There is a strong belief that the various sentient races that currently exist in the world are the result of transmogrification during the Second Bane. There were few places in the world that were untouched by the Bane; every living thing suffered a degree of transmogrification.

  This process acted as a sort of forced evolution, as only the smartest and strongest beings would be able to survive it. It is theorized that the existence of the talent in humans is a direct result of this process.

  Excerpt from 'Ozam's Compendium of ?ther Beings'

  Hans carefully surveyed his surroundings from the cover of a dark corner. The street before him lay empty at this hour, yet he took no chances. The city watch was still looking for him, after all.

  Satisfied that nobody was approaching, he dashed across the abandoned street and slipped through a door that led into one of the many simple houses that littered the district. It was one of the Whisper's haunts and the place where he had to report his progress. Inside, it was dark apart from a single streak of light that appeared through a crack underneath a nearby door.

  Hans slowly opened it and peered through to see what lay behind.

  “It's good to see that you are being careful,” a voice said, “but it's just me here.”

  Hans recognized the voice and swung the door open. “Gabron,” he said, greeting the Whisper's grandmaster who was sitting at a table with a mug in hand and a bottle nearby.

  As usual, Grandmaster Lakrin was dressed in common workman's clothes. Anyone who didn't know him would think him a labourer simply relaxing after a long day of work.

  “Have a drink,” Lakrin offered. “You look like you need it.” He pushed the bottle towards Hans.

  Hans realized he was thirsty. In his current situation, he couldn't just walk into a tavern to get something to drink. He remained a 'traitor', after all.

  “Thank you, gabron,” Hans said as he seated himself.

  “I heard about your contact with Hyna,” Lakrin said. “Your plan worked.”

  “It did,” Hans said, filling up his mug, “though it remains to be seen if it's going to be of any use.”

  He took a sip of the liquid and was met with a sour taste. Sandwine. And not a good one either. Hans usually didn't touch the stuff, preferring to stick to tea for his non-alcoholic drinks, yet he emptied his mug all the same. His thirst was stronger than his distaste.

  “No need to be so modest,” Lakrin said. “We have established a line of direct contact with Hyna for the moment. An unprecedented feat.” The grandmaster reached for the bottle to refill his own mug. “That said, why do you think it's going to be of little use? We now know with certainty that the item White Candle found is the key that ties everything together. We've discovered which of their expeditions found the item too.”

  Hearing that gave Hans some relief. “That's good to hear. Where did they find it?”

  “Hertwolf,” Lakrin said. “Or more specifically, a group of ruins somewhat north of there.”

  The capital of the Wastes. From Rios it was a three-week travel by enchanted horse. Not particularly far away, but to Hans, who had spent his entire life living in Rios, it seemed like the edge of the world. In some ways, it probably is.

  “If it's north of Hertwolf, then it's beyond the Frontier, right?” Hans asked.

  “It is,” Lakrin answered. “That's why the King is sending a lance of the Royal Guard instead of us.” He raised his head slightly. “Fortunately, a blueshift gateway between here and Hertwolf was established last year, so we won't have to wait longer than a few days to hear the result.”

  He leaned back into his chair. “But enough of that. Tell me about your past few days. Did you speak to this Magister Gerro again?”

  Hans nodded. “I did. Yesterday evening, me and Felt. They had some things to say about our arrangement.”

  “Tell me about this man,” Lakrin said, folding his arms. “What is your opinion of him?”

  “Well,” Hans began hesitantly, “I can't say for certain, but I talked about this with Felt and she agreed; he's afraid of something.”

  Lakrin did not respond, instead taking a deep gulp from his mug, prompting Hans to continue.

  “Or perhaps fear is too strong a word,” Hans added. “A deep sense of worry would be a more fitting description, I think.”

  “And what is the source of this worry, in your opinion?” Lakrin asked.

  “I'm not certain,” Hans said. “When we met him the first time, he claimed that the utter lack of information about the Candle attackers spurred them into joining up with us. I do believe he was speaking the truth in that regard, but there seems to be something more going on.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don't know, but as far as I can tell it's an internal affair. Somehow I think it's related to their lack of knowledge about the dark assailants. If I had to guess, I would say it's similar to the concern you expressed to me before. The fear of being infiltrated.”

