Fritz recast Lethargy on his captive, then he ordered one of the burlier men standing around to bind her hands and feet.

"Don't harm her, she surrendered," Fritz warned.

"I won't hurt her. I'm not some scum," the man grumbled out.

"Good, then I trust you to keep her safe while I do some Scouting," Fritz said, slapping a hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't let anyone take some hasty revenge. I'll want to question her later," he added in a low voice.

The man nodded stoically. Fritz was somewhat surprised at the deference shown, but supposed that those living in the Refuge had been told about their new protectors. That, and Fritz's casually commanding tone seemed to reassure them that he knew what he was doing and that they should follow his orders without argument.

With that, he left the man and scanned the opposite room, the one with the shattered door, and found that on the other side a window's protective slats had also been reduced to splinters. The other thug, Bull, must have charged through it, breaking it in the process of escaping. They were only one floor up, so he doubted the man had taken any injury from such a leap.

Fritz decided to pursue. Carefully, he trudged down the slick steps of the stairway.

"Is that oil? What a mess," one woman chattered.

"That'll take an age to clean," another complained.

Soon, he was out the front door and found where the man had landed, then he let his Awareness's guesses guide him to one of the blockades. There the attempted arsonist was, held by three other men as a short Browncoat questioned him between punches to the gut. Fritz slid into a shadow and watched, listening intently to their talk.

"They're dead? How can you tell me they're all dead!? What happened!? Were they all killed?" The grim Browncoat asked.

"Yes, Boss. Vic was thumped on the head when we got in. And the Scarlet Shade got the rest, Boss," Bull said in a low voice.

"Damn it! You useless squidsuckers! Why isn't the building on fire? Did you at least spread the oil?"

"We did, Boss. But the Scarlet-"

"Don't give me that skulg-waste about the Shade," the Boss interrupted. "You lot were meant to be good at sneaking and seeing, and some of you had your Bronze Awards. And Bloody Bert wasn't there, so there were six of you to his one. How could you let yourselves be murdered so easily?"

"Five," Bull corrected, stupidly.

"What was that?" the Boss asked dangerously.

"Five of us. Vic was thumped early," Bull argued.

The Boss's scarred face twisted from a spiteful scowl into cruel indifference. "Take this idiot away and drown him."

"What!?" Bull cried. He struggled against his captors, but it was no use; he'd used most of his Stamina fleeing and fighting. Yet, those holding him still had trouble moving him.

With an air of annoyance, the boss touched him lightly on the chest.

Bull went limp. His head lolled, his eyes slid into an unfocused stare and drool leaked from his slack mouth. One thug lifted him over a shoulder like a sack of squid guts, and hauled him off to be drowned. Then this 'Boss' gave his orders to those who remained, telling them to stay put for the time being, though in far rougher terms.

Fritz felt he could follow either the boss, and find his hideout and who he was, or the man about to be drowned and save him from his fate, hopefully gaining an ally who owed him his life. Both choices would take him away from the Refuge, though each avenue could bring him some valuable information.

No, he shouldn't be so hasty. Or so he told himself. It would leave the territory vulnerable, and he already had a captive to deal with. So Fritz culled his curiosity and began to slink back to headquarters.

As he approached, he heard a wailing and a weeping and found a woman crying over the deceased doorman, maybe it was his wife or a sister. Fritz had forgotten they had lost someone, but he also felt no desire to get involved in the grief. He slipped around the commotion, only to find another small crowd in front of the door where the captive was held.

"The Shade said not to let anyone in," the man said to the group of angry people.

"They killed Mic," one argued.

"They did... but the Shade," the man hedged.

"The Shade isn't here. Let us in."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Fritz announced, dropping his Trait to the hisses and gasps of the crowd.

They stared at him, muttering and murmuring. There was doubt, fear and anger, but he didn't have the time nor the inclination to soothe them. Not this night, and not while they still considered him someone to circumvent rather than obey.

"Leave. I'll make sure they meet any justice they deserve," Fritz commanded, his tone weighted with dread drawn from Dusksong.

The words echoed down the hall in a way they that shouldn't. Faces went pale and eyes went wide, then they parted and went about their way. Their whispering and soft gossiping voices took on an edge of awe.

"So tall."

"Those eyes."

"Holds himself like a Noble."

"Terribly handsome."

Fritz adjusted his sirensilk scarf, making sure it still covered most of his face. It did. With an internal sigh, he made his way to the still-guarded door.

"Well done," Fritz praised the burly man.

"Thank you, Shade, er, sir?" he replied.

"Shade is fine, Fritz is better," Fritz said. "I'll question the captive now."

"Okay," the man said, moving out of the way and letting him through.

Fritz closed the door behind him, then looked around the room. It was small, dingy and damp; there was no window, and a trickle of water dripped down one wall. Sitting against the opposite wall was the bound and sleeping woman.

He took some time to observe her. The infiltrator looked to be in her late twenties; she had short, straight black hair and was neither pretty nor ugly. Her leather armour was well maintained, and her boots were obviously cared for. She snored.

Fritz searched her a second time, this time more thoroughly, pulling off her boots lest they hide some hidden dagger. He was right to do so, he found another couple of blades secreted on her person. Then, once he was sure he'd discovered all he could, he shook the woman awake.

She fluttered open her eyes and groaned, then she yawned and tried to stretch. When this proved difficult, she stared at the rope binding her wrists with deep confusion. It seemed that all at once her memories of the infiltration and her surrender came rushing back. Snarling, she struggled fiercely against her bonds for a full nine seconds before noticing Fritz, watching her grimly.

"Untie me!" She spat, slumping and no longer fighting the rope.

"No. You surrendered, remember?" Fritz said.

"You said you'd let me go," she argued.

"I said I'd let you live. There's a difference there. And that's only if you answer my questions truthfully," Fritz said.

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know about the gangs. Yours and the others you're working with."

"They'll kill me if I spill."

"I'll kill you if you don't. Just as I did the others," Fritz said plainly, motioning to the corpse behind him.

Her eyes lingered on the dead body of her crew for a couple of seconds before darting around the room, looking for an escape.

"Though, I might draw it out a little longer," Fritz added in a cold imitation of Craig.

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"You don't have the look of a torturer," she hedged.

"Looks can be deceiving," Fritz said, unsheathing Mortal Edge, holding it loosely by his side.

The woman began to cry soundlessly, her great silent sobs wracked her body. She hid her face in her hands and her fingers clutched her hair tightly.

Fritz had been expecting determined defiance or furious screaming, not this horrible display of despair. He didn't like tears, not at all. Guilt grasped him by the spine and shame threatened to pull him down. Still, he held firm, this woman was likely a murderer, and had attempted to kill him.

"All you have to do is answer me truthfully," he said sternly.

She ignored him, inconsolable as she was. Hopelessness poured from her, just as visible as her tears. Again, he felt a pang of sympathy, but suffocated it, internally reasserting that she was sent here to burn the Refuge down.

He stood there, waiting until she stopped weeping, unmoving and attempting to be as unfeeling as a stone. It took some doing as he could see her emotions roil and rage around her. Eventually, the woman ceased her crying and struggled again, at her coarse bonds. Then she clumsily checked her pockets.

"Don't bother. I've taken all your knives," Fritz said.

"Searched me deep while I was asleep, did you? Lecher," she accused.

"Now, now. There's no need for insults. I kept your dignity intact, and I could have stripped you bare. If I desired it," Fritz said.

"So gracious. Maybe you really are a lordling like they say," she said.

"They say that?"

"Maybe, you're the Scarlet Shade, right?"

"You can call me Lord Shade if you'd like," Fritz said. "It would be proper."

"Proper," she repeated.

"What's your name?"

"Mel," she said reluctantly.

"Mel Malady?" Fritz inquired, thinking he'd heard something of her before. Nothing too terrible, but she wasn't some one to cross lightly. Though Fritz didn't have to care about that, he was one of the more powerful people in the gutters, save Craig, Nic and the Nightshark herself.

She frowned, hesitating to answer. Old resentment bubbled off her shoulders.

"Don't like the name?" Fritz guessed.

"I don't," she admitted.

"Well, Mel. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you live," Fritz reiterated. "You won't get a better deal."

With one last fearful look around the room, she sighed, then nodded.

With that, Fritz began his interrogation. He started simple: Who was in the crew? Who did she work for? Then he dug deeper, finding out what she knew of the other gangs and her own boss. Through the whole halting conversation, he made an attempt to be charming when she became too cagey and callous when she became too combative. And through his cunning application of wit and his copious wielding of Dusksong, she soon became amenable to admitting all she knew.

He danced through the questioning, learning most of what he asked, as long as it wasn't so secret that Mel didn't know. By the end, she was chuckling at a small jest he told, until her eyes fell upon the corpse still in the room with them. She stopped suddenly, her laughter falling away, replaced with a slight gulp, full of fear.

"Will you let me go now? I've told you all I can," Mel said.

Her words rang true, and her dim halo shed fear.

"I can't let you go, not yet. Though you will live, as was my offer," Fritz stated.

"If you're not going to let me go, what are you going to do to me?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to keep you captive for now," Fritz said as if he were simply being uncouth and not depriving the woman of her freedom. "Though, first, you need to swear you won't harm or attempt to escape the Refuge."

"What?"

