Rhian

Strauss sure walked slowly, but at least he had long legs, and like any other functioning Amali Partisan, the constitution of a bear. We only had to stop a few times along the way to Leberecht, and that was mainly to have a wee or to snack on the leftover biscuits from the base. The weather was terrible, but Strauss had become handy enough with his body temperature shenanigans to keep us cozy most of the way. To top it off, the Squeaky Lass insisted I borrow her funny hat with the ear fuzzy flaps.

It was barely noon by the time we got to the gates.

The spear-wielding Iron Hand stopped us with a steel gauntlet.

"Halt," he said. "Present your permissions at arm's length."

I searched through my bag for a minute or ten, finding Strauss's permissions crumpled at the bottom somehow. How did that keep bloody happening to my important papers? Lucky for me, Strauss couldn't side-eye me about it. I smoothed out the page as best I could before passing it over his way. But before he could do actually anything with the wrinkled piece of paper, the Iron Hand lifted his visor and raised his horn…

…and I leaped up and snatched it straight from his hand. What I lacked in impulse control, I made up for with a death wish, apparently.

But never mind. I was never in danger. Fast as fuck.

"Don't pike me," I said. "I'll give it back soon. But first, hear me out."

Strauss, looking a bit unsure as to what the hell was happening, now held his permissions at arm's length.

"Hear you out? You're a person of interest in the disappearance of our Commander," the Iron Hand said.

Strauss spoke up then. "We have a letter from your Commander, actually."

After finding the sealed letter—also at the bottom of my bag for some stupid reason—I held up in front of the Iron Hand's face.

He looked to the letter, then to me, then back to the letter.

"Open it," he said.

And I opened it, holding it up in front of his face, again.

After giving the letter a once and twice over, the Iron Hand nodded.

"The Amali may enter, and I'll be sure to clear up any misunderstandings with my superiors about the Strachan's involvement in the Commander's disappearance. But she stays on this side of the mountain. The permissions are for Andrei Strauss alone."

"My situation has since changed and I now require aid," Strauss said. "As you can see—fortunately for you—I'm visually impaired. The Strachan is my guide."

Classic Strauss.

"Aye," I said. "I'm his guide."

While the Iron Hand sorted through his dilemma, I handed back his horn.

"Let's go," he said. "We'll work this out at headquarters."

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So, bad news: headquarters.

Good news: we made it through the front gates.

I very, very carefully placed both letters from Marta on the top of all the crap in my bag.

Once we were in, the Iron Hand tagged another Iron Hand to step outside.

Around us, Leberecht Leberechted. Happy people wearing colourful winter coats and scarves traveled around and around the ramps, moving in and out of the shops alongside.

"What's your business, anyway?" the guard asked.

Strauss answered, "We've come to check on our friend."

"The former Commander's brother?"

"Yes," Strauss replied.

"He all right?" I asked.

"See for yourself." The Iron Hand gestured across the way and one tier down.

Strauss must have picked up on the clanking of armor or the breeze or some such, seeing as he turned his head at the same time, and in the same direction, as I did. Sure enough, patrolling the ramp in a blue and gold uniform, was Michael. And he was looking nothing like a man who'd almost died in a coma. Instead, he was smiling and speaking to a small group of colourful ladies, just like the good old days. It was a goddess-be-damned miracle.

"It's Michael," I said.

I rounded my fingers and brought them to my lips, whistling loudly over the railing.

That worked. Got his attention right quick.

Michael looked up to where I waved like a crazed maniac.

And then he looked at me like I was a crazed maniac.

After saying something to his new friends, he pointed in my direction and they all shrugged. There was nothing there. Nothing I recognized behind his eyes. All that shared history speaking for itself in the way I'd say, "Michael," and he'd say, "Rhian," and I'd say, "Michael." Gone the way we'd communicate without saying a word. We held awkward eye contact until the guard ushered us toward the lift.

"Hells," I whispered.

"Hm?" Strauss replied.

Poor bastard. I gave him a little poke in the rear.

The Iron Hand headquarters was on the top tier, and in case you've forgotten, that's tier one from the top, my dear—they always counted from the bloody top around there. Like everything else, the headquarters were built into the mountain, with blue and gold standards on either side of the door. We went inside.

The Iron Hand droned about. Some were in their casual, patrol uniforms like Michael had been. Some were plated and ready for war or what have you. Some were in their civvies. Some had brown eyes, others had grey ones. Bottom line: they almost all looked in our direction.

Without stopping a beat, our guide led us through the chaos into an office. He pointed to the two chairs across the desk.

"Sit," he said. "And wait here."

The door closed behind him.

After taking a quick look around the office which looked a lot like an office and whatnot, we took each our chairs. I kept my voice low.

"Michael's a potato," I said. "He didn't even recognize us."

"So Everleigh wasn't lying," he answered. "There was a part of me that wondered if she wasn't trying to lure us away from the area."

"Right, you and me both."

"This is going to prove difficult. How do we convince a friend who doesn't remember us to leave home with us?"

"Never mind it looks like he's working for the Iron Hand."

"Wonderful."

While we waited for whatever, I drummed my fingers against my thighs.

Strauss adjusted his blindfold for lack of a better word.

Eventually, there was a voice from the other side of the door.

"You're dismissed for the day," it said. "Everyone. Now."

On the bright side, while everybody cleared out, we had a minute to prepare for what was about to happen.

I gave Strauss's hand a squeeze, and he squeezed mine back.

The door opened and closed and we turned in our chairs.

Here we bloody go.

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