  If the grandmaster was surprised by this statement, Hans was unable to tell; Lakrin's expression did not change in the slightest. “Ah yes,” Lakrin said. “I almost forgot about that. But setting that aside for a moment, is there anything else notable about him?”

  Hans shook his head. “I can't think of anything. I've yet to see his entire face, but the manner of his speech suggests he is a magister, as he claims, or at the very least a learned man. The name is an alias, of course.”

  The corners of Grandmaster Lakrin's lips twitched upwards slightly. “Did you ever see Hyna's guild charter, Hans? Its contents, I mean, as the original has been in the royal vault for several generations now.”

  Hans raised an eyebrow at the strange question and then shook his head.

  “Twelve founders, all magistrae, are listed on that charter. One of them was a person called Petur Gerro.”

  “They have a sense of history then, it seems,” Hans replied, still uncertain where the grandmaster was going with this.

  “I've been looking over some of the reports of the Whisper from that time,” Lakrin said, before noticing Hans' surprised look. “Yes, the Whisper was around even back then, though not in its current form or even under that name. But as I was saying, after some digging I found the report that concerned the original investigation into Hyna after it became clear there was something odd about them.”

  Lakrin refilled his mug with what was left in the bottle. “That report contained the eyewitness descriptions of all the founders who had to be present at the ministry in person when they signed the charter. The description of the Gerro you met matched the one in that report. Brown beard and all.”

  With a sudden revelation, Hans understood what the grandmaster was hinting at. “Are you suggesting that the Magister Gerro I spoke to is the same one that founded Hyna? That's impossible. How long ago was that?”

  “Hyna was founded in 1659,” Lakrin answered. “So that's seventy-one years ago.”

  “The man I spoke to was not over, or even near, a hundred years old,” Hans said firmly.

  “I'm not suggesting that he is the same person,” Lakrin said. “I'm merely commenting on how strange it is that Hyna is portraying themselves to us in this particular manner. Like a cabal of twelve immortal men.” He stood up and walked to a nearby cabinet to retrieve another bottle of sandwine. “I can't understand its purpose no matter which angle I approach it from. It bothers me.”

  With a swift motion that betrayed experience, Lakrin popped the cork from the bottle and reseated himself. “Well, I suppose it's as you say, Hans; a mere form of historical theatrics. More interesting is the part about you suspecting they have been infiltrated. Why do you think so?”

  “It's just a hunch,” Hans said, shrugging. “I don't have any hard proof for it. My main reason is that Gerro talks to us directly without intervention. Nobody else is present except the man called Toshen who is always with him. He was the one we made the initial contact with and the one that gave Felt the job.”

  “It's natural for them to want to restrict the number of people we know about,” Lakrin pointed out.

  “Yes, but if that was their goal then why does Gerro even bother to show himself? Why not stick to just using Toshen like before? As I said, he is at the very least a man who is intimately familiar about what happens within Hyna, which in turn means that he is someone who holds a high position. Why would he take the risk of exposing himself at all if not to make sure that only he knows about what's going on?” Hans nodded to himself. “It's especially strange if you consider how secretive Hyna is.”

  The grandmaster considered Hans' words. “A logical conclusion, yet not guaranteed to be correct.”

  “I know,” Hans said, emptying his mug again and trying to avoid pulling a face at the taste. “That's why it's just a feeling, though I have to admit that our own possible infiltration also steered me in that direction.” He shifted in his chair. “That said, I didn't get much of a chance to do any investigating into that particular issue.”

  “That's alright,” Lakrin said. “Considering all that has happened since the moment I asked you to do this, I expected as much. The current situation is too unstable and could change at a moment's notice. In fact, one of the reasons I'm here myself is to tell you that you can let it rest for now. Especially considering your current status as traitor to the Crown. I need you and everyone else to be fully focused on the White Candle situation. That's our main priority for the foreseeable future.”

  Hans nodded. “I understand, gabron. Speaking of the traitor part, how long will we have to continue like that? It restricts my movement having to dodge guards and Sewer division alike. Now that we have contacted Hyna, is there still need for it?”

  “There is,” Lakrin immediately answered. “These past few weeks I have been made aware that our knowledge of all the elements that covertly operate within this city is painfully lacking. Your current unaffiliated status may draw the interest of some of these elements.”

  “I'm bait?” Hans said, somewhat indignant.

  “It's a gamble with poor odds, I agree, but I fear it comes down to that. Our traditional way of doing things is failing us. I'm setting things in motion to change that, but none of those measures will help us now.”

  “I understand, gabron,” Hans said.

  “I did make arrangements so that anyone looking for you will no longer try to arrest you. They will merely report your presence to Kell, who will then deal with it. That should give you some more freedom to move around, or at least worry less about being grabbed by the city watch.”

  “It's much appreciated,” Hans said. “I'm not very good at skulking.”

  It was a weight off his mind. That and his lack of progress on the infiltration problem had been the things that had been bothering him the most lately. Now I have to worry little about either of them.

  “Was there anything else you want to know?” Lakrin asked.

  “A minor thing,” Hans answered. “What is going to happen with the sanctum now that King Darych has suspended the breaching?”

  “That remains an open question at this point. It is clear, however, that the King has no intention of letting any of the Rios guilds try their hands at it anymore. The last thing I heard is that he requested some help from Galond.”

  “And the White Candle magistrae?”

  Lakrin let out a wry huff. “Nobody seems to be concerned with them anymore, but given the amount of time that has passed, that isn't surprising.”

  “So the Crown has given up on them?”

  “Yes, but I feel the King has made the right decision. Rushing ahead under the current circumstances is simply too dangerous.”

  Hans nodded. I should have expected this. He felt a pang of sorrow as he recalled an old show from his childhood where magistrae from White Candle had entertained the children of River's End.

  “Well then,” Lakrin said, his face turning grim. “On a note more relevant to this meeting, we checked out the local lead Hyna provided you with.”

  “The warehouse?” Hans asked, taking note of the grandmaster's dark expression. “It was no good?”

  “Quite the opposite, in fact,” Lakrin said. “There was nothing suspicious about the warehouse here in Rios, so I had someone look into the trader in Tasselhane who owns it. A merchant called Hischi Echeb.”

  “He belongs to the Hischi clan? Why does he live in Tasselhane, then? I'd think that there are better opportunities elsewhere for a member of the clan currently leading the Empire.”

  Lakrin nodded. “It seems strange indeed, but unfortunately we don't follow the finer points of Empire politics anymore. Gerios has been preoccupied with itself for the past few generations, and our lacking information reflects that.” The grandmaster tapped the side of his mug. “For example, we still refer to their nation as an empire, though calling it the Dust Confederacy would be far more accurate these days. There hasn't been an emperor since Irekji the Infirm was beheaded at the end of the Twenty-Year War. ”

  “He was beheaded? I thought he was disintegrated.”

  Lakrin nodded. “We are both correct; it was only Irekji's head that suffered that fate while he sat on the Imperial throne. I saw the hole in it myself when I was visiting the Imperial palace in Saffir.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Hans eyes grew wide. “You visited Saffir?”

  “A long time ago. Back then I was younger than you are now. I always loved to travel and a visit to the great and ancient capital of the Dust Empire was a logical choice. It's difficult to get there, but certainly worth it.”

  Hans nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “You never felt compelled to travel?”

  Hans shook his head. “No. The furthest away I ever went was Neroshi in the south, and that was on behalf of the Whisper so I didn't get to see much of the city.”

  “A dreary place; a city of workers and soldiers and nothing more.”

  Hans nodded in agreement. “Did you visit any other places like Saffir?”

  “Some, but truthfully nothing came close to Saffir—except for maybe Hast in the far south.”

  “The ancient capital of the fallen Pa Empire,” Hans added, wanting to show he wasn't completely ignorant on the continent's history.

  “Ancient is the right word. The entire city is one large set of ruins with people living in small dwellings between them. Hastians are so proud of their history they don't dare to touch what remains lest it become tainted somehow. The Trecalonians are even worse, which is part of the reason they are involved in a continuous raiding skirmish with the Highlanders along the south border.”

  The grandmaster leaned back in his chair. “And before you ask, I did not go any further south than Hast. Back then, the truce with the lizardmen didn't yet exist and they didn't take kindly to human visitors. Not that their disposition improved much over the years.”

  Lizardmen. Hans had once seen a couple of them as a boy. They had been part of a travelling circus, and he recalled how he had marvelled at the strange creatures. It was then he had first realized how big and strange the world outside the cramped confines of River's End really was. Far away to the south there were the lizardmen, and beyond that the Xall. Also reptilian, but of a different nature. To the south-east of the Dust Empire lay the Emerald Death, an immense region of wilderness, filled with monsters that made the Wastes look like a nursery. On the other side of that vast wilderness lay Aranatiron, the nation of the Achytos people, and beyond that; who knew?

  In the other direction, towards the west and across the ocean, lay the continent of Tashant where the catpeople had their own empires and kingdoms. The circus Hans had seen had had a cat person as well, though Hans recalled that the creature had looked more pitiful than anything else.

  “There is a grand menagerie of beings in the world,” Hans said.

  “Quite so,” the grandmaster said, nodding in agreement. “But it's not just the people or chimeras. It's the locations as well. I have stood at the edge of the Dust and I can assure you, it's nothing like a normal desert. It's almost a living entity born out of heat and sand that flays anyone daring to travel through it, as it continuously tries to devour the surrounding fertile land. The clans that live around the Dust claim that it is the work of Ishta trying to invade our world.”

  “Isn't Ishta the Duster name for the Light Moon?”

  “Indeed it is,” Lakrin said with a nod. “According to their religion, Stajet, Ishta pours the sand from herself onto this world to reshape it in her own image.”

  The grandmaster raised a hand as if to stop himself. “But enough about Duster religions. Let's get back to the matter at hand.”

  Hans nodded. Surprised at the grandmaster's sudden willingness to speak about trivial matters.

  The grandmaster leaned forward and folded his hands together. “To resume our conversation. We have a Hischi trader living in Tasselhane who owns a warehouse here in Rios that Hyna has deemed suspicious. The logical question that follows is, if this man is indeed up to something, is he doing it alone or as an extension of a greater power? According to the report I received earlier today, it seems that this trader has come into a great deal of wealth recently.”

  Hans opened his palms in a questioning gesture. “Wouldn't that be natural? He's Hischi, so I'm certain that opens doors for him that would otherwise remain closed.”

  “It is indeed logical that merely being Hischi could be responsible for his wealth,” Lakrin said. “Yet this wealth of his has only been coming to him during the past couple of moons, even though the Hischi clan took control of the Dust Empire over four years ago. He has also been on a hiring spree lately, and his trade-house is several times busier than it used to be. All these new hires are coming from the Dust Empire and some of them are Hischi as well.”

  Hans shook his head, displaying his confusion. “Why is that suspicious?”

  “The Hischi clan's homelands are far away, bordering the Emerald Death. That's a long way to travel only to start working at a trade-house.”

  The grandmaster placed the tips of his fingers together. “And as you said, members of the Hischi will have plenty of opportunities to obtain wealth and status in the Empire's current political climate. Why take a lowly job as a mediator at a trade-house?”

  “Maybe they need to do something important that they don't trust people outside the clan with?” Hans suggested.

  “My thinking exactly,” Lakrin said, “and that reminds me of something the previous grandmaster used to say: 'A cind will only come into your house if invited or when trying to rob you'.”

  Apparently Grandmaster Dommen was quite the racist, Hans thought. However, he took care not to mention that. “What does this mean then? Is this Echeb planning some sort of robbery or scam, you say?” Hans asked.

  “Considering his sudden wealth, it would suggest he is already past the planning stage. Nonetheless, I was referring to a more nefarious purpose. One that might be set in motion by the leadership of the Hischi.”

  “A purpose like what?” Hans asked.

