Matabar

Ardan tugged awkwardly at the front of his jacket. It actually fit him fairly well, but he still felt… off. It was almost as if it had been tailored for someone else. It seemed a bit too fancy to him, even by Baliero's standards. And yet, he had no real choice; even after the Black House finished sewing his new "official" suit, with the way his clothes wore out so quickly on the job, he'd never be able to keep up.

People passing by eyed the mage standing beneath a solitary streetlamp with curiosity. He made for quite a sight with his outfit: battered dress shoes repeatedly mended by a cobbler, a dashing, vest-less suit sewn from expensive fabrics with meticulous stitching, and on top of all that, an older autumn overcoat along with a torn-to-shreds crimson cloak — with the epaulets still attached — plus a staff with no carrying case, and an umbrella that had been bent multiple times.

He had bought that umbrella on his way to Madam Okladov's atelier, stopping briefly at a flea market. Even then, it had cost him eleven kso.

All around him, the city churned with life. Automobiles, slicing through the sheets of spring rain and flashing their headlights, rolled along the wet streets. Occasionally, a streetcar bell rang out, while pedestrians — like wandering mushrooms — were popping open umbrellas and rushing to find shelter.

The raindrops, thick and cold, tapped out a thin, barely-perceptible rhythm against windowsills, sidewalks, and the roadway. Ardi tried listening to the buzzing, waterlogged hum of it all, hoping to hear some tales in the way the raindrops splashed into puddles, or how they trickled down the backs of people's necks, stinging their eyes under gusts of wind, or how they…

But the rain was silent. He couldn't hear its story. He didn't yet know the Metropolis' spring rain — they hadn't been introduced. This was a different rain from the one in the Alcade . It would be a long time before Ardi could guess even a sliver of that cold, prickly stranger's name.

"Ardi?"

He turned. Tess stood there, beneath a playful cherry-colored umbrella embroidered with cuddling otters. She held a bouquet wrapped in stiff brown paper. Dressed in her usual brown coat and tall boots, she wore a trendy hat perched on her head — a feminine take on the old-fashioned men's bowler hat that matched her coat's color, with a netted ornament shaped like a flower bud.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't buy flowers," she said, smiling as she slipped beneath his crooked but broad umbrella, folding her own and hooking her arm through his.

Ardan blushed.

"Sorry… I didn't think… I mean-"

"They're not for me," Tess laughed, realizing right away that he'd assumed the flowers were meant for her. "They're for your colleague's wife. What was his name?"

"Milar Pnev."

"That's right," Tess nodded softly, nestling tighter against his side. "It's not polite to show up at someone's home without flowers."

"Oh… it's not?"

The young woman paused, studying him for a moment — just a few seconds, but it was enough.

"You've never made social visits before," she said gently.

Ardan gave a faint shrug.

"In Evergale, aside from my own home, I'd only ever visit the farm where I worked," he began, then caught himself. "Well, I did visit Boris and Elena! But… not with flowers."

Tess gave him another smile. One with a tinge of compassion, but mostly full of care and warmth.

"They're good people, Ardi," she said. Huddling together under his somewhat rickety but generously-sized umbrella, they waited for the traffic light to change, then crossed to the opposite sidewalk, where a tram stop stood jam-packed with people. "Don't worry."

"How long have you known Boris?"

"Boris?" She looked thoughtful. "I can't really say I know him at all. I've seen him a few times at events hosted by the Ministry of War. We spoke maybe once or twice back when we were kids."

Ardan sighed.

"What's wrong?" Tess asked, slightly worried.

He said nothing. Not because he didn't want to answer, but because he didn't know how to. He still couldn't forget the fact that Boris had been kidnapped not for the sake of a ransom, but for a medallion. A medallion that was possibly tied to Lady Talia and Demonology — or, more likely, to her Chaos School.

That might also explain why Selena Lorlov and her summoned demons had seemed to be in the mix. Perhaps it had all been an elaborate diversion. Any investigator unfamiliar with magic would lump everything together — "Lady Talia" and "demons" would be a single note to them. Meanwhile, a whole labyrinth of questions remained…

Ardan sighed again.

The more he learned, the more he found himself agreeing with Milar: Whatever the Order of the Spider might've been planning (assuming it even existed at all), it was likely to be a long game. Was the Homeless Fae at the Palace of the Kings of the Past involved, or just a coincidence?

"You're 'working,' right?" Tess asked gently.

They had already climbed into the tram and had even found a free spot at the very back, on a simple wooden seat.

"Huh?" Ardan grunted, snapping out of his thoughts.

"Your expression is different," Tess laid her cheek on his shoulder. "When you're thinking about Star Magic, you look like my little sister when she's daydreaming about picking out sweets at a bakery. But when…" She paused, tightening her grip on her handbag, "When you're in your 'work' mindset, you look like my father and brothers. Their eyes look the same as yours did just now. Like those of hunting dogs."

The streetcar swayed gently from side to side, reminiscent of a train car, though the scenery was just block after block of buildings rather than the grassy seas stretching out toward the horizon. They were packed so densely that only glimpses of boulevards or distant city edges could peer through.

"Let's go for a walk by the ocean someday," Ardan suggested.

"Sure," Tess agreed lightly.

They both fell silent again.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"For what?"

Ardan lightly brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Tess always removed her gloves whenever she entered a building or took a seat. A curious habit.

"For not asking what's on my mind," he replied.

She smiled once more. This time, it looked a bit sad and, in a way, tired.

"Growing up in a Governor-General's family, having older brothers in charge of the garrison… Let's just say that I learned not to ask questions in two scenarios," her voice took on a firmer note than usual. "When I don't really want the answer… or when I shouldn't."

"And in this case…?"

"In this case, it doesn't matter," she murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder like a cat. "I feel calm when you're here. Safe. And, sorry if this sounds selfish, but I'd rather your thoughts remain your own unless you want to share them."

He turned to look at her — this petite, delicate, redheaded jazz singer. She was resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, soft and warm.

Some of the older passengers kept glancing at them, checking their hands for wedding rings. Not seeing any, they frowned disapprovingly. The younger folks mostly seemed indifferent, though some gave them vaguely unfriendly looks.

Perhaps the onlookers were thinking something crude or unkind. But Ardi didn't care. He'd dealt with these sorts of stares and whispers all his life, weathering the pointed fingers behind his back. He wouldn't give up this ray of happiness currently at his side, not for a second.

The rain's rhythm slowed, and the clouds thinned out a little. The city shared the lingering day's light with the not-yet-crowned moon, both of them reflected in the puddles and glimmering along the wet glass.

A few words kept trying to leap up from Ardan's chest. Three little words, if one were to be precise. They ached to burst from his numb throat, to escape through the tips of his trembling fingers that held Tess' cool hand. But they couldn't find a way out and remained inside him. Disappointed, but not defeated, hiding somewhere close to his heart. Simple words that were so hard to say.

Half an hour later, they got off at the Twelfth Street of the Crown's Army, which ran parallel to the Crookedwater Canal. There, on the odd-numbered side of the road, in house number seven, lived Captain Pnev. The numbering system along this side of Iansmail Regiment Boulevard (named after an old Imperial Guard regiment that had become famous in the war with Taia centuries ago) that ended at Martyrs' Bridge if one started counting from the Crookedwater Canal, was strange. First came Twelfth Street, then Eleventh, all the way down to Ninth. Logically, you'd expect Eighth to come next, but no, that was on the other side of Iansmail Regiment Boulevard. This side, oddly, ended with Thirteenth Street immediately after the Ninth.

Ardan had no idea why.

He and Tess stepped off into a narrow street full of four-story tenant houses at the southern edge of the Central District. The only thing separating them from the Factory District was the canal's embankment, and, of course, the canal itself.

Like so many streets in the Central District, these buildings were bursting with color, as though an artist's palette had been dabbed across stone. Ardan and Tess stopped before a structure painted a dark orange shade — almost but not quite brown, and no longer so bright as to hurt the eyes.

Instead of a formal front entrance, there was a high archway leading into the building's courtyard. Passing beneath it, they found the correct stairwell number. The wooden door squeaked on its ancient hinges.

They found three apartments on the first floor and, presumably, there were three on every other floor above that.

They headed for the third floor.

"You're so nervous," Tess teased, detecting the tension in his bearing.

Ardan mumbled something incoherent. It would've been far simpler to list the reasons he wasn't nervous, rather than why he was…

Tess stifled a giggle and, reaching out, pressed the doorbell. On the other side of the door — recently varnished a deep cherry color — they heard the clacking of heels, and after a moment, a woman appeared.

She had once possessed a slender waist and, one might assume, a gently oval face. But childbirth had staked its claim, exchanging that trim figure for motherhood, turning straight lines into a softness you wouldn't call fat, exactly — just the signs of maturity. Even a black corset couldn't quite restore the vigor of youth. Not that she seemed to need it. Though her cheeks had hollowed out and her features slackened, though dark circles hid beneath her makeup, and even though her hair smelled of cheap dye and revealed subtly-uncolored roots, the woman gave an overall impression of kindness. Like someone who'd never really known how it felt to be a "beauty," nor had she wasted any effort trying to achieve such a thing.

She radiated an aura of home: fresh-baked bread, hearty dinners, children who always had a clean place to stay and knew they were welcome and loved.

She seemed like a grandmother out of one of his grandfather's stories, though she couldn't have even been forty yet. Only the sparkling mischief in her gray eyes hinted at memories of her younger self.

"Good evening, mhm-" Tess began, but Ardan put the pieces together immediately.

This woman wearing a green, fitted dress with a built-in corset, high-heeled ankle boots, a freshwater pearl necklace, and a braided silk-and-lace bracelet could only be…

"Good evening, Mrs. Pnev," Ardan said, offering her the bouquet that Tess had already freed from its cardboard wrapping.

She smiled with the kind of warmth one might show only one's nearest and dearest, though she likely smiled that way at everyone.

Slender hands — bony and vein-lined, bearing old calluses — took the bouquet with gentle care.

"Ard and Tess, right?" Her voice matched her appearance: soft, yet with a faint crispness beneath.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Pnev," Tess said, extending her hand.

Both Tess and Ardi shook her hand.

"Do come in," Captain Pnev's wife said, as though suddenly remembering herself, stepping aside to let them pass. "You two are the first to arrive."

"Thank you," Ardan stepped inside. Behind him, Tess was already chatting with Mrs. Pnev.

"Shall I help in the kitchen or with the table?" Tess offered.

"My daughter and I have already finished most of it, but if you could slice some lemons and help bring out the tea, I'd be so very grateful."

"Of course!"

The apartment smelled… like good food and happy family mealtimes. There were also scents hinting at well-pressed linens and the occasional tang of minor quarrels, all of them soon resolved.

Ardan carefully wiped his shoes on a special brush stand. Boris and Elena had told him that because of the capital's rainy, slushy weather, people generally switched to indoor shoes at home — except during social visits, when they simply cleaned their footwear thoroughly, rather than pairing formal attire with slippers.

He handed his overcoat to a boy of about eleven who'd come dashing over.

"Hello," the boy said in a faked deep voice, pitching it lower on purpose. "My name's Artemiy. I'm the eldest son. May I take your coat?"

"Ah… sure," Ardan answered, caught off guard. "Go ahead, Artemiy."

"You can just call me Ariy, if you want," the boy said, matter-of-fact. He was the spitting image of Milar — or at least what Ardan imagined the captain might've looked like at that age: average build, unremarkable face, and yet possessing bright, clever eyes.

Climbing onto a small stool, Artemiy hung Ardan's coat in a closet that served as the foyer's guest wardrobe. The foyer itself was almost the size of a small room, large enough to contain two stained-wood cabinets and still fit Mrs. Pnev, Tess, Ardan, and Artemiy there quite comfortably as well.

"Son," Milar's wife said, "could you take Ard to your father, please?"

"Sure, Mother." The boy nodded and led Ardan to one of the closed doors.

By Ardan's count, the apartment had four rooms in total. Artemiy brought him into the living room, a corner room of about thirty square meters, with a wide rectangular table draped in a tablecloth, several plush, green armchairs in the corner, a small bookcase, and a side table with an ashtray.

Milar was sitting in one of the armchairs with his feet propped up on an ottoman, reading a newspaper. Upon seeing Ardan, the captain folded his copy of the Imperial Herald (the front page had a photo of the fire in the Firstborn District), stood, and greeted his guest with a firm handshake.

"I'll go help Mom, all right?" Artemiy asked.

"Of cou-"

He was cut off by the melodic trill of the doorbell.

"Oh!" Artemiy exclaimed, jumping. "That must be the Urskys! I'm off!"

And with the excited energy of a dog chasing its own tail, the boy dashed off toward the entryway.

Ardan stared after him in mild amazement. Behind him, Milar sighed wearily.

"Artemiy's had a crush on Agnes — the third of Alexander's daughters — since his early childhood."

"She's one of his daughters?" Ardan asked, wanting clarification just in case.

"Yeah," Milar confirmed, strolling over to the table to stow his newspaper inside a special sleeve sewn into the chairback, "he's got five of them." The captain counted on his fingers: "Alina, age fifteen. Alla, fourteen. Agnes, thirteen. Anna, twelve. Aglaia, eleven."

