Hadrian refused to believe it. He shouted and hit the walls in what, to Royce, seemed like uncharacteristically excessive behavior. He might go so far as to label it irrational. After all, Hadrian had seen plenty of death. His alleged history suggested he had been present for hundreds of brutal killings, and Royce could personally attest to Hadrian taking dozens of lives. Never before had he seen his partner so violently distressed.

One thing that Royce did understand was the skepticism, especially considering Arcadius was in the room when the kid died. Anything that man had been involved in needed to be questioned. What made Royce shake his head was why the kid's death had mattered so much to Hadrian. Rehn Purim was a minor league operative working as a scout for Arcadius. He had posed as a Vernes street waif named Pickles for reasons Royce still wasn't clear about.

And then there is the odd name, probably a last-minute panic when the kid realized he couldn't use his real name.

Failing his assignment of traveling with Hadrian to Sheridan University, the kid showed up some time later to serve no purpose whatsoever. Shortly afterward, Pickles "died." As best Royce could calculate, Hadrian had known Pickles for only a few weeks. During that period, Royce had been working extensively to teach Hadrian to climb; as such, Royce estimated the time Hadrian had spent with Pickles to be best measured in hours rather than days. Why it was then that Hadrian broke down when they took him into the bedroom to view the body was baffling.

There are just some things I doubt I will ever understand about that man.

They left Hadrian alone with Rehn while the rest of them packed. No one slept. There would be plenty of time to do that on the ship.

What else is there to do?

Royce hoped he could sleep through most of the voyage as well but doubted it would be possible. He had only been on a ship once before. That had been enough. The rocking didn't agree with him, and he had been horribly sick for three days. Royce's friend and genius-in-residence, Merrick Marius, had explained that while some people were prone to the sickness, one incident didn't mean Royce was one of those. Even if he was, it didn't dictate that he would always become sick on a ship. Still, the memory of that agony had kept Royce from any further experiments beyond short river or coastal trips, which rarely bothered him.

So maybe Merrick was right. Perhaps it wasn't the ocean at all but something I ate. It's possible that this time I'll enjoy a lovely pleasure cruise holding hands with Gwen as we stand on deck and gawk at the sunsets . . . and I suppose I will also wake up and discover I am the Heir of Novron and she the Queen of Calis.

Royce had nothing to pack. Instead, he waited in the courtyard, listening to the birds begin to stir and watching the sunrise. Despite himself, he had to admit this had been a nice trip. The food was good, the work easy, and there was that one night in The Blue Parrot when . . .

Royce had refused to even think about that. He had been terrified that if he analyzed that evening too much, he would realize he had made a fool of himself. Over time, however, the terror faded. Gwen showed no signs of hating him. In fact, he noticed how she stood closer than before. And where in the past she never dared, she now touched him. Just a light press on his shoulder or a brief tap on his hand to get his attention, but a touch, nonetheless. And once, while at The Blue Parrot, when Royce was perfectly sober, he had swept a strand of hair from her face, and only afterward did he realize it had happened. As he watched the rising sun, Royce edited his earlier dream of waking up a prince to waking up beside Gwen.

Auberon, who had left during the night, returned that morning with a freshly made coffin and dragged it inside. Shortly afterward, Hadrian came out, carrying his swords and pack. He looked exhausted, his eyes red and underlined with shadows. Dropping his burdens near the table, Hadrian collapsed on the chair opposite Royce as if he weighed a thousand pounds.

"Doesn't affect you at all, does it?" Hadrian asked. There was anger in his words.

"I didn't know him the way you did."

Hadrian leaned forward, opened his mouth, then stopped; he looked puzzled and sat back.

"What?" Royce asked.

Hadrian shook his head. "Nothing, it's just that the last time we had this conversation, your answer was either 'uh-huh' or 'nope.' Something like that. I forget. I just remember it really made me mad."

"That was several years ago," Royce said. "You've matured since then."

"Hold on. You think that I —"

"Can I interrupt?" Gwen asked, coming out with Albert. "We need to carry Rehn to the Ellis Far."

