Miss Malone closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She had successfully severed her connection with the spiders under the control of her curse so that they could be active even when she was sleeping. It made them more like automatic machines than extensions of herself but also put her in the current situation. She hadn't sensed the breach until it was far too late. Now, she had to deal with the consequences.

Her room was the former queen's room, and she had already modified it to suit her purposes. The grand bed tapestried in blue had been replaced with black. The multitude of bright-colored dresses had been thrown away and replaced with Miss Malone's personal darker wardrobe.

A single mirrored vanity had been moved in on the stone wall far from the fireplace.

Miss Malone stalked over to it, her hand touching a black stone embedded on its surface. She sat down as her reflection faded from the mirror, replaced with the inky black of the Outside. An occasional ripple reflected the wan light from the curtained windows. Miss Malone waited, stock still like a statue. She could give nothing away except what she had to report.

Lord Baccia only needed to know the bare details—no speculation, no hints from how she held herself. If she let him start speculating, he might recall her back to Undertown. If he did that, she wouldn't walk away unscathed.

"You seem uneasy."

In the brief moment her attention faltered, he appeared from the inky black. She could only see his dark eyes shining across the connection established from the outside. However, she knew from experience that Lord Baccia wasn't limited in the same way. He could see every detail of her and the room around her. Nothing escaped his sight, and no whisper escaped his ears. Lord Baccia had eyes and ears in every place.

"I'm sorry, Lord Baccia." Miss Malone bowed her head. "I am ready to make my report."

"Heh, heh." Lord Baccia laughed, and his teeth flashed in the darkness, sharp and white. "You are my Hand. Go ahead and tell me how the operation is going."

"We've gotten through the initial outer walls at the dig site," Miss Malone said. "Miss Glory is currently in the lead of the operation, and she thinks we can break into the temple in a few more weeks."

"Better than the one out in Death's Yard. Turns out we were too late to the party there."

"Mister Deadman's failure there was unfortunate." Miss Malone nodded, ready to build the case that this second failure should fall on his shoulders again. "However, Miss Glory is very confident that the same mistake won't happen here. We also still have access control for the entire western side of the Core. Our products are already flowing into the Thirteen Kingdoms, and many among the nobility are very accepting of the changes we bring,"

"That is the main reason we sought to grasp control of the island." Lord Baccia's eyes narrowed. "And we have met no resistance yet?"

"There has been an issue." Miss Malone's eyes locked on the mirror's rim.

"That is not the tone that one takes when it is a minor issue." Acid dripped in Lord Baccia's tone. "You need to tell me very clearly how bad the disruption was."

"Not enough to bring you here." Miss Malone quickly looked Lord Baccia back in the eyes. "We are currently getting the situation back under control."

Hiss.

A drop of black liquid fell from the mirror onto the vanity, releasing an acrid stench. Miss Malone reflexively pulled away from the sight, but she did not completely retreat. Showing that much fear would tell Lord Bacvcia that she couldn't handle the situation. She had to project a level of confidence even when admitting to a mistake.

"It was Mister Deadman, Lord Baccia." Miss Malone twisted her dress in her fingers. "I put him in charge of the Knuckles guarding the gems in the city, and he failed me."

Silence met her on the other side of the mirror. Lord Baccia's eyes were gone, consumed by the darkness. Miss Malone's eyes roved the mirror's dark surface as she searched for some sign of him. She knew he would be angry and how he was when he got angry. However, silence was new. Usually, a calm rage would overtake him as he killed the person who angered him. The mirror kept her safe from that. Another black drop fell onto the vanity.

Hiss.

Or so she hoped.

"I understand," he said, breaking the silence. "How are you handling the situation?"

"The other Fingers are gathering the remnants of the operation and taking them back to the keep," Miss Malone swallowed a dry lump in her throat. "From there, we will retake the city either with the forces in the keep or through more subtle means. It took time to build what we had, but it is doable again. It will require more power from me, however."

"Yes, it will."

Hiss.

Another drop of acid fell through the mirror. