The next few months both flew by and, in retrospect, seemed to extend further back in time than they actually did. So much was happening, and so much had happened. True to her word, Constance helped expand their business threefold, at least on paper, while the actual company was similarly thriving and signing new contracts, some of which came out of the blue. Growth seemed to beget further growth, and as a long, hot summer neared its sweltering end, The Two Worlds Trading Company no longer looked as it had earlier that year.

They were certainly bigger than the ninety-ninth largest company in Sailor's Rise, though they would have to wait another season—for the exhilarating occasion that was receiving one's tax return—to discover just how many ranks they had climbed. In any event, Elias was hardly at risk of losing his seat in the House of Merchants.

Of course, finances were only part of the equation for the Serpent Moon Syndicate. Their race for resources had been ongoing for half a year now, and they had much to show for it, but then so did Lucas. Constance's pact had comprised twenty-two men and women when they'd first arrived at Jalander's apartment, and that number had rapidly grown to an impressive seventy. Alas, Lucas's reforged Valshynar—he had, just she predicated, appropriated the name—counted closer to ninety collectors among its ranks, while about thirty others had officially joined Jameel's pacifist Fours Winds alliance. While most had chosen their sides now, there were still a few dozen holdouts: the indecisive, the inaccessible, the indifferent. Some took the opportunity to leave a life that had been chosen for them, and Elias, at least, could not blame them.

But mostly he was too busy to entertain fantasies of a more private life.

Presently, for example, he was helping organize overlapping shipments at the larger dock they had rented three months early. It was two docks, in fact, each large enough to serve two ships, with The Sapphire Spirit and The Crimson Voyager using one berth and Constance's nameless Valshynarian vessel and a more compact, recently acquired airship adopting the other. The new vessel came with a woman named Deva, the other sighted transcendent collector Constance had mentioned. There was a third, Kristopher, who had sided with Lucas. Nonetheless, the Serpent Moon Syndicate retained a navigational advantage, if not a numbers one, with Elias still being a long-term part of that plan.

"We have a problem." Iric approached him, clapping dust from his hands. "Our client for the Azirian shipment cannot pick up their wares earlier than tomorrow, and we need to leave for the Broken Isles this afternoon. Victoria has never been a patient woman."

Mrs. Bane's famous impatience was indeed precisely why she had hired them in the first place. They were the fastest trading company on the continent. That, at least, was their brand, according to Bertrand.

Elias watched as workers carried crates down the gangway as quickly as they could, piling them into something of a wooden ziggurat on the pier. He was sweating just looking at them. He plopped down on one of the crates in question, crossed his arms, and started thinking. "What about the other ships? Can we temporarily move the cargo onto one of them, just until tomorrow?"

Iric immediately shook his head. He had clearly already thought of that. "The Crimson Voyager is already stowing goods," he explained. "I asked Constance if we could use their vessel, but she is also heading out today, and their little ship is too… little."

"Right. Fuck." Elias exhaled the word. "We'll just need to rent storage space then. It will eat at our margins—they really gouge you on last-minute requests because they know you're desperate—but to be fair, we are desperate. Let's send Bertrand."

Elias peered over at their chief business officer, who was sitting across from one of their not-working workers, playing a game of Sirens on top of a barrel. "Bertrand," he yelled over the commotion.

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"I'm a little busy, Elias," his friend replied after a few unnecessary seconds. "Thomas here is a surprisingly fierce card player. Certainly better than most of the posers at that fancy Sirens competition a couple years back, but I suppose money buys access."

"You can play Sirens and ruminate on the politics of inequality later. We need you." Elias waved him over like a master yanking a leash.

Bertrand grudgingly relented, slapped down his cards, and moseyed on over, his questioning gaze bouncing between Elias and Iric. "It's bloody hot out here." He fanned his face as grunting men carried out more cargo behind him. "What is it?"

"We require your assistance, Mr. Fairweather," Iric added politely.

"We need to rent warehouse space for"—Elias nodded toward the crates—"all of that. We're out of options here."

Bertrand cringed. "That might be difficult. I knew we were cutting it close with these shipments, so I checked last week, and it turns out The Transcontinental Company has half the facilities in town booked for the next month. Business goes on, apparently, even in the absence of the late Mr. Grimsby."

The official word was that Bartholomew Grimsby had died roughly a month after Elias had witnessed him actually dying—allegedly in his sleep. Given his advanced age, no one questioned the explanation. As for his company, they were still searching for a permanent chief proprietor while interim ones rotated through the House of Merchants. Rumors of internal politics abounded.

"I can check again if you want." Bertrand sounded entirely unconvinced. "But I wouldn't hold your breath. Perhaps we should have kept Gabby's hangar, after all."

"We can't store client goods in a derelict Lowtown hangar. It's gone, besides." Elias tapped his chin. "Will it fit in our office?"

Iric considered this. "If it does, you won't fit."

"That's fine," Elias said. "We just need to buy ourselves a day."

"Don't forget to relocate Islet before all those men come stomping in," Bertrand mentioned. "I'm not sure how our downstairs neighbor will take it."

"Briley or I will take the cat, and the candlemaker will survive," Elias insisted. It was the only workable plan they had, if not exactly a great one.

"Oh, that reminds me—" Bertrand trailed off and began patting his pockets. He eventually pulled something out of his back one: a folded piece of newspaper. "I was checking classifieds in the Sailor's Gazette, and, well, this won't solve today's problem, but perhaps we can prevent future todays from reoccurring." He did not immediately hand over the classified in question.

"What is it?" Elias asked.

"A warehouse. Or rather, the prospect of one. It is a bit pricey, but it's not overpriced for a sizeable space in the warehouse district. Didn't Constance say she could help foot the bill on a facility at some point? We may wish to jump on this one. They don't hit the market very often, though I worry we might be too late. The Transcontinental Company may have already snagged it, given their apparent appetite for storage."

"You never know a thing until you ask," Iric said.

As for Elias, he knew they needed a warehouse, that they were only getting busier. Constance had connections all across the Great Continent and was utilizing them accordingly. But even on their own, they were consistently employing two dozen workers, a number they'd hit before but only on occasion. Now, those employees had come to rely on The Two Worlds Trading Company as a steady employer. A warehouse would not only solve a growing problem, it would also open new opportunities for growth. Presently, they were solely shippers, picking up and dropping off goods for agreed-upon prices. But with a permanent space in which to store items, they could buy low and sell high, wholesale at first and then, eventually, even retail. Hell, they had already outgrown The Fairweather Company, and yet they did not have their own Fairweather Provisions. Elias wondered if they would need a third ship. Ideas were running through his head at full speed, but first they would need to put one foot before the other. And they might be too late, like Bertrand said.

"Can I see the ad?" Elias reached forward with an open hand.

Bertrand hesitated. "I must warn you first," he said awkwardly. "You're not going to like it. But also… you are going to like it, if you know what I mean."

"I don't." Elias pointed at his expectant palm.

Bertrand handed him the ad like an important piece of mail. It was somewhat moist. He was monitoring Elias in the manner of a policeman delivering tragic news, while Iric looked as confused as the classified's recipient. Elias unfolded the ad and read it silently to himself.

FOR SALE: Warehouse in desirable warehouse district, approximately 5,000 square feet. Space could use updating but is in workable condition. Viewings available upon request (for serious buyers only). Come with offer ready. To set up a tour, visit The Graystone Company office in Hightown and ask for Abigail Graystone.

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