Three days after Sara had arrived in Tulian, she knew something was wrong. She'd ordered the city gates closed to all comers, had kept a constant rotation of musket-armed squads standing atop the wall day and night, all for... nothing.

  No one had come. The killing fields were empty, the Sporaton forces nowhere to be seen. She'd thought she had a single day's lead, and allowed herself the same day of rest she'd ordered for her troops, but expected the Royal Army to be on her doorstep the very next day. When that didn't manifest, she'd waited atop the wall with her troops, constantly scanning the horizon. She'd wondered if they'd been more cowed by her repulsing of the cavalry than she thought, if they'd made camp when Emeric returned to lick their wounds.

  But when the sun rose on the third consecutive day of all-consuming absence, she'd been lost. She had no idea where the enemy was, no idea why they weren't trying to batter down the city gates at that very moment. Some of her troops had started getting excited as the word broke, thinking the Sporatons had begun the long march north, but she'd put a cap in that sentiment immediately. The King wouldn't retreat. He just wouldn't.

  But he also wouldn't have done anything else other than come straight for the city. There was nothing else of value in a hundred miles. Sara had no clue what was happening.

  "I've got no fucking idea what's going on," she swore, snapping her spygss closed.

  "So you have said, Master. Repeatedly."

  "No goddamn idea!" Sara repeated. "Not a fucking clue." She turned to Evie, who sat on the wall's edge, legs dangling over the fifty foot drop. "That's never happened before, Evie. I'm the Champion of Amarat. I'm in their goddamn heads. I know what they're thinking before they do. They're not supposed to surprise me."

  "No, they are not," Evie passively agreed.

  "So what the fuck!"

  "Indeed, Master."

  Sara returned to her pacing, grinding her teeth, running circles in her mind, even while she projected the image of a confident, mildly curious commander to her troops. She was just too anxious to know what was happening. She entertained all kinds of ideas. That some unprecedented beast had roared out of the jungle, monstrous enough to challenge even the Royal Army. That the dry season had somehow turned wet behind her troops, miring the Sporatons in an inescapable bog, a massive storm perhaps born of some convenient divine intervention. She'd even wondered if the King had just straight-up died to some stroke or heart attack that the healers couldn't do anything about. That would've been nice, but it was a faint hope. With the royal healers always on call, it had been centuries since any of the King's line had died younger than eighty.

  Eventually, when morning had turned to noon, she'd stomped down from the wall and called up every horse-rider in her army. She'd given them maps and a cardinal direction, then told them to walk until they found the enemy. Once they did, they were to turn tail and sprint back to the city, stopping for nothing and no one. She made it exquisitely clear that even if their horse dropped dead under them, she expected them to run the rest of the damn way on foot. She'd even contempted stripping her commanders of their precious speaking crystals to give to the scouts, all so she could receive the report earlier, but Evie had talked her out of that particurly rash decision. She'd settled with sending rey runners out after the riders, stationing them in rings around the city so that any retreating rider could pass the word to the first one they stumbled across, who would pass it to the others, then yet more, ensuring that even if one messenger got caught, the message itself would survive.

  And then, as she'd watched the gates groan closed, the riders dispersed, she'd stock still.

  "The fuck do I do now?" She asked the open air. Many of the nearby troops looked at her in confusion, but she ignored them. Sara turned in a circle, boots scraping on the stone, as she stared down the city street. For weeks, months, everything had been building to this moment. The moment after she'd bloodied the Royal Army's nose, artfully evaded them across the countryside, won shelter within the eborate defenses she'd spent so much time, effort, and money preparing.

  Now the moment had approached. Arrived. And passed her by. No siege, no battle. No army to manage, no glorious st stands or heroic charges or clever tactics. She was left standing on a cobblestone street, listening to a windchime clink, a woman calling out the price of her tea the next street over. One of the soldiers coughed. Several shuffled their feet, hands rasping as they slid up and down the wooden hafts of their halberds. Evie's bag rustled as she took out one of her notebooks, flipping through its rain-stained pages.