"Now?" Hadrian asked.

"I arranged permission from Captain Callaghan to bring the body onboard," Albert explained. "But we need to load the coffin early, as it will be going into the ship's hold, and things will get tight in there once passengers arrive."

"Auberon is closing the coffin now." Gwen looked at Hadrian with soft eyes. "I thought you would like to take Rehn back and give him a proper burial."

Hadrian nodded.

"Can you help carry him? Both of you? And, Albert, you go, too. Help make sure there's no confusion with the quartermaster or whatever. Arcadius and I will see that your things are packed while you're gone. Ship leaves at midday."

Baxter filled in as the fourth pallbearer. He had to go with Royce anyway, and it must have seemed stupid not to help out. The ghost had grown lax in his duties of aloof, silent sentinel. Royce had caught him playing that game with Albert and sleeping on the cushioned bench. Couldn't fault him; there never had been any point.

The lid of the coffin had been sealed tight, which Royce appreciated. Seeing Rehn tucked inside the box would likely as not have set Hadrian off again. Even so, the trip home was not going to be a happy-go-lucky party. Instead, Royce imagined it would be one of those lengthy journeys where Hadrian would be too quiet.

Strange, I never thought I could get used to something so annoying and yet have its absence become irritating.

Rehn was a thin kid and not terribly heavy. Between the four of them, they had no trouble hoisting and hauling him down to the harbor. People were already on the dock. Most stood in a patchwork of clustered luggage, waiting their turn at the gangplank, where a host of dock workers tossed up chests and sacks with all the care of manure shovelers clearing a stable. Pickles's coffin-bearers were forced to wait while Albert went up to speak to the longshoremen, or what he called the "wharfies."

As always, the seagulls cawed from overhead while the ocean waves, crippled by the breakwater, lapped against the quay. The sky was oddly overcast, growing dark with rain clouds, which added to the anxiety of those waiting in line. As the minutes rolled by, Royce contemplated sitting on the coffin but imagined that was just the sort of thing to set Hadrian off. As it turned out, Royce well remembered the conversation the two had shared after Pickles's previous death. It had ended with the two promising to kill each other.

Funny how life repeats itself.

If Royce were more optimistic — if he were Hadrian, for example — he might fancy that the world gave individuals repeated chances to get things right. Being Royce, however, he understood the proper philosophical takeaway: if a person will fall for it once, they will likely be deceived a second time. In the thieving world, this was known as the Rule of  Threes. If you robbed someone who had no lock on their door, odds were that you'd be able to do it a second time, but not a third. After the first theft, the victim convinced themselves that if something awful happened once, there was almost no chance of the same thing happening again. The second burglary would change that, and they'd get a lock. Given that Royce tended to see life as a sadistic entity that reveled in causing misery, he also imagined life making use of the Rule of  Threes. Royce hoped to avoid making the same mistake twice and refrained from sitting on the coffin. Instead, he wandered to the edge of the quay, which was white with bird droppings. Standing at the edge near the center of  Terlando Bay, Royce had a perfect view of the two towers of Drumindor. They were indeed huge. Not quite mountain-sized, but bigger than anything he'd seen crafted by a hand. They were so big that the clouds were obscuring their tops. And yet, they were only about a third taller than the Crown Tower. A third. The thought repeated in his mind. Only a third. He found this significant because the bridge was just slightly higher than halfway. That meant . . .

The distance to that bridge is shorter than the height of the Crown Tower — and even Hadrian was able to climb that.

The problem, of course, was the dwarven craftsmanship. Unlike blocks of stone laid one upon another and stacked side by side, this was carved from living rock. No seams were available to exploit.

Everything is just too annoyingly smooth — polished even. Except for —

"Royce?" Gwen's voice drew him back.

She arrived with Arcadius, Auberon, and their luggage in a little wagon that the dwarf pulled.

"You going on the Ellis Far, too?" he asked the dwarf.

"No," Auberon replied solemnly. "I'm done traveling. This here is my home."

"Your home is going to disappear in a couple of days."

"And at my age, that still makes it a race as to which one of us will die first."

"How is Hadrian doing?" Gwen asked.

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"He's in his quiet phase. It will last until he finds beer, then he'll shift into his loud phase. Not sure which I hate more."

Gwen took his hand and drew him aside. "A lot of people are going to die here, Royce."

He nodded. "Strange, isn't it? That people would choose to die? I suppose I can understand Auberon. What does he have to look forward to, really? A couple more years, then the misery and humiliation of his body breaking down will —"

"That's not my point," Gwen said. "What I'm saying is that a lot of people here are going to die that might not need to."

Royce looked at her, puzzled. "That is my point, too. No one here needs to die. They can leave. Even if they can't get on the Ellis Far or the Crown Jewel, they can walk. They have two days left. They could easily clear the cliff and get miles inland."

"Still not my point, Royce."

Again, he looked at her, puzzled.

"These people can't abandon this city. They love it too much. Most of them have already seen how the rest of the world is, how it treats people like them. They know they'll never find a better place. Tur Del Fur is special. It is one of a kind. Nothing like it has ever been before, nor do I imagine it will ever exist again. It breaks their hearts to see it destroyed — so much so that they can't imagine breathing another day if it's taken from them. Royce . . . " She took both of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "When they look at this city, it's like when I look at you. I could never feel the same way about someone else. It just wouldn't work. You are as unique as this city, and I can't imagine continuing to breathe if you were gone."

Royce didn't know what to say. He was still feeling the warmth of her hands in his as they squeezed. In her eyes was a desperation.

"Royce, I know you can stop it." She turned and looked at the towers. "You can climb it. I know you can. What's more, I know you know it, too." She looked back at him. "Don't you?"

Royce hesitated. Looking back at her, seeing those eyes so desperate and yet so certain, he said, "There is one thing I suspect everyone may have overlooked."

Gwen smiled at him. "Take Hadrian with you."

"I didn't say I was going to do it."

She simply smiled at him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll fall? That I'll not make it and be killed in the explosion?"

She shook her head. "You won't." Her hands squeezed his again. "The one thing that has ruined this trip for you is having me see you fail. You want to climb that tower as much for yourself as for anyone, but you'll do it for me. And because of that, you won't let yourself fall. You're going to do it, Royce. You and Hadrian will climb Drumindor and save this city from destruction. You will. I know it. I believe in you."

Tears welled in her eyes as she said this.

She was right. He had wanted to try climbing Drumindor ever since he first saw it, especially now given that his alternative was a risky ocean voyage where he would likely become disgustingly sick in front of Gwen. And it wasn't suicide — not really. He still had time to escape the city on foot if his idea proved unviable, but her request clinched the deal.

The tears sealed it in stone.

Behind the curtain of rain, the Ellis Far cleared the shallows, then turned to face the big waves head-on as the ship headed north out into the Sharon Sea. Royce was surprised the ship was only now clearing the bay. They had said their goodbyes on the dock close to an hour ago.

The ship had been packed with escapees. Those with rooms or berths paid for the privilege, but after that, Captain Callahan waived passage fees and took on as many as he could. Royce recognized the nameless faces he'd passed time and again over the last month. Among them, he spotted Tim and Edie as well as Angelius, who stood with several other men whom Royce guessed to be his many-storied brothers. Apparently, whatever boat they used for fishing wasn't good enough to flee on.

Gwen returned the diamond key to him, then gave Hadrian a hug and Royce a kiss that no amount of ocean spray had the power to wash away.

"Get going!" Gwen had ordered them. "You don't need to stand here and wave. You've a lot to do and very little time left. I'll see you back in Medford. I believe in you, Royce. I believe in you both. Now go!"