"An oath, Mel," Fritz repeated, affecting a kindly manner. "To not harm the Refuge or try to flee without my leave."

"I swear," she said swiftly. He could tell she was just saying it to escape.

"Try again," Fritz ordered.

"What?"

"A real oath, and you have to mean it," Fritz said.

"I said I swear, what more do you want?" She asked, scowling.

"You need to do it without duplicity, no falsehoods," Fritz said.

She stared hard at him, a worry growing in her eyes though not staining her face.

"You can tell, can't you. You have some sort of Power. You're a truthfinder," she hissed the last words as an accusation.

"Close enough," Fritz agreed.

The woman shivered at the admission, and the fear around her grew darker.

Fritz hadn't thought of himself as a truthfinder, but as he became used to holding his Awareness in his mind, the emotional sparks and passionate hues had been clearer to his eyes and closer to comprehensible. Still, it wasn't as if he could always tell what someone was thinking or just how honest they were being; he was simply guessing. Though with the additional insights the lights imparted, he felt more secure in his assumptions.

"I swear I won't hurt anyone or try to run," Mel said.

A slight weight settled around the both of them, and her eyes, somehow, became more worried as she glanced this way and that.

"What was that?" She hissed. "Another Power?"

Fritz, for his part, was surprised she had felt the light pressure.

"Do you have Awareness?" He asked.

"Maybe," she said, but her attempt at obfuscation was laughable at best, given her deflated demeanour.

"Hmm, well, what you just felt will punish you if you break your oath. An injury of the spirit and a grave wound to your Sanctum," Fritz exaggerated, though the words felt half true when spoken.

Mel sat back, her shoulders sagging. "At least it's not another curse that will kill me where I stand if I say something wrong."

"It's not that," He admitted. Though in his thoughts, he added, not yet.

"What now?" She asked.

"Now? Now, you will wait here while I talk to the others."

"Others? Other Shades?"

"Perhaps," Fritz said, turning and leaving her with that false notion.

Closing the door behind him, Fritz faced the man still guarding the door.

"Do we have somewhere more secure to put our captive?" Fritz asked.

"I don't know, maybe," the man said, unhelpfully, but not intentionally so.

"I'll talk to the council then. What's you're name?" Fritz asked.

"Umm, my name is Tim," the bulky man said. "I'm a carter."

"You don't look like a Tim," Fritz said.

"I do get that. I get it a lot," the man said with a genuine smile stretching over his rough face.

Fritz nodded. "Well, keep people out of that room for now. Until I find somewhere new to put our captive."

"Alright," the man agreed hesitantly.

"What's wrong?" Fritz asked.

"Have work in the mornin'," he said.

"Oh," Fritz said. "Here, for your trouble," he added, slinging the man a triad.

Tim was slow to react, and the glinting coin bounced off his chest and onto the ground. He bent down and picked it up quickly, giving Fritz a thankful, if annoyed, look that soon broke into a wide smile as he noticed the gleam of silver.

Fritz turned and left, he would have to remember that not everyone shared his Attributes or his refined skill. Thinking of such differences, he remembered the fight before and the tremble in his Sanctum. He found an empty room, dropped into his Sanctum and called upon his Spire sheet. He hoped that the tremor he had felt earlier had manifested the Inevitable Blade in his Technique channels.

It was not to be; it still lay empty, despite how close he felt to the sword style.

With a sigh, Fritz left his Sanctum and made his way to find Earnest. If anyone knew all the Refuge's buildings and rooms, it would be him.

Earnest was waiting for his reappearance, standing behind the doorway to the lookout's tenement, noticing Fritz as he stepped inside.

"What's going on?" He immediately demanded.

Fritz frowned, which made the boy pale some.

"Sorry, sir, but should I ring the bell?" He obsequiously corrected himself.

"No need, it's all under control for now," Fritz said.

"I heard they were trying to burn down headquarters," Earnest said.

"Indeed, that was their intent," Fritz said.

"Bastards," he growled.

"Quite," Fritz agreed. "However, one surrendered and is now our captive. I need a place to hold her. Do you know of any such suitable rooms?"

Earnest scratched his unkempt hair and thought. Then he nodded and led Fritz out into the square, pointing out some buildings of note. Fritz nodded and made more inquiries as to finding a place that might be suitable for a laboratory. There was one, though it was in desperate need of some repairs, as most places were in this part of the city.

"And who exactly owns all this land?" Fritz asked, knowing he couldn't go interfering, even to improve the dwellings and gutters, without the proper permissions from the 'rightful' owner.

"What?"

"Which noble house claims this as theirs?"

When this was met with a confused stare, Fritz asked, "Who do you pay rent to?"

"I don't know. I don't pay rent," Earnest said.

Fritz nodded, it made sense, he himself had never paid rent until recently.

"You could go to Mrs. Washer, she knows all about that side of things," Earnest suggested.

"I want you to put lookouts there, there, and there," Fritz said, pointing out some shadowed alcoves.

When he had snuck into the Refuge, he had noticed these blind spots and sought to have them covered as soon as possible. It might not matter, due to the stealth powers the gangs could still possess, but if there was another attempt at infiltration, he didn't want his foes to succeed just because he hadn't thought to warn the lookouts.

Earnest agreed and Fritz left him to his orders, though not before handing him some loose copper coinage to entice more urchins to work as lookouts and spies. He was far more eager to do so when he was also handed a silver for his diligence and a promise of more if he proved his worth.

With that small complication dealt with, Fritz inspected the rooms the boy had pointed out as a good place to store his prisoner for the time being, as well as the location that could be used for a laboratory.

The building Earnest had suggested would be useful for an alchemist turned out to be an abandoned glassworks, and with a few alterations and a lot of roof repair, Fritz could see it serving the needs of the two sisters.

The rooms for the captive were largely the same, so Fritz chose one on the higher levels, one on the fifth floor of a tenement to the south of headquarters. He personally escorted her and the guard he conscripted to her new prison. He marched her in front of them, parading her so she could see the scorn of those who resided in the Refuge.

Mel wouldn't meet their eyes.

"What? Only now thinking of all the people who would have been caught in the inferno. That would have burned alive at your hand if you had your way?" Fritz asked cruelly, as they walked across the square.

"I was just doing what I was told," she mumbled. "It was that or a beatin'."

"There are children in there," Fritz mentioned as if it were a casual observation and not a recrimination.

"There are children all over," she said. "Don't see you caring about them."

She was right about that, but Fritz didn't show how it bothered him.

"If they come here, they will be taken care of," Fritz stated.

She scoffed, but he said no more and let her stew in her powerlessness, just as he did. When they reached the room, he gave it one last inspection to make sure it had no easy way of escape. Then he motioned her inside and closed the door with a thud. Once she was stuck alone in the dark, he heard her begin to hum some sad tavern song.

"Feed her at breakfast, lunch and dinner," Fritz ordered. "But don't let her out."

Tim nodded gravely.

Fritz left and found his way back to the lookout tenement, climbing up the stairs and peering into rooms to find a good vantage point. He set himself by a window overlooking the square and watched for any further trouble. It was boring and had him tapping his foot distractedly. He eased some of his restlessness by practising with his Dusksong and other Advanced Attributes, attempting to come up with patterns that suited them.

He tried to pulse Grace and found it staunchly opposed to the application. It wouldn't move past his skin, though he could focus it on parts of his body or have it envelop him as he had discovered previously. Still, he toyed with the slippery power, trying to guide, rather than force, it with his will. He grew bored with this in time and moved on to his Magical Attribute.

Pulsing Dusksong had an odd effect; the air around him would go slightly hazy for a moment, the world blurring at the edges, then that distortion would be followed by a low, almost silent tone. The sound made him shiver and heightened the heaviness in his heart. Apart from the pulse being wielded as a distraction, he had little idea what else it could be used for.

Eventually, dawn arrived and the 'decent' folk of the refuge woke, washed and walked to work while the night workers returned to their own homes. It felt like a changing of the guard, and perhaps it was in a way. Fritz himself yawned, and now that the sun was rising and his Night Vision wouldn't be as needed, he informed a newly-woken, bright-eyed lookout of his intention to sleep.

"Wake me before the Council meeting, or if there's any trouble the toughs can't handle," he commanded wearily.

The boy, or girl, nodded, and Fritz closed his eyes and let himself get some sleep.

He awoke, not from a shaking or a yelling, but from simple hunger. Groaning, he got to his feet. It was just before noon, and the preparations and bustling that preceded lunch were well in effect in the square below.

Fritz ignored his stomach's protests and made his way into the headquarters and to the meeting room. He discovered that the Council was already there, as was Mel, still bound at the wrists and sat in a chair. They were discussing what to do with her, without calling on him or waiting for his presence.

"Death. It has to be, she almost killed us all," Mrs. Washer declared.

The council grimaced, but no one objected.

Fritz lurked in the doorway and waited until someone spoke.

"I don't think we should do anything without Fritz here," the older man said.

"And what, we'll just do as that man says?" Mrs. Washer challenged.

"Yes," Earnest said, and the sentiment was echoed by both Lady Fare and the Madam. Harry shrugged.

"Fine," Mrs Washer said, before letting out a huff of exasperation. "Are we expecting him now or at dusk?"

Fritz chose that moment to step into the Council room.

"Now."

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