Ardan raised an eyebrow.

"Yup, all their names start with the same letter, just like their father," Milar said with a vague wave of his hand.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

A moment later, more voices could be heard coming from the foyer, and Alexander Ursky soon walked in, all alone. Judging by the chatter in the hall, his wife had joined Mrs. Pnev in the kitchen, and the children had run off to another room, their footsteps clacking in perfect unison.

Alexander shook hands with both Ardan and Milar. He was as stoic and brawny as ever, his scalp shaved and adorned with Armondian tribal tattoos. Ardi tried not to stare at them. The man would share the story behind them if he chose to.

"Are we waiting for the young pup and Rovnev?" Alexander asked, taking a cigarette out of his pocket.

"If you're going to smoke, please use the balcony," Milar told him, sounding slightly resigned. "Elvira's been complaining that I've infused all the furniture with smoke, so…"

"All right," Alexander shrugged and tucked the cigarette back into its case. Then he fixed Ardan with a serious look. "You've stirred things up, mister mage. The captain spent three days without lifting his head from his desk."

"That's because-" Ardan began.

"After dinner," Milar interrupted. "We'll discuss business once everyone's here."

Ardan nodded. The other two turned their conversation to the trials of fatherhood: how children outgrew clothes faster than you could buy them, the soaring food prices, the antics of their kids, and so on.

Ardan stood there, not feeling stupid, exactly, but more just… young. He realized that Alexander might be nearly twice his age, and Milar, judging by his passing references, was already over forty. And here they were, swapping notes about raising kids. It was especially jarring given the fact that Alexander's eldest daughter was only three years younger than Ardan, and they were calling Din Erson "the kid," even though Din was twenty-six, the same age as Alice Rovnev.

What a strange feeling this was. Ardan was an adult, a fully-fledged hunter in the eyes of the Matabar traditions, and also going by the Empire's legal documents in his pocket. And yet, next to Milar and Alexander — who were casually discussing these day-to-day "grown-up" matters with clear affection for their families — he felt almost like a child. Not exactly immature, but close to it.

Finally, the doorbell trilled a third time, and a chorus of voices poured into the foyer: Din Erson with his fiancée, Plamena, and Alice Rovnev with her companion, all arriving together. A short while later, the once-spacious living room now felt a bit crowded.

"Darling," said Mrs. Pnev in that same gentle, yet commanding tone, "seat our guests, please. Tess, Galina, and I will do a bit more fiddling in the kitchen."

Galina, as far as Ardan could tell, was Alexander's wife. She was taller than Alexander by a good margin. She also seemed as cold as stone, with piercingly-clear blue eyes and platinum hair done up in a complicated style. Her angular figure — a long, thin neck and narrow face — was matched by the crisp posture of a drafting ruler. However, she dressed elegantly enough to offset the severity of her features, likely using the flowing lines of her clothes to soften them.

Their daughters had plainly inherited the best traits from both parents. They had Galina's height and Alexander's more balanced facial features. Most surprisingly, their hair ranged in color from inky black for the oldest, Alina, to the platinum blonde locks of the youngest, Aglaia, in a near gradient.

"Artemiy," Milar called out reproachfully, pulling his older son away from the middle daughter, Agnes. The two had been chatting away animatedly, with the girl smoothing her chestnut curls repeatedly. "Help seat our guests."

Milar's two other children — Lidia, a pudgy, slightly clumsy girl in a lavender dress, and Irvid, an eight-year-old rascal with messy hair wearing a miniature suit — took seats at the far end of the table. Alexander's daughters, by unspoken agreement, sat alongside them, moving their chairs in almost choreographed unison. The older a daughter was, the closer she sat to the center. Alina, who looked a bit bored, chose a spot near Alice.

"Are you comfortable, my dear?" Din hovered around the young woman whose name meant "flame" in an old language and who, at nineteen, looked as bright as her canary-yellow dress decorated with white flower designs. She was stunning enough to be mistaken for an elf and had a figure that… Well, she put some of the performers at the Crimson Lady's establishment to shame with it, even though they practically paraded around naked. And yet Plamena, if anything, seemed to downplay her figure.

"Yes, of course," she said, her voice like an angel's. "And you, my love? Is your chair comfy? Should we switch seats?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Maybe I should move the silverware closer to you?"

"Oh, no, I can handle it. Perhaps you'd like some juice?"

"How about I pour some for you?"