  “Several things come to mind,” Lakrin answered. “Though I'm not at liberty to discuss them with you. Most of it is baseless speculation at this time, anyway. Even so, such a purpose—regardless of motivation— is why it's important you commit your full attention to Echeb's warehouse. What we need foremost is information.”

  The grandmaster slammed his hand on the table, causing Hans to jump in his chair. “We've been speculating ever since the White Candle guild vanished and I need it to end.”

  Hans nodded vigorously in agreement after the sudden outburst. The grandmaster is right. Our only real success so far has been gaining the help of Hyna, but even that has brought us no closer to finding out the truth about the incidents at the White Candle.

  The grandmaster continued. “Regardless of what the truth turns out to be, I'm convinced that this trader and his warehouse will lead to something important, even if it's not related to White Candle at all. Hyna would not have pointed it out if they didn't believe that there was something strange going on there, although I'm somewhat wary about why they needed us to check it out.”

  “I can answer that,” Hans said. “We already did some checking of our own, and found there are only Dusters working at that warehouse. No locals at all, so there are no casual routes for Hyna to obtain information—nor do they employ dedicated field agents like us. Furthermore, the workers probably all speak Enti, so that is an additional barrier.”

  Hans let his gaze wander over the small living room as he reviewed his words. “Although, if you think about it, nothing but foreign workers is suspicious in itself.”

  “You speak Enti, correct?” Lakrin asked.

  “Sort of,” Hans said. “My old pack-master Bajalim was of the Jelabi clan, and his Rion was so bad that most of the time he spoke Enti instead. Our nest was in the Bronze Block as well, so I learned to understand it well enough over the years. Felt is a much better speaker than me, though. She could pass as a Duster if it wasn't for her eye colour.”

  “Good,” Lakrin said. “I'm going to leave it in your hands, then.”

  Hans began to rise from his chair when Lakrin raised his hand.

  “There was one more thing,” Lakrin said, stopping him. “Do you know anything about our outfit in Tasselhane?”

  A chill crept up Hans' neck. When he heard the name Tasselhane earlier, he had recalled some of the things he had heard about the Whisper's outfit there. None of it was good.

  “Well?” the grandmaster pressed. It was obvious to Hans that Lakrin wasn't going to let him go until he answered.

  “I heard that that outfit is a place where all the... difficult agents are sent,” Hans said, pausing for a moment to gauge the grandmaster's reaction. “Some people call the outfit the misfit instead.”

  The grandmaster laughed.

  It wasn't a big laugh, more of a chuckle that sounded like coughing, but it surprised Hans all the same.

  “Gabron? Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Oh, I'm quite alright, I assure you,” Lakrin replied. “It's just that this is the first time I've heard that particular nickname. Most amusing.”

  “So it's true?” Hans asked, feeling relieved that the grandmaster wasn't angry.

  “It is,” the grandmaster said. “Or more specifically, it was; I put a stop to the project two years ago.”

  The project? That sounds... peculiar. Hans did not voice that opinion though, instead choosing to listen quietly. He was curious to find out how much of the stories he had heard were true.

  “It was something started by the previous grandmaster,” Lakrin continued. “He was a firm believer in evolution and similar hereditary subjects to the point that he believed that some people were innately superior to others.”

  Not surprising from someone who uses the word cind in casual conversation.

  “Even so,” Lakrin went on, “he also believed that inferior people could overcome these inadequacies, provided they were given the right stimulants. A sort of social survival of the fittest. The reason he picked Tasselhane is, once again, because the dealings of the Dust Empire weren't considered important.”

  “It sounds like Grandmaster Dommen had some strange ideas,” Hans said as diplomatically as possible.

  “Indeed he did,” Lakrin agreed, ignoring the possible slight. “I didn't find out about this particular project of his for many years, even after I became grandmaster myself. It was set up in such a way that it ran entirely below my attention. I don't know if Dommen did this because he knew I would put a stop to it, or because he himself didn't want to deal with it directly while he was still the grandmaster. I don't even know exactly when he started it, though it was fifteen years ago at least.”

  Fifteen years' worth of bad agents? The misfit name is well deserved, then. It's a miracle they still exist at all.