  "Professor Garen has several ongoing projects he wished for your input on, Master," Evie said, tapping her pen against a neat bullet point on the itinerary, before sliding down a line. "And Vesta had several concerns that she cssified as important, but not important enough to communicate over crystal, or perhaps too important to risk such a communication vector." Evie flipped the notebook closed, returning it to her bag. "From the East gate, Vesta's home is on the way to the University."

  "Uh," Sara said intelligently. "Okay." She waved off the soldiers who'd collected around her. She was pretty sure half of them weren't even supposed to be there, but had wandered over to see what the Champion was doing. "Back to your stations. The Sporatons are clearly trying something different. You really want to be the only one in your squad that won't be able to say they saw it happen?"

  The crowd dispersed, returning to their actual duties. Their reluctant shuffling back to work eventually revealed Hurlish, who'd dragged a chair out of the nearby guardhouse. She was sitting with legs spyed, hands resting on her belly, snoring audibly. As per usual, Sara's anxiety had rolled off the woman without effect, and she'd spent most of the morning following Sara around, yawning. Evie hadn't allowed their trio to be separated, for security reasons.

  "C'mon, big girl" Sara said, kicking her shin. Hurlish woke with a startled snort, blinking her eyes against the bzing sun.

  "Something finally happen?" She asked, shading her eyes. "Don't sound like a battle."

  "Nothing of consequence," Evie replied, waiting impatiently by Hurlish's side. "Master has sent out scouts, and we are now awaiting their return. It will likely be many hours before we have any actionable information."

  Hurlish stood with a stretch and a groan, shaking out her shoulders. That hardly perturbed Evie, who scrambled up the woman's body like a mountain goat.

  "Well why'd you wake me up, then?" Hurlish asked.

  "We're going to find busywork," Sara said. "Because I can't just sit here doing nothing."

  "Why not?" Hurlish asked, gripping Evie's ankles in her oversized palms. Sara nearly ughed, despite everything. She looked like a schoolkid holding a backpack's straps. The feline rested her forearms on the orc's head, keeping a careful scan of their surroundings.

  "Because it's not great for the leader of a nation under siege to be on the street sipping beers." Sara rested her palm on her sword as she walked, gncing at Evie. "You really going to be up there for the walk? I was wondering if Sporatos halted the army to let assassins take a crack at me. And if I'm thinking that, I know you are."

  "A concern of mine as well," Evie said. She ran her fingers over the leather satchel that criss-crossed her chest. "But guarding you has become significantly easier as of te. And high ground confers benefits it once didn't."

  "You're welcome," Hurlish said.

  "I thought I showed my gratitude st night rather skillfully."

  "Never hurts to double up."

  "Mm."

  As with every walk in Tulian, it was a short trip to Vesta's home. Sara almost wanted to call it an estate, out of habit, but there weren't any of those left in the city anymore. She'd had them knocked down and repced with more reasonable housing early on. No, while Vesta's home was impressive for the new city, it wasn't an estate. Only a two-story affair with the rare distinction of having an alleyway on either side, separating from the other tenements. Tarlin, Vesta's bodyguard, had insisted on that. He was still convinced Sporaton agents were looking to make an example of any noble who would betray their King, and wanted any intruder to at least have to walk through open air to reach the home.

  "Yo!" Sara called as they walked up the front steps. "Jeeves, we're here!"

  Just as she reached to lift the door-knocker, the doors swung open, revealing one very nonplussed Toman. The former head butler of the ponderous Vesta estate still served under the woman, even if his responsibilities were far more constrained. His utterly unreadable demeanor was however perfectly maintained, as if managing the household of six was exactly as grand a task as puppeteering the grandest noble house of Hagos.

  "And may I inform the Lady of the purpose of this visit, Governess?"

  "No," Sara said, stepping around him. She called up the stairs. "Hey, Vesta! I heard you had some shit you wanted to bitch about!"

  "Just a moment!" Vesta called back down.

  Sara fshed Toman a grin, moving towards the kitchen. One of Vesta's sons was there, eating a meal at a small table. He saw Sara arrive with her entourage and picked up his bowl without further ado, taking shelter deeper within the house. They, far more than Vesta, didn't enjoy their demotion to peasant. Fortunately, she didn't give a rat's ass about them.