Ardan felt goosebumps prickle his skin. Juice.

He'd completely forgotten the accursed cranberry juice Milar had asked him to bring!

"Don't worry about it, trainee," Milar said, patting him on the shoulder. "I figured you'd forget, so I asked Alexander to bring some as well."

"I'm sorry… I-"

"You were busy demolishing parts of the city," the captain joked, "I said not to worry about it."

A somewhat stout man who looked to be around Milar's age stood from his seat.

"Ildar Nalimov," he introduced himself, shaking hands all around. "A friend of Alice's."

Alice herself was already engaged in a quiet conversation with Alina Ursky, who seemed far more animated now.

Within a few minutes, Elvira returned from the kitchen with Tess and Galina, rolling in small serving carts laden with platters of appetizers and salads. The main course would come later.

At the women's entrance, all the men, including the young ones, stood up. Ardan practically sprang upright, intending to help distribute the plates, but Tess laid a hand on his arm. Passing by him, brimming with genuine happiness, she whispered:

"That's not how it's done, Ardi-the-wizard."

"But-"

She was already gone, placing plates and utensils down on the table. Ardan remained there, stock-still, feeling beyond awkward. He was neither infirm nor elderly, so why should others wait on him? But apparently, the etiquette in the capital differed from that of the foothills, even when it came to small details.

Finally, when the serving carts were emptied and the food and drinks arranged on the table (with everyone now seated), silence fell.

At the head of the table, Milar made the sacred sign of the Face of Light over himself and folded his hands together.

"We thank you, Face of Light, for allowing us to gather today in health and peace. We thank you for these gifts for our bodies, for your moments that nourish our souls, for the light and shadow for our eyes. El'a'ar."

"El'a'ar," the rest intoned. And with that, they began to eat.

Ardan recognized this prayer from his childhood — his mother had always recited it before dinner. The word supposedly came from the desert tongue of Al'Zafir, where the First Prophet had preached, meaning something like, "Let there be Light."

Utensils clinked. Someone laughed. People began talking, with the children at one end of the table going on about their own interests, and with the adults at the other, until the living room — at first so spacious, and then increasingly crowded — filled with something else. Something that wedged itself into every corner, danced across the parquet floor, swayed the embroidered curtains, and brushed the walls' old, faded wallpaper.

It was warm and comforting, loud and jovial, occasionally roaring with genuine belly laughs. And yet, it was also so honest and simple that there was no room left for annoyance or animosity. It was like a lake on a sweltering summer day, promising a heady, icy, exhilarating plunge. Ardan found himself wanting to dive in, sink to the bottom, and let it wash over him.

But in the midst of that joyful roar, he felt himself standing on the dock again, recalling how Neviy, Kevin, and Faruh had splashed around with the other children in Evergale, while he'd stood a bit off to the side — part of it all and yet separate. Alone in a crowd of people…

"Would you like some scallop salad?" Tess asked. She placed her hand on his forearm, gesturing with her other toward a dish. "Galina brought it; she works at a shop that sells imports from Kargaam."

Ardan turned to her. At that lake back home, he had always been alone — Anna had never joined them. But here? Green eyes met his, shining with warmth.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Then you do want some," Tess said, reaching for the salad bowl. But Ardan stopped her.

She might've asked what he was thinking, but she didn't. She just understood. How or why — who could say? She continued eating with her free hand, laughing along with the other guests, sometimes joining spirited conversations about anything and everything, all the while taking bites and sips. But she never removed her hand from his arm. She kept holding on to it, occasionally stroking the sleeve of his jacket.

Ardan ate and drank as well. Next to him, thanks to Elvira and Galina, there were plates of mostly wild game, with minimal vegetables or wheat-based foods. He hadn't even asked, they'd simply placed them there from the start.

Nobody once offered him any alcohol. It wasn't forced courtesy — it was a simple fact. And it relaxed him. For the first time since entering this home, the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile. The memory of that lonely dock vanished, replaced by a boisterous dinner in a big — but somehow cozy — living room with all these different, welcoming people.

There was one toast after another. At some point, Din Erson had had a few too many and was stumbling over his words, prompting Alexander's stern but not mean scolding, followed by a fresh burst of communal laughter. Alice whispered something to Alina Ursky, who giggled into her hand. The children chatted in hushed voices. Then…

"Uncle Ard," someone piped up in a small voice, right at his elbow.

Unnoticed, little Irvid, mischievous and impatient, had snuck up on him. The suddenness of it made the others go quiet for a moment, or at least lower their voices enough to pay attention.