  Lakrin raised a finger. “Now what do you expect the final result of this project was? Taking into account that the operator of the outfit was responsible for the final dismissal?”

  Hans shrugged. “I can't imagine a bunch of bad agents staying out of trouble for an extended period of time. If there are any left, they're probably the kind who stay out of trouble by not doing anything at all.” He knew the type. Sewer division always had one or two of them dangling on the bottom rungs, carried along by their betters.

  Lakrin nodded. “I couldn't find out how many agents were reassigned to the Tasselhane outfit over the years, but I know there had to be at least two dozen of them, probably more. You know how many are left?”

  Hans shrugged again. Can't be many.

  “Three,” Lakrin said, extending two more fingers. “Now, as you said, I also expected them not to amount to much, so I was quite surprised at what I found. For the past five years there have been many detailed reports and updates informing us about the situation in Tasselhane, in the Empire and much more. When it comes to the regularity of their reports, I would even say they are the most punctual outfit in the Whisper.”

  “Surely they're just faking the reports?” Hans asked. “That would be the easiest thing to do, and it would also explain the rigid punctuality.”

  Lakrin nodded. “That's what I thought at first as well, but after reading through some of the latest reports combined with some information from other sources, I quickly realized that they were all legitimate. I even found a report on Hischi Echeb when he first came to Tasselhane, although that information is outdated now.”

  Hans merely nodded. He wasn't entirely sure where the grandmaster was going with this story.

  “So afterwards, I read the personal files of these remaining three, and well, suffice to say that considering both their histories and personalities, it's a small miracle that any of them are still in the Whisper . Yet here they are, doing good work, even though I have little doubt they know exactly what their situation is. It's quite impressive really, if you think about it.”

  “So, they proved Grandmaster Dommen's theory?”

  “That I cannot say,” Lakrin said. “Perhaps they all rose to become more than they were, or perhaps the particular combination of these three unstable people created a stable outfit through sheer chance. Who can say? I would ask Grandmaster Dommen about his intentions, but he passed away several years ago, as you may know.”

  Hans nodded. The previous grandmaster had retired because of a terminal illness that claimed his life a few years later.

  One question remained, though. “Why tell me all this?”

  “Because if it turns out that the Dust Empire is involved, then there is a good chance you are going to meet the misfit in the near future,” Lakrin said as he put the stopper in the sandwine flagon. “See to it, Hans, that we find out if this is the case.”

  And on that note, the conversation ended.

  On his way back to his own haunt, Hans pondered the possible connection with the Dust Empire. In a way, it made sense. What else but the resources of an entire empire could cause this much havoc in the capital of another nation without being noticed? But on the other hand, it felt like the curtain that obscured the truth had been lifted only to reveal that there was a large snarling horror behind it.

  If the Dust Empire was responsible, it explained some things, but not others. The elimination of White Candle made sense; taking out a large part of the kingdom's magical might was always a good idea if you were planning something big. Yet the follow-up after that made little sense at all.

  Why desperately try to gain entrance at a later point if the only goal was to make the White Candle magistrae disappear? Something they already succeeded at as far as we know?

  Hans shook his head. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it, unless the two events weren't related at all.

  It did, however, lead him to a question that Felt would be able to answer for him.

  Back at the haunt, a musky-smelling cellar underneath the shop of a tailor acquaintance, Hans found Felt studying a map of the harbour district by the light of a single candle.

  Hans smiled involuntarily. Even though she knew the district like the back of her hand, she would always prepare like this regardless.

  “Hey,” Felt greeted him after glancing in his direction.

  “Felt,” Hans said after seating himself. “Back at the Candle, when you were discovered by the attackers, what language did they speak?”

  Felt looked up from her map with a surprised expression. “They spoke Rion, of course,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “No accent?”

  “Not that I could hear.”

  Hans nodded. As I thought. If those people had been Dusters, why not speak Enti? And Felt would definitely recognize Dusters speaking Rion.

  “What's this about?” Felt asked with a questioning look.

  Hans briefly considered not telling her, but then decided against it. Her trust in him had been damaged enough already. And besides, as the grandmaster said, it was all speculation at this point.