  Sara dragged out a pair of chairs and dropped into one, waving for Hurlish to sit. For once, probably owing to the fact that Sara was still dressed in over a hundred pounds of sharply angled steel, Evie did not sit in her p, and instead curled up in Hurlish's tucking her legs in.

  Sara frowned, looking down at her gear. "We're gonna have to figure out how to do that summoning-enchantment stuff with armor, someday."

  "Doubt it," Hurlish said, wrapping her arms around Evie. "The bulkier the weapon, the more the enchanters in Hagos charged me, the longer it took 'em to make it. Rapiers were about the limit, really. Most stuff that got summoning enchantments was daggers and stuff. Can't imagine they could manage a full suit of armor."

  "Even if it's part bcksteel? That should make it easier, right?"

  Hurlish shrugged.

  It was only a few minutes until Vesta swept into the kitchen to greet them, Oddry, as ever, close at her heels. Vesta wore one of her usual elegant dresses, still preferring the green of her former house's heraldry, and while it looked amazing on her, it was Oddry who drew Sara's eyes. The maid wasn't wearing her usual attire. Instead of simple cloth protected by an apron (the real maid uniform of this world, to Sara's perpetual disappointment), she was in an eborate not-quite-ballgown. A deeper, richer green than Vesta's dress, it fred out over Oddry's hips more than the woman's build could account for, tightening up to slim her waist and emphasize her bust as it rose up her body, ending just before it could cover her shoulders. Something prickled at the back of Sara's mind, filling in the cavernous gaps of her fashion knowledge. It told her that Oddry's outfit was in part inspired by the few times Sara had worn a dress, taking a slightly more modern style. Interesting.

  "Not a maid anymore, huh?" Sara asked, because subtext was for suckers. "You look great."

  Oddry blushed demurely, covering her mouth. "Thank you, Governess. And... no, I suppose I am not, not anymore."

  "She still does an excellent job keeping the house," Vesta said, pulling out her own chair, "if only because she is forced to compensate for my ineptitude."

  Oddry sat next to her, patting the former noblewoman's hand fondly. "You're improving, dear. Perhaps when your duties rex, you'll have more time to learn."

  Vesta ughed, a brittle sound. "Lesser duties. You do dream grandly, don't you, Oddry?"

  "Hey, you're not in this forever," Sara said. "Once the war's over, you're gonna be out of a job for a while, at least until I can get elections going. And then you'd have to actually run for office, if you wanted to keep working."

  "Your taking for granted this war's outcome is a welcome font of optimism, Sara," Vesta said, then sighed. "Unfortunately, the duties you have pced upon me enlighten me to an ever-growing list of worries."

  "Problems in the city?" Sara asked. "People getting upset, causing problems while I was gone?"

  "Hm?" Vesta looked at her curiously. "Oh, no. Certainly not. They are led by a Champion, dear Sara, a creature of legend. Their fervor for your rule is something that would set most royals to salivating. No, the problems are purely logistical in nature." She nodded to Evie. "As your partner warned me they would be, in times of war."

  Evie sniffed. "Logistics being the primary concern of a nation at war is hardly an insight worth praise. One need read only the first page of any strategic manuscript to be told such. Often the first sentence, in fact."

  "Yes, well, I hadn't exactly brushed up on my military doctrine before this conflict, so your advice was nonetheless appreciated, Evie." Vesta sighed, wringing her hands. "Your bck powder, Sara. I've seen the reports, but I'd hear it from you. How much did you consume on the campaign?"

  "Uh."

  "The muskets consumed approximately four thousand pounds of bck powder from our stores," Evie said, "while the cannons consumed slightly less, at three thousand pounds. Precise numbers were difficult to track, as we were being resupplied throughout the early stages of Fort Midwich's siege, which kept our stores in a constantly shifting state of supply."

  "Yeah, that," Sara said, nodding authoritatively. Across the table, Oddry and Evie shared a look. One that wasn't met for either of their partners, but said a great deal.

