Today's Earth date: April 17, 1992

These fucking kids have nine lives. We're nearly to Drumin's Divide and still haven't caught up. We've seen all sorts of goblin tracks around theirs, and they look relatively fresh, but no matter how much we hustle, they're always ahead of us.

-The Journal of Laszlo the Paladin

Throughout their research, Wayne and Fergus made it a point to reread the riddle from the sigil fragment from time to time:

Even in death, a king watches his kingdom

Even in peace, a warrior carries his sword

Even in silence, a bard hears music

Though Wayne didn't feel they had made any progress toward solving the riddle, he did feel much more prepared for an adventure in the Bata desert. He now knew that the outer edge was arid, the sort of desert that was rocky and speckled with hardy succulents. The interior represented the majority of the desert, and that area was considered subtropical, which meant rolling dunes and sandstorms.

So far, their best lead for finding the next sigil piece was a legend Fergus found. In that story, the desert was once a thriving elven kingdom, but a dispute with the gods ended with the city being utterly destroyed, so much so that only sand remained. That also meant that nothing was left to prove how much truth there was to the story, if there was any.

The little bit of commentary Fergus found on the topic–and he wasn't sure if that was because the topic was uninteresting or if the Iomallach library was poorly resourced–suggested that most historians believed the elven kingdom to be myth.

The poem mentioned a king, and the elves used to have a kingdom.

That was a thin connection in a world whose history was full of kings, and Fergus strongly suspected the riddle was largely, if not entirely, metaphorical. For example, there was a species of cactus colloquially called a 'king cactus' because of its size. The top of a food chain was sometimes considered "King of the" such and such.

And there was a legend that said a djinn known as the Black Alchemist considered the desert his domain. That character wasn't a literal king, but they were a sort of ruler.

Sometime during their third day in the library, a woman with one long black glove sat next to Wayne.

"Researching the Bata desert, are we?"

Wayne sighed.

Kryss quickly raised her hands. "I'm here as a teammate."

"Right."

"I'm serious. We share a patron. Miss Sheeri requested my help excavating a lost temple in the Bata desert."

Wayne looked at Kryss, dubiously.

She clucked her tongue and produced a letter signed by Sheeri. "She's confident you'll find it soon."

Fergus chuckled. "We've only just started looking."

"You have a reputation."

Smiling, the old scholar nodded. "I suppose we do."

"I'm especially curious about your solution for the Dorcs."

"We've only just started looking," Fergus repeated.

"All the same, we're on the project together now. My team will be assembling in Bata in preparation for the dig."

"That seems premature," Wayne said. "Reputation or no."

Kryss smiled. "I told Miss Sheeri the same, but she is comfortable making the investment to have us ready to start right away."

"If we're partners now, are you going to share your research?"

"Wayne," Kryss replied with faux indignation, "it's very rude to go through a girl's library history. That's private." When Wayne didn't take the bait, she frowned. "You're no fun. Unfortunately, the truth is that I didn't have any meaningful leads. I heard you two were heading through this region, so I thought I could get ahead of the curve by making a deal with the Dorcs."

"A deal?"

"There's been very little research done in the desert, especially recently, thanks to the Dorcs. If they're as organized as people say, I figured I might be able to make a deal for safe passage that was exclusive to my projects."

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "How'd that go?"

"It didn't. The only people willing to head into Dorc territory to deliver a message are the types that are as bad as orcs if not worse. Not the sort of professionals you'd want representing your interests, you see."

"No adventurers willing?"

"Any adventurers local to the region remember how bad it was when the Dorcs didn't keep to the desert," Kryss replied. "They're not keen on kicking the nest. Shouldn't be a problem for the Zeroes, not with their good friend Laszlo helping them out."

"He's not on the payroll," Wayne said flatly.

Kryss wrinkled her nose. "You're a lot less fun these days, but teasing aside, I do intend to be a good partner on this. If I or my resources can help, please don't hesitate. Not to mention…" She flexed her gloved hand, looking at it with a hint of wonder. "Not to mention, I'm grateful for your group."