  “The owner of the warehouse we are going to check out is a member of the Hischi clan.”

  “So?”

  “The Hischi clan,” Hans repeated. “As in the clan currently leading the Dust Empire.”

  “Wasn't that the Ociep?”

  “Ociek,” Hans corrected her. “And no. They were deposed four years ago by the Hischi.”

  “Oh, okay,” Felt said, obviously not caring in the least about Dust Empire politics. “What does that have to do with those people I ran into?”

  “Nothing, apparently,” Hans said, tumbling a rolled-up map through his hands. “It's just that there is a suspicion that the Dust Empire might be behind some of the things that happened recently. No proof, though; only speculation.”

  Felt's expression switched from questioning to understanding. “Ah, you wanted to know if those guys spoke Enti.”

  “Yeah,” Hans said, giving a half-hearted shrug, “but they didn't. So that can't be explained by pinning it on the Dust Empire.”

  “Well,” Felt said, turning the map around. “The Dust Empire's involvement would explain something else I found.” She placed a finger on the map. “See this here?”

  Hans looked at where Felt was pointing, a building adjacent to one of the many streets that led away from the docks.

  “Another warehouse?”

  “It used to be, but it's something else now. A boarding house for cinds.”

  The spiteful tone and racist slur she used made Hans uncomfortable, but considering some of the things he knew she'd had to endure in her childhood, it wasn't his place to voice that discomfort.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “The warehouse only employs cinds; but did you know they also all stay at this single boarding house?”

  “I suppose that's more convenient?”

  “To the point that they've forcibly evicted the people who weren't working at that warehouse? It's nothing but cinds in there now as well.”

  Hans thought that over for a moment. “That is indeed suspicious.”

  Felt nodded with a focused look in her eyes.

  “So what do you want to do?” Hans asked.

  “We are checking out the warehouse as planned. I go in, you keep watch. Depending on what we find, we will take a closer look at the boarding house as well.”

  Hans nodded in agreement. He was fine with Felt taking charge of this. She had far more experience with illegal entry than he, and he wasn't much of a sneak to begin with, despite his small stature. Every time he went on an operation that required skulking, he always seemed to trip over something noisy or get his clothes tangled. Being the silent observer suited him much better.

  Felt seemed very motivated. Hyna had allowed her to visit her younger sister yesterday and her mood seemed to have improved as a result. She had even forgiven him for his part in her 'escape', though Hans had kept the fact that the whole thing had been his idea hidden from her. Trust was more important than truth right now.

  “When do you want to go in?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow night,” Felt answered, rolling up the map. “I wanted to go tonight, but I found out they had a big shipment coming in tomorrow, so if they're using the place to smuggle in goods that will be the best time.”

  “If they do, won't they take care of that immediately? I doubt they're going to leave such items sitting around for us to find.”

  “Maybe,” Felt said, glancing at Hans as she put the map away. “But I'm not going in there during daytime. Too risky.”

  I suppose that's to be expected, Hans thought, nodding in agreement. Even if she is willing to cooperate with Hyna, she's not going to take any more unnecessary risks for them.

  Felt pointed at a small heap of runestones on the table. “Hyna may have reimbursed me the runestones I lost, but that doesn't mean I'm going to dive head-first into even more trouble. I've already made an enemy of the Crown and Hyna, and I don't need to make an enemy of the Dust Empire as well.”

  Hans took note of her words. She considers Hyna an enemy.

  “I'm not certain what I should think about this possible Dust Empire connection,” Hans said. “It might mean there are things at play here we have no knowledge about; warning sigils, hidden guards. The magic they use is different from what we are used to.”

  “The lack of knowledge is the problem to begin with,” Felt retorted. “I don't like it much either, but this is the only way I can get Cassie back.”

  “How was she doing?” Hans asked.

  “She was doing well,” Felt said, her expression becoming softer. “She's been getting regular treatment now, so she'd had no pain for days. She was so happy to see me...” Her face hardened again. “But I can't think about that now. I just need this to be over and done with. Preferably without me being captured again.”

  “I agree completely,” Hans said, rubbing his forehead. “Let's go over the details, then.”