  "Seven thousand pounds of bck powder consumed over a few weeks of intermittent battle, Sara." Vesta said. "Do you know the production rate of the bck powder manufactory?"

  "Not off the top of my head."

  "One thousand pounds a month."

  Sara blinked. "It was more than that, before. I don't remember the exact number, but it was a lot more than that when we started."

  "Just so. But things have changed. Your method of producing saltpetre relies heavily on processing manure, and with Tulian's agriculture being almost entirely based upon grain, we have run out."

  "We ran out of shit?"

  "Not entirely out, I suppose," Vesta temporized. "But we are well below the repcement rate. Convincing farmers to spend their time collecting and storing their oxen's droppings in the appropriate manner is predictably difficult, even with the financial incentives we have offered. However, even with perfect compliance, there simply would not be enough manure in all the nation for the volume of bck powder you desire."

  "That's... shit."

  Hurlish chuckled.

  "And then there is the matter of sulfur. Tulian has no native production of sulfur, and you say that it is not something that can be produced."

  "Yeah, it's an element, not a compound." Sara straightened, quoting her father. "Sulfur is readily accessible on the surface of volcanically active regions, but is also present in trace amounts in limestone salt domes, where it can be refined out of the stone in a process which provides most of the world's supply of sulfur." She hesitated. "Or, my old world's, anyway. And I don't know how the hell they got sulfur out of salt and limestone, historically."

  "Quite accurate," Vesta hummed, in a manner that said she neither knew nor cared if it was, "but not a solution to our problem. Our sulfur imports have begun to be raided, Sara."

  Sara groaned. "Fucking what? Someone's stealing sulfur? Who? And why?"

  "By pirates of some description, it would seem. Word only reached us earlier this week, when a partially damaged ship arrived to the bck powder manufactory."

  "But why the hell are they stealing sulfur? We're the only ones in the world that have any damn use for it. You remember how happy people were to sell it off." Indeed, the isnd city-states Sara had negotiated with had practically leapt at the chance to make money selling sulfur. To them, it was as if someone had come up offering to buy heaping piles of rocks and dirt. Sara had barely paid more than it cost to crew the ships, and they still thought they'd hoodwinked her.

  "The pirate's identities are unclear, but their motives are simple. If it is something the Champion wants, they will take it. And further, if the Champion still wants it, seeing that they now have it, the Champion will have to pay them for it. And Champions, they expect, are very wealthy people."

  "I fuckin' wish." Sara drummed her fingers on the table. "Have we received any demands? Their price? If it's cheap enough, we'll pay it until the war's over, then go blow their faces off."

  "Nothing yet. Only a forewarning that a demand will be coming."

  "Why hasn't Nora skull-fucked 'em?" Hurlish abruptly asked. All eyes turned to the orc. Though she was always present at any meeting of consequence Sara attended, the times she'd contributed of her own volition could be counted on one hand. "There's no way a bunch of dumbasses like that could do a thing to her ships, right?"

  "True," Vesta agreed, "they are far from a genuine threat. But the city-states we purchase sulfur from are far to the south, weeks of sailing from even the jungle wall. As Nora expined it, due to a preponderance of small coves along the jungle coastline, the pirates could be intercepting the ships from nearly anywhere along the route. Further, she stated she needs every ship possible for the upcoming engagement with the Sporaton Navy."

  "You told her it's for the bck powder, right?" Hurlish asked. "She should care more about that than anyone else. Just one shot from those big sons of bitches takes six whole pounds of powder."

  Sara sighed, scraping a hand down her face. "She won't care, because she knows that until the Sporaton Navy gets dealt with, she's first in line for everything we've got. If we get attacked from the sea and she's not there to stop it, that's it. Game over, wrap it up, we lost. I can't do shit to stop a Magecraft from dumping troops right into the city, and even if I blocked off the sea by dumping rocks in the harbor, that'd just end up with us getting starved out. Besides, Nora's right. There's a million little shitty coves and isnds she'd have to check for the pirates, and we don't know how many ships they have. Even if she sent ships right this very second, the war would probably be over by the time they caught 'em."