"You could be helpful on that front, actually," Fergus said. "Armond and Vanilli are hoping to open a free clinic to treat those in need as we travel. There's still some debate about how to make certain services," Fergus paused to indicate Kryss's skeleton arm, "acceptable to the masses."

"Vanilli is too kind for his own good," Kryss replied. Her voice betrayed a hint of admiration for the demon in disguise. "He might be the most unique person I've ever met."

"We have very much enjoyed his company," Fergus said, echoing Kryss' admiration.

"Very few people know about my arm. I'm certain that many will think the worst of someone who has an undead limb."

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"He's working on alternative- umm… alternative designs, so that won't always be an issue."

Though he didn't say it specifically out loud, Wayne knew Fergus was referring to the new Forgemaster tools the party had recently recovered from the Earth Temple. None of them had human templates loaded into them, but a bufo arm transplant might be easier to sell than a skeleton arm.

"If you could give it your consideration," Fergus continued, "those two could do a great deal of good. We've only talked about Vanilli's abilities, but you should know that Armond's are no less impressive. They're just more marketable."

"Very well. I'll consider helping. Truth be told… there's something about Vanilli that makes my heart skip. He's so quiet but so… thoughtful."

The two Royal Scholars exchanged glances.

"You might not be the only demon fucker on the planet anymore."

Wayne kicked Fergus under the table.

A few days later, Vanilli invited Wayne and Fergus to join him on the train. The demon couldn't contain his smile, which was an unusual visual. Vanilli was never outright grumpy, but he almost always held the piercing gaze of a pop-sensation posing for an album cover. Right then, however, he was giddy.

Vanilli led Wayne and Fergus into the train car where the demon had been conducting his experiments on siren traps. Like the scholars, Vanilli had spent all of his free time consumed by his project, and this was the first real conversation they had with him since they returned to Iomallach.

A simple clay pot sat on the Forgemaster Workbench. In it, a vibrant red flower blossomed, the surface of its petals sparkling as if coated with glitter.

And neither Wayne nor Fergus lost their minds in its presence.

Fergus let out the astonished laugh of a scientist enjoying a remarkable and unexpected step forward in knowledge. With his hands on his knees, he bent over to inspect the siren trap closely.

"This is outstanding, Vanilli," Fergus said. "I hope you understand just how special of an achievement this is. It's the kind of breakthrough Royal Scholars dream of having and few ever get to experience."

"Blackwell will be impressed as well," Wayne added.

"About that…" Vanilli began. "Much of the flower's allure comes from the song it sings. I am worried that our patron will be disappointed to have a siren without a voice."

Fergus wobbled his head. "To a degree, perhaps. Lord Blackwell is also a reasonable man. The majesty of a predator is never the same when seen through a cage."

"Please follow me," Vanilli said before walking back toward the passenger cars.

Their curiosity piqued, Wayne and Fergus did as Vanilli asked. The group stopped in Vanilli's car, standing in the narrow hallway that allowed passengers to travel through the car without walking directly through Vanilli's bedroom.

"I would like your assessment of how Blackwell might react to this creative liberty."

When Vanilli opened the door, Wayne immediately recognized a song from Paula Abdul's "Forever Your Girl" album. At this point in his friendship with the demon, he knew every song on that cassette.

Following the demon in, Wayne saw that Vanilli turned his personal space into something of a greenhouse. The other siren traps sat potted on a shelf, and below them were several more pots with faint hints of green just barely breaking through the moist soil.

Fergus' gleeful laugh returned, this one even stronger.

Seeing Fergus stare intently at another open siren trap blossom, Wayne's brain caught up to his friend's. Vanilli's boombox sat on a table next to them, but it wasn't on. No Play button was pressed. No cassette spindles were spinning.

All the music in the car came from that one siren trap.

"How in the world did you do this?" Fergus said, mesmerized.

"I'm learning more about dwarven tools, which in turn has taught me more about mana and its role in this world. I'm not sure I am able to explain what my mind seems to know intuitively."