About two hours later, Royce was standing at the base of the North Tower, hopelessly soaked. A wave exploded on the rock. Not only were the waves breaking on them, but it was raining. Overhead, clouds of gray churned and boiled, while below, the ocean mirrored the sky. Gone were the happy aqua waves crowned in white, now replaced by the colorless rearing fists of an angry sea. Looking out across the water at the Ellis Far rocking over those great, white-knuckled fists, Royce had but one thought.

Take care of her, little boat. See her safely home, or I'll track down every board, nail, rope, and sail and burn it all to ash.

"You're absolutely right," Auberon told Royce as he studied the stone of the tower.

"He's still insane," Baxter shouted over the roar of the ocean as he joined all of them in staring up at the heights of the North Tower. "You can't climb this. No one can. Go up there, and the wind will rip you off and toss your body into the sea."

"Maybe," the dwarf said, "but at least this one is climbable."

"You call this climbable?" Baxter shook the water off his face, his long hair whipping like a dog. "I used to be a second-story guy. My specialty was drainpipes and steep roofs, but this — this is vertical. And there are no grips."

"Yes, there are," Royce said, running his hands over the surface, reading it with his fingertips. "The face of the South Tower is smooth as polished glass, but this is pockmarked, coarse, gritty."

"The salt spray," Auberon said. "Eats everything. Chews up boats, rusts metal, even erodes granite. What made you think of this?"

"The way everyone always went to the South Tower," Royce said. "Each attempt to climb was made there. Not a single person thought to come out here."

"It's too far, too much trouble to hike through all that brush," Baxter said, like the husband of a cheating wife as he denounced marriage. The ghost was a city boy who seemed uncomfortable trudging through anything more challenging than a dark alley. "Carpenters aren't going to carry lumber all this way through that forest and scrub. I suppose they could have boated it out, but why bother when the South Tower is right on the paved square, and that's where the old entrance always was. Just made sense to try there."

Royce nodded. "Everyone thought that . . . even the dwarfs."

"Of course!" Auberon's eyes widened just before another wave burst behind them. The water wasn't cold, but accompanied by the wind and without the sun, it wasn't warm, either. "No one ever came out here. There was never any need. They kept the South Tower in pristine condition because that's where everyone went in and out, but they never bothered to do any maintenance out here where it was difficult to get to, hard to build scaffolding, hard to provide workers with food and water. And I guess everyone gets lazy."

"And . . . " Royce crawled around as best he could until he could see the ocean side. There was no place to stand over there as the tower went all the way down to the water, which was why he never bothered to inspect the northwest side before. Seeing it now, he smiled. "Just as I thought. The winds primarily blow in off the ocean and have been salt-blasting this unseen side of the North Tower for thousands of years." Royce peered up, studying the route he planned to take. "The stone isn't just roughed up; it has cracked in places. See it? There's even a little crevice that crosses the fins going right up toward the bridge."

"Your eyes are better than mine," Auberon said. "But then there's not much left of me that's any good."

"If I could climb up to that jog, I could catch hold of it. Problem is, I'll need anchors."

"Can't hammer a piton into solid rock," Baxter said.

"No. For that, I'd need to drill and set bolts, and we don't have that kind of time. I'll just climb to the crack and hammer anchors in."

Baxter pointed. "The crack is way up there; how you gonna reach it?"

Royce examined the wall. "I'll press into the corner here where the fin joins the cylinder. The stone is rough; there's plenty of friction."

"I don't know where you come from, but the laws of nature and man don't work that way."

"No?" Royce looked back and waited for the next set of waves. When they finished breaking, he leaped up, and using fingertips, elbows, knees, and toes, he pressed himself into the sharp V where the tooth of the gear met the tower's body. The stone was wet, which made holding himself by pressing out significantly harder, but as expected, he managed to locate — mostly by feel — tiny dimples in the stone that were just large enough to catch a hold and keep him in place. He found more and climbed up about ten feet, then dropped back down before the next set of waves arrived.

Royce smiled as he nodded to himself. Gwen was right. He could do it. Wouldn't be easy, but once he drove an anchor into the crack and hooked a line, the rest would be inevitable.

"It's like you're a fly or one of those little lizards they have here," Baxter said.