  "What shall we do, then?" Vesta asked. "I did not inform you of these issues over crystal, as I reasoned that there was little you could do in the short time before reaching the city, and that you would rather disperse such news to your commanders at your own leisure."

  "Yeah, well, good call there," Sara said, slumping in the dining chair. She turned to Evie. "How much powder do we have in reserve, from before the shortage?"

  Evie's hand darted to her hip, pulling out another notebook. Sara briefly wondered how many she had stored in that enchanted bag. With how much writing she did, probably a damn library. After a quick flip through the pages, she began to murmur under her breath, tallying numbers.

  "Production rate of... storage failure on the eleventh... hm." She looked up. "I cannot be sure until we conduct a survey of our stores, which will naturally be the most accurate number, but I believe we have fifteen thousand pounds of bck powder in reserve. During the brief period of the Fort Midwich siege in which we were using firearms liberally, we were consuming approximately eight hundred pounds a day."

  "And if we're getting a thousand per month shipped in, that comes out to a daily resupply of..."

  "One thousand divided by thirty is thirty-three, Master."

  "And I'm very gd I have you to tell me that." Sara blew out a long breath. "Fuck. Thirty pounds a day. So basically, we have to assume we're operating solely on what we've got." She spent a minute thinking, doing the math before speaking this time, just to spite Evie. "That gives us twenty days of defending the city."

  "Nineteen."

  "Oh fuck you, I was rounding up."

  "Nineteen is after rounding up."

  "And don't forget it's only gonna get worse as we make more guns," Hurlish added. "But actually, does it? 'Cause more guns means more killing, even if you use more powder–"

  "Regardless," Vesta pointedly cut in, "even I, without any military experience, grow anxious at such a thin margin for success. Have you determined why the enemy has not begun their siege, Sara?"

  "No. I'm waiting on scouting reports right now. Any political insight you might guess at? Some big controversy up in Sporatos that could cause them to act weird?"

  "None that I can think of, unfortunately," Vesta said. "No reasonable ones, at least. Even the death of his wife did not prompt the King to return from the campaign, not for the funeral or the completion of her memorial monument. The only thing I can think of that would deter him from prosecuting this war would be yet another rebellion in his homend, one significant enough to require his personal presence, which we certainly would have heard of."

  "Well, shit." Sara chewed on the exciting news Vesta had delivered her, then made her decision, standing up. "Alright. We haven't been using human shit instead of manure because, well, y'know, but now we don't have a choice. Pay some poor bastards whatever it takes to get them to collect it in the city and transport it to the bck powder manufactory. By ship, preferably, so they're harder to track. Hopefully that'll keep things going for a while, until we run out of sulfur entirely. You got any more fun news for me?"

  "No issues that I believe require your input, Governess," Vesta said, also standing. She offered her hand. "I do wish we had more time for personal visits. Your company is always eagerly anticipated."

  "Wish I could visit more too," Sara agreed, shaking Vesta's hand. She nodded to Oddry. "And sorry we didn't get to chat much. Not trying to ignore you, promise."

  The former maid smiled. "Think nothing of it, Sara. I consider myself rather lucky that I ck any issues which would require your official attention."

  "Well, if you want less official attention, I'll be happy to provide it as soon as stuff calms down." She lowered her voice, gncing about, as if whispering a conspiracy. "Evie sucked at cooking too, at first. I've got lots of experience teaching nobles how the real world works."

  Oddry and Vesta ughed, while Evie swatted Sara's arm with a notebook. They completed the rest of their goodbyes, including Sara's to Toman, whose utter absence of emotion at her departure still ticked her off. He was still the only person she'd ever met that she couldn't read. What kind of butler Skill gave him that permanently impassive expression? She asked him as much directly as they were leaving. His response was to open the front door, inviting them to leave with a perfectly polite bow.

  Sara eyed him as she passed. He met her eyes easily. She stared, trying to catch even a single twitch.

  Nothing.

  Goddammit. I'll get him someday.