"Irvid," Milar said in a gently chastising tone, "I've told you a hundred times not to address everyone as 'uncle' and 'auntie.'"

"But I call Alexander 'Uncle,'" the boy protested, "and Auntie Galina, too."

"That's because Alexander is your spiritual guide, and Galina is his wife."

Irvid's face scrunched up in concentration. In the Church of the Face of Light, a "spiritual guide" was someone who would introduce a child to the "Light," typically a close family friend. In the ceremony, the friend would dunk the child into a wooden chest beneath which a small candle would be burning, thus "bathing" the child in the Light. They'd do so for just an instant, so as not to burn them. Tradition claimed those flames had been passed from a single source down through countless generations, tracing back to the first Light granted by the Face of Light to the freezing Prophet in the desert night.

"So, Mr. Ard isn't my spiritual guide?" Irvid concluded.

"No," Milar replied.

"So that means Miss Tess isn't really my auntie, either?"

"Correct," Elvira nodded.

"But I've been calling her auntie all evening!" The boy looked scandalized.

Milar and Elvira both glanced apologetically at Tess. She just smiled, saying, "It was sweet."

Some people at the table smiled, others chuckled.

"Still, though, Uncle… uhm… Mr. Ard is a real wizard, right?" Irvid poked at the back of Ardan's chair.

"Irvid," Elvira's voice took on a sharper tone, revealing the steel Ardan had sensed in her. "Please go back and let our guests eat. It's rude to bother them."

"Oh fiiiiine," the boy drawled, "I'm sorry, not-uncle Ard."

"Irvid!" His parents exclaimed in unison, while others chuckled.

"I just wanted to see some magic," the child moaned, sounding wounded.

Ardan glanced at Milar, who responded with a silent expression: "Is it safe?" Ardan answered with a look: "It's fine." Milar nodded once more.

"Hold on," Ardan said to the boy, stopping him. Standing up, Ardan dropped to one knee so their gazes were level. "What kind of magic do you want to see, Irvid? Just remember, I'm only a beginner and can't do a whole lot."

"Why?"

"Because I still have lots to learn. I only know a little magic so far," Ardan replied honestly. "So, what would you like to see?"

The boy thought about it for a moment.

"Last summer, we visited Grandma and Grandpa. They live in… I forgot the name. We took a train! Have you ever ridden a train before?"

"Once or twice."

"Wow, that's so awesome!" The boy enthused. Then he remembered his original point. "I saw lights in the sky — these colorful ones… what do you call them…?"

"Stars," Elvira offered.

"Thanks, Mom!" Irvid beamed. "Yes, stars. But now I can't see any here."

Ardan flashed back to that night at the Anorsky mansion.
"That's because of something called 'light pollution.'"

"Light can get polluted?" Irvid asked in wonder.

"I guess so," Ardan shrugged. "So, you wanted to see stars?"

He saw the boy's eyes light up again. Irvid nodded vigorously.

Ardan looked back to Milar, who was quietly asking him, "Are you sure?" Ardan silently answered, "Yes," and Milar gave a second nod.

"All right, then watch closely," Ardan whispered. "Don't blink."

"Okay!"

Ardan took two table knives and struck them together, sparking a tiny flash. He listened to that spark's vanishing warmth, coaxed it with his breath, filling it with his memories of the starry sky in his homeland, then lifted it higher and higher.

The sparks multiplied, swirling like an agitated beehive, then halted near the ceiling to form a glittering constellation.

Irvid let out a rapturous gasp. The other children reached toward the shimmering lights. Ardan played with them for a little while, shifting one constellation into another, until he felt his concentration waver. Then he spread his fingers out, drawing the sparks back in a twirling rainbow stream that whirled around his hand and then vanished.

Irvid clapped his hands in delight. And Ardan suddenly realized, with an uncompromising sort of certainty, that…he loved children. Just like back in the steppes with the northern migrants' caravan, the kids here didn't fear him. They simply ran up to him, intrigued and wide-eyed, curious about magic.

***

They stood on the balcony in a group of five. Alice Rovnev huddled under her veil, smoking a thin cigarette fitted into an elegant holder. Alexander puffed away as though trying to outdo a steam engine. Din was taking the smallest possible inhales and blowing out wispy clouds, while Milar… remained very much himself. He was apparently on his third cigarette by the time everyone else was still halfway through their first.

