Rhian

The morning after-slash-of the fire, I peered out the window from my room at the Widow's Peak and found a few areas still smoldering. Lucky for us, it wasn't a windy day, and it seemed the biggest problems were contained. Apart from the biggest problem, obviously, which was that there wasn't much of a village still standing. Just ovens and hearths. Sunken houses. Blackened, toppled pillars, and piles of ash. Everything was covered in thick layer of fat, wet snow. Icicles had formed basically everywhere that wasn't still hot, dripping and steaming. The dead on The Hill and strewn around the village proper were still where we left them.

I swallowed back a pesky lump and shut the drapes.

There were a handful of local survivors who hadn't escaped to Jaska, deciding to stay at the inn with us instead. They had plans to sort out what to do with the deceased that morning and I had plans of my own, so I splashed some water on my face, got dressed right quick, and walked down the hall to Adeline's room.

I tried the door. It was locked, so I knocked a few times fast.

"Up you go, lass," I said. "Busy day ahead."

Not even a squeak from the other side.

I knocked again. No answer.

Whatever. I stepped over to Marta's room. I left the pair doing shots together the night before, reckoned they may have bunked together.

I tried the door. It was locked, so I knocked a few times fast.

Nothing.

Right, well.

Downstairs, about a dozen locals were having their breakfasts. To be fair, most were just pushing their gruel around in a bowl or picking at a day-old loaf. If they still thought I was their savior, nobody said so. If they hated me again, nobody said so either.

It was just a whole lot of nothing.

I spotted Marta sitting with The Historian at the bar, so I made my way over.

The Historian waved meekly.

"Hngh," Marta said.

I replied with a, "Hngh," myself.

Felt a bit sick thinking of Ivana. Normally she'd be there, wiping clean an already clean bar. "Hungry? Thirsty?" she'd ask and I always was, especially when it was free.

"Have you lot seen Adeline?" I asked.

Marta shook her head. "Not since the whiskey."

The Historian also shook his head. What a thing, showing up in the village right before something proper historic took place. I wondered if he'd write about it or not.

You might find out eventually.

"Weren't you just with her?" Marta asked.

"Haven't seen the lass since I left the two of you," I replied.

"Well," Marta shrugged. "Whoever she was talking to a couple hours ago had an accent just like yours. Heard them when I got up to, you know—"

"Take a piddle?"

"Yeah."

The Historian looked away like he was overhearing a secret he shouldn't be.

Normally I'd have called him on in, reminding him, "What, people piddle, end of story."

But I couldn't be bothered.

"You sure it was a lass she was talking to?" I asked.

"Yeah—I mean, I think so. I've never met a male Strachan."

"Right,' I said. "Our males sound just like your males, so."

Marta shrugged and nodded. "Then yeah. I'm sure."

Well, that was annoying. Wasn't as if there were Strachan running around Amalia willy-nilly, normally. But I knew of one other lass that might sound a bit like me. The Creepy Lass. She'd kidnapped Gus, maybe she got to Adeline also. Wouldn't even be tricky, neither, considering they knew each other.

Besides, for all I knew, the little weirdo was responsible for the attack on the village.

The stakes were upped and whatnot. I had to find the Creepy Lass, with or without Alexander's help. "I've gotta go," I said. "And I've gotta be fast so I'll have to do this solo. You'll both be all right here?"

Marta nodded.

The Historian nodded.

"I'll have Peter swing by with the carriage as soon as I can."

Marta nodded.

The Historian, having no clue who Peter was, still nodded.

The people around the tables couldn't be bothered looking up from their slop as I left.

Look, it was a shitty morning.

And I'm done thinking about it.

From Oskari, I zipped over to The Estate. Took about a minute. I told Peter everything, and asked him to tend to Marta and The Historian as promised. After that, I took the long way around the One Road to Jaska. Not because I was stalling or stupid, but because I was fast and it didn't bloody matter which way I took, I'd get there before the refugees. That's what mattered. Besides, I didn't want them seeing me having an easy time traveling while they were miserable, freezing, and struggling on the road and whatnot.

Anyhow. Jaska. Took another minute. The city was still grey, the windows were still pretty, the people were still Amali. Use your imagination.

First thing, I made my way to the guard compound and rang the bell.

A sleepy looking balding fellow opened the gate.

"I'd like to see your Captain," I said.

The man scoffed. "What is it with you Partisans thinking you can just walk up and ask to speak with the Captain? Don't you people understand chain of command?"

They hadn't given me a hard time last I was there. I was officially annoyed.

"You new or something?" I asked, but I didn't leave the poor sap time to answer. "Because last I checked, Councilwoman Faust was at the top of your chain. We wouldn't be here if she hadn't sent our sorry lot to deal with all the horseshite in this goddess-be-damned forsaken territory. This is Palisade business, mate. There-bloody-fore, I'd like to see your Captain."

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And then I got to see the Captain.

Marat Kavelin hadn't aged a bit since I last saw him, which to be fair was only a couple of months afore, and he was already young looking and would probably stay young looking for another few years. But never mind. After a brief rundown of her time at the brothel, Adeline mentioned Kavelin, and how he and The Seamstress were acquainted, and how he was sympathetic to defects or what have you. Also, I remembered during my last visit to the guardhouse when Kavelin implied he'd met with Gus earlier that day.

Bottom line: all signs pointed to being able to trust him.

The Captain kicked the balding man out on his balding arse and offered me a seat across from his. There was a desk between us, and the office smelled like chicken soup.

"Sinclair, right?" he asked.

For a second I wished I wasn't. "Got some bad news, I'm afraid."

"Again? Does this have to do with the missing people in Oskari?"

"Old news. Problem solved."

The Captain and his big old puppy dog eyes looked relieved.

"'Course, now the village has burnt down," I said. "Got about two hundred dead and another, what, six, seven hundred on their way to the city for refuge."

Poor bastard lost about ten shades to his face.

"Seven hundre—" the Captain trailed off, looking doubtful. "This isn't like the last time when you said there were forty-some missing people, is it?"

"That's fair. I'm a big fan of hyperbole, but not this time, mate."

"Shit…"

"Shit, indeed. So, thought I best come warn you, and seeing as you have connections around town, reckon you might be able to arrange some wagons and provisions. Got a fair few elderly and sickly ones and whatnot. They're traveling the One Road as we speak."

"Yeah, of course." The Captain nodded. And then he paused, and then he nodded again. "Yeah, we'll figure something out."

"Brilliant. Also, those who stayed behind are going to need supplies and some help to manage all the dead. Reckon you could do something about that, too?"

The Captain nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

"Right, well—that's it, then," I said.

Silence right up to the point it started getting weird. Kavelin was looking at me with something like a pity face, and we all know I hate the pity face. But this one wasn't so bad. This one might've been closer to the sympathetic face.

"And how are you?" the Captain asked.

And that was a good bloody question, wasn't it? Michael might still be dying, or already dead. The others were missing. Hundreds of people were also dead and hundreds more lost their home, and it might have been our faults—directly or indirectly. Also, it was only a matter of time afore the Councilwomen sent someone to track us down. Even if Bells had come through on his orders in telling them we were dead, I had to figure they'd want confirmation.

Anyhow. How was I?

I don't know if it was the smell of chicken soup, or the fact Captain Kavelin seemed a real class act, but before I could do anything much to stop it, it felt like my chest was collapsing, my eyes started watering, and my nose started leaking. I sniffed it back, and the Captain pushed a handkerchief across the desk.

"What can I do?" he asked.

I considered my next move carefully. It took about a second. "How much do you know?"

Turns out, the Captain didn't know a goddess-be-damned thing. But there were pressing matters at hand, so I gave him quick a rundown of Those Things which went a lot like, "There are these fuckers we're fighting…"

I watched his expression while about a thousand pieces clicked into place.

"For the sake of the Oskarians, I'll have to consider the implications of what you've just told me later," he said. "Thank you, though—for telling me. My door's always open."

I eyed the handkerchief, and then I wiped my nose on my sleeve and nodded. "Right—appreciate that, Captain. Best pass the message along to the arsehole at the gates, mind."

The Captain said he would.

And right about then, I understood why the Squeaky Lass liked him so much.

Next stop: the brothel. Adeline told me she'd first met Everleigh Gloom working there, so I reckoned an employee might be able to shed some light on what the Creepy Lass got up to when when she wasn't playing the violin for horny rich people.

I was still working my way through the alley en route to the door with the goose in the glass when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I spun around, grabbed the tapper by the neck, and slammed her up against the stone wall. Might not have been the brightest move—the peculiar little pain in the arse was powerful. But I was faster, apparently, and just about fed up by then.

"Where are my friends?" I asked.

The Creepy Lass peeled my fingers off her neck one at a time.

"You should work on that," she said. "Your anger problem."

Her tone might have been flat—not a single inflection or whatever the fuck—but I locked eyes with a pair of massive silvery ones, rimmed in dark purple circles. There was something different about them, apart from the obvious. There was still life behind them like I hadn't seen in any of Those Things besides Alexander and Ivana.

"Aye, and you ought to work on not being a dick-head. We've all got things."

"I'll tell you where to find your friends," the Creepy Lass said.

"If?" I asked.

"If you help me find someone first."

"Who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Uh—aye, seeing as you're asking me to find them, reckon I ought to know who I'm finding."

"I guess." Everleigh Gloom stepped around beside me and linked her arm with mine. Dead of winter and the lass was running around in a knee-length dress with cap sleeves. "Come on, I'll tell you everything while I watch you eat. Lunch is on me."

Weird, but whatever.

She had me at free lunch.

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