"Don't worry. I'll be doing that part. You can climb the rope behind me like Hadrian."

"Oh, no thank you," Baxter replied. "I'm not climbing anything. I said you're insane, and I'm standing by that."

Royce faced him. His hood was up but starting to sag under the weight of the wet. "I'm going up. As my ghost, you're obliged to follow."

"That's okay. I'll stay here and dodge your falling body instead."

"And you realize that the book is up there. Hadrian and I could find it and sneak out while you're twiddling your thumbs. The Big Guy wouldn't like that."

"Don't care." Baxter looked up at the dizzying height of the tower. "All the money in the world isn't going to convince me."

Now that the storm had arrived, the top was no longer visible. Even the bridge was mostly lost in clouds. "You're scared of that?" Royce asked. "I thought you were renowned."

"Renowned — not suicidal. A year ago, I led a team that assassinated a sitting magistrate — in his own home."

Royce shrugged. "I murdered my first judge all by myself when I was sixteen. Honestly, what passes for elite these days?"

Royce looked at Hadrian for agreement, but his partner was letting the rain drain down his face as he stared out at the waves. He wasn't looking good, and Royce was starting to suspect he might be doing this alone.

"You have another problem," Baxter said. "You have no gear, do you?"

Royce scowled. "This job was supposed to be an intimidation contract — a simple killing if that didn't work. Didn't expect to be rock climbing."

"What do you need?" Auberon asked.

"Several blade pitons of varying lengths — one to five inches, I suppose."

"What are those?" Auberon asked.

"Just thin bits of strong metal I can hammer into cracks and tie a rope to — having a flange on the end and a hole through it would be nice. And obviously I'll need a little hammer, and lots and lots of rope — good rope, light and strong. And we'll need harnesses, some clamps, and I could use hand claws, too. And a few light bags that are easy to open and close. Maybe some chalk powder. Don't usually need it, but it's warmer here. It's possible I'll sweat."

"Possible you'll sweat?" Baxter blurted out, then laughed. "You'll be pissing yourself before you get halfway."

"Can you make a drawing of these claws and other stuff?" Auberon asked.

"Why?"

"Easier to make them that way."

"I didn't think you knew anything about crafting metal."

"I don't, but you'd be surprised how many of my people do."

Royce stared at the dwarf for a long while as he finally faced the truth. He had been eager to give up his bed on the Ellis Far because he'd rather walk home than take that ship. Gwen's request had provided him a wonderful excuse, and he was going to take it. No one could fault him for failing to do what everyone knew was impossible. But then came those tears and that kiss, and with them a stupid desire to actually try.

It only took a fraction of a second to stamp out the spark, but in that instant, Royce caught a glimpse into the mind of Hadrian and felt sorry for him.

He likely feels this way all the time — upset at disappointing others.

Royce wanted to please Gwen. He'd steal her a pony if she showed the slightest interest because he knew he could do that. The odds were well in his favor, and the reward far outshone the risk. But climbing this tower was nearly impossible — at least it had been until he confirmed the poor upkeep of the North Tower. Still, Baxter was right. They didn't have the gear or the time to obtain it, and that had left scaling Drumindor a fantasy . . . until now.

This is really going to happen, he thought.

"She's not on it," Hadrian said, and Royce realized he was still looking at the Ellis Far.

"What?" Royce asked concerned. "Who? Gwen?"

"No. Millie."

"Millie? Who's Millie?"

Hadrian shook his head. "A woman who has a habit of not listening to me."

Royce didn't like his partner's despondent tone. He'd had no difficulty persuading Hadrian to stay, no problem convincing him to climb the tower. That right there was odd. This melancholy was worse. "Hadrian? How do you feel about climbing this tower?"

"Huh?" He looked up as if he'd been asleep, as if he'd forgotten why they had hiked out through the brush in a pouring rain. "Oh." He shrugged. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" Baxter mocked him. "You two are nuts. You try to climb that, and you're both going to die."

"If they don't try," Auberon said, "a lot more will."

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