"It's funny," Alice said suddenly. "Right now, in there" — she nodded at the door leading back into the apartment — "besides Milar's sons, the only man left is Ildar."

"Maybe I should go back in now?" Din ventured hopefully.

"Damn it, kid," Alexander growled. "Plamena will manage just fine without you."

Din muttered something along the lines of, "But how will I manage without her?"

"You do remember-" He began again.

"That you're getting married soon," Alexander, Alice and Milar all thundered in unison.

"Yes, exactly," Din nodded.

"All right," Milar said, leaning on the railing and staring into the evening hush that had settled over the courtyard. "What our resident mage just told us only makes me more certain that the Colonel is right."

"Right about what, Captain?" Alice blew out a cloud of smoke and tapped the ash from her cigarette into a simple tin can wired to the balcony railing. "You haven't explained anything."

Milar looked tense. The others did as well.

"I've got two pieces of news for you, ladies and gentlemen. Which shall I start with?"

"Maybe start with the one that hurts a little less," Din pleaded.

"It'll sting either way, I'm afraid," the captain said, making a face. He turned his back on the courtyard, now facing the pitchy sky. "We're in for a bonus. Actually, that's two bits of news rolled into one."

The Cloaks exchanged glances.

"Twelve exes?"

"Exactly, Alice. Exactly that."

They all swore — loudly and vehemently — except for Ardan, who looked around in confusion, clearly unsure of why they were so upset.

"For those who arerecently hired," Milar elaborated after noticing his partner's bewilderment, "a twelve-ex bonus is issued whenever a case's urgency level is raised. We were at Level Two, and now it's been changed to Level One."

"And that's… Why exactly is that bad news-" Ardan began.

"It's plain awful, Ardi," Din interrupted in a near-whine. "Twice the workload, triple the paperwork. And more secrecy on top of that."

"We're now forbidden from discussing case details with anyone outside our division," Alice explained. "The only exceptions are the very top brass: the Head of the Second Chancery, the Colonel, and… well, that's it."

"Not even-"

"Not even Aversky," the young woman nodded, cutting him off before he could finish.

Apparently, Ardan wasn't destined to complete a single sentence tonight.

"Captain," Alexander said quietly, heavily, "does that mean the higher-ups are afraid the situation is truly dire?"

"What do you think, Alexander?" Milar closed his eyes, lifting his face toward the faint moonbeams peeking through the clouds. "Baliero, the Bri-&-Man shipment on the train, foreign chimeras, demonologists, gang clashes, talk of some 'Order of the Spider,' and now Star Werewolves loose in the Firstborn District — not to mention the murdered Conclave Judge. You think the Firstborn are pleased?"

"I would guess they're not."

"Exactly. So, from now on, we work under total secrecy. All operations will be at our discretion."

Ardan finally couldn't hold back. "What's so bad about all of this, aside from more paperwork?"

"Alice, do explain things to the new guy," Milar said.

She patted Ardi on the shoulder. "We'll be as far in the shadows as possible now, Ard," she told him, the worry in her expression plain for all to see. "If we land in some awkward scrape, we can't brush it off by saying we're on duty, because no details will be allowed to leak. So…"

"If Sergeant Boad tries to detain me again…"

"You'd have no official way to explain yourself," she confirmed. Then she turned to Milar. "Does this mean that the Colonel believes it's not just the local guards who are compromised?"

"The unknowns react too quickly," he replied. "We're always a step behind, never managing to arrive in time. That's only possible if-"

"There's a mole in the Second Chancery," Alexander rumbled.

"A mole?" Ardan echoed.

"A spy," Alice clarified at once. "Planted by the Order — whatever they call themselves." Then she looked at Milar. "So what's our plan, Captain?"

"On the first day of next week," the captain explained, face still pointed toward the sky, "we'll pay a visit to Bri-&-Man. Maybe we can dig something up, but I don't have much hope. Maybe it would actually be better to let them scramble a bit and see what we can get through that… Never mind. We'll also begin tailing that lady the Magister here mentioned in his report."

"She's a mutant," Alexander reminded him. "That won't be easy, Captain."

"Well, you and Erson don't get your paychecks for nothing, I hope," the captain retorted. "And if things get hairy, you'll bring in the Magister. He needs some field experience anyway."

"And what do we hope to achieve by tailing her?" Alice asked.

Milar didn't answer right away. After a couple of seconds, he spoke with zero enthusiasm:

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea. We need at least some clue. Something that ties this entire mess together: Indgar, the Star Werewolf, Selena Lorlov, the Fae… those Homeless Ones, too, the Tazidahian Chimera — what unites them all?"