"A common trait among masters of a craft," Fergus replied. "Understanding something does not always give us the words to describe it, but the results? Wow. I'm honored that I get to see and hear this for myself."

"Would Blackwell find this to be acceptable?"

Wayne laughed. "Absolutely. He'll enjoy showing this off, for certain."

"How do we intend to transport it?" Vanilli asked. "I can continue replacing sunlight with mana, but planting it properly would likely be best."

Fergus shook his head. "We aren't transporting it anywhere. Procuring the flower was risk enough. If Lord Blackwell wants to relocate the flower, he can manage it himself, I'm sure. I say we ask Billium where to plant it and then consider the job complete."

Vanilli nodded.

"What else are you growing?" Wayne asked, looking over the pots.

"You told me that this world lacked the ability to store music, so all of it is enjoyed live," Vanilli said. "Everyone should hear the voice of my Lady Paula Abdul."

"So these are all Paula Abdul siren traps?"

"Yes," the demon answered, proudly. "I intend to plant these as we travel."

After thinking, Fergus said, "I admire the vision, but a patron like Lord Blackwell puts a premium on exclusivity. His siren flower is much less valuable if they are suddenly found all over the world."

"How much control do you have over what music the flower learns?" Wayne asked.

"I'm unsure how to measure that."

"Let me put it this way then: Could you choose to put only one song on a flower instead of the whole album?"

"Yes."

Fergus smiled. "That's an elegant solution, my friend. Lord Blackwell can claim ownership of the only flower with all the songs, while the ones you plant are only ever individual songs. That would also add to the legend of Lady Abdul, I imagine."

"And you have the Milli Vanilli album to use too," Wayne added.

Vanilli thought for some time. "I can agree with that plan."

Fergus clapped Vanilli on the back. "You have an incredible mind. I can understand why Miss Kryss is so taken with you."

"I apologize, Fergus, but I am not attracted to you."

Wayne burst into laughter.

"I appreciate the clarification," Fergus said, sarcastically, "but my compliment stands. Shall we speak with Billium about where in the garden to plant the flower?"

Wayne glanced between his documents viewer and a map of the Bata desert pinned to the wall of his train car. Though he greatly appreciated always having his notes no farther away than a simple mental command, he still very much liked the tactile aspects of research. Flipping through a book felt better than scrolling through a webpage. Writing in a notebook felt more thoughtful than typing in a document.

Physically organizing and moving around bits of research helped him to see new connections, helped him to further immerse himself in the project.

Armond knocked on Wayne's door. "If you have a minute, we'd like to speak with you," he said when Wayne answered. At first, the "we" Armond referenced wasn't immediately clear, but Vanilli appeared behind the cleric and offered a small wave.

"Of course. Come in. I don't have much in the way of seating, though."

"That's no problem. We won't be long."

When Wayne shut the door, he asked how he could help.

"Miss Kryss has offered to support our clinic, and I wanted your take on a proposal she brought to us," Armond explained. "She has identified a number of veterans and laborers who lost limbs in the course of their work, and she offered to cover the expenses for their care. In her mind, revealing Vanilli's expertise will be more palatable with a few dozen tear-jerking testimonials."

"I mean, how do you two feel about it?" Wayne asked. "This is your project after all."

Armond stepped aside to let Vanilli answer first.

"I would enjoy the work," he said.

Nodding, Armond added, "You and Ferg have a better sense of public perception and such, but if there's a way to do this that doesn't put anyone at risk–Vanilli especially–I'm in favor."

"Kryss is smart," Wayne replied. "The angle she's taking here is a good way to put the focus on how much the clinic could improve lives. She probably already thought of this, but if there's some kind of community leader in that first group, that'd be even better."

"There's a master mason who lost an arm in a scaffolding collapse and a defense force captain who lost a leg in the last ratman attack."

"Yeah, so she definitely thought of that already. If you two want to move forward, I support it."

Armond looked over his shoulder to Vanilli, who nodded back. "We're in."

"Need a hand getting the rest of the clinic set up?" Wayne asked.

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