worn chair, tired and empty. Karmen raged, kicking at the leg of the table.

“She must know. She must bloody know.” Growled Karmen. Kicking the table wasn’t enough. She felt like she needed to tear the table apart with her bare hands.

“How Karmen, how would she know? The only thing that woman knows is we had some stupid fight with that masked idiot. Which is true. Half the street probably saw the fool trying to break into our shop.”

“You can’t go to the palace tomorrow.” Karmen tried to breathe the anger out. Her cursed arm, bent and half-formed into the mockery of a wing burned. It dripped black oil onto the floor.

“I have to. It’ll be even more suspicious if I don’t.”

“Auntie, she’s- if she knows something is up she’s going to…I don’t want-“

Milla didn’t let Karmen follow the worry. She was at her niece’s side holding her, steadying her, keeping her from popping in uncontrollable stress. Together they shared a moment of quiet, the sounds of a sporadic summer shower sprinkling against the window.

“Kid, I know you’re scared for me. I know-”

“It's my fault. If I didn’t try to run away..if I didn’t take Josephine with me..”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to leave-“

“Enough. That’s all old news. Listen. Tomorrow I’m gonna go to the damn glass palace okay? Merouda probably just wants to nitpick. While I’m out you go and take that rich kid's money right down to the docks okay? Get us some real hard heads. Yeah?”

Karmen nodded, leaning into her Auntie's strong, calming embrace. For a moment, she was six years old again.

The backdoor of the shop creaked open, and Paz peaked timidly inside. Catarina bounded in, ears perked. She shook off the rain from her black fur and approached Milla, red eyes gleaming.

“Don’t bother explaining. I heard everything well enough. May I make a suggestion?”

“As you like, Ms. Orozco” Milla grunted.

“I think we can use this Desjardins lad for more than just a bankroll. Seeing as we were already planning on using him as a distraction at the festival, why not lean into it a little earlier?”

“How so?” Asked Karmen.

“A little stunt while Milla is dining with Merouda. A perfect alibi that proves not only are we not involved with The Green Devil, but said Green Devil is still very well at large. And he has his sights set on some mischief of Saint Gusti’s feast.”

“And why would we pay attention to the day? That would be— “

“Ingenious. Don’t you see? If the inquisitors are looking for some fool in a mask, no one will be looking or even thinking about us.” Catarina thumped her hind foot against the floorboards, triumphant. She gazed back and forth at Karmen and Milla, hopeful.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Milla said, rubbing at the back of her neck. “As long as he doesn’t screw it up.”

As divine timing would have it, Faustin entered the shop, his fine clothes ruined by shower rain. He stood on the threshold, scowling and dripping as he did so.

“Good news lad, we’re still not going to kill you!” Dogsbody smiled.