"Nothing."

"That's not possible, Din." Milar shook his head. "There's always a single link, some common denominator. A tiny detail we're missing. And the longer we miss it, the more harm will come of it."

"The grand opening of the underground tram line is coming soon," Alice piped up, as though suddenly recalling that fact.

"Exactly, Rovnev, exactly." Milar opened his eyes and glanced around at his colleagues. "The Colonel says the Emperor can't postpone it much longer. It'll happen at the end of the season, with foreign journalists and ambassadors in attendance, whole throngs of onlookers… You do understand what that will mean if the Spiders-"

"We're calling them the 'Spiders' now?" Din interjected, only to wilt under a look that silently asked if he'd lost his mind.

"Anyway," the captain cleared his throat, "if the Spiders stage the same kind of show they threw at the Imperial Bank, then…" He waved a hand. "I don't even want to think about it."

"So, you suspect they'll target that event?"

"We do, Alice. It's too big of a spectacle for them not to try something. Exactly the kind of move they love."

"Then that means we do know their motive?"

"The Colonel's still guessing," Milar admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and fishing out a fourth cigarette. "We have too few facts, so there are countless theories. One he entertained — one I even used to support — was that they're trying to stir up revolutionary sentiment."

"And why don't you support it anymore, Captain?" Alexander asked.

"Because, Alexander, you need a load of disgruntled folks for a proper revolution. They'd have to pit some group — maybe the Firstborn — against, I don't know," he lit up the cigarette and exhaled, "the factory workers, let's say. But that's not what happened. The Spiders attacked the Firstborn District directly. If they'd used humans to do their dirty work, at least we could spin it as strife or riots or whatever. But they pinned it on one of their own. An orc… what was his name?"

"Indgar," Ardan reminded them.

"There's something about orc names, they all sound the same…" Milar grumbled, taking another drag and blowing out a harsh cloud. "None of it fits. It feels like we're dealing with a group pursuing multiple goals at once."

"Or they're heading for a single goal along different paths," Ardi suggested thoughtfully.

"Possibly so, Magister," Milar replied. "Either way, Bri-&-Man is our last lead that ties at least some of this together. And speaking of which" — he rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope — "better late than never. Here you go. You asked for a list of items that were stored in those safe deposit boxes at the blown-up bank. Given how many valuables from the Empire's top elite were kept there, it's a wonder we got any kind of inventory at all. The Colonel must've pulled every string he has, legal or… otherwise."

"Oh dear," Alice sighed. "Then it must really be serious."

"More than you know."

Ardan took the envelope. While the Cloaks resumed discussing their new secrecy rules and the Spiders' motives, he leafed through the lists. Mostly, from what he could tell, the vault had held vital documents: wills, property transfer deeds, major promissory notes, signed contracts, and so forth. Second place went to jewelry and rare Star Magic books. Third was everything else worthy of keeping in the nation's top bank.

All items on the list were labeled either "lost in the fire" or "no theft reported." Ardan honestly didn't care to guess how they'd determined what had been burned versus stolen. This meant that the elf Aean'Hane had been after something else, something important to the Spiders.

Then again, maybe that request from the two Sidhe Fae truly had nothing to do with the Order and…

His eyes snagged on a single entry. He read it again, then again and again, until he finally spoke up.

"I don't think they'll let you switch labs, Alice," someone was saying.

"Gentlemen…"

"But Captain, if our urgency is higher, I'll need much better equipment."

"Gentlemen."

"All right, write up a request and wait for-"

"Gentlemen!" Ardan barked, loud enough to capture everyone's attention.

They turned toward him. They looked tired, somewhat annoyed, and at least one of them — Din — seemed to have his head in the clouds. Only Milar's eyes glinted with a flash of hope, immediately tinged by worry.

"You… look more distressed than usual, Magister," he said, puzzled.

Ardan didn't reply. Instead, he silently held out the papers, pointing to a line on one of the sheets.

"'The Tales of the City on the Hill,'" Alice read aloud. "It's listed as a rare book — a collection of pre-Imperial folktales. It's also marked as 'lost in the fire.' The owner declined to file a claim. What's bothering you about this, Ard?"

"The author."

"The author?" Alice adjusted her glasses and peered at the line. "At… Ar… I can't make it out. What language is that?"

"Fae," Ardan told her, his hand trembling as he lowered the page. "In the Fae language, it says 'Atta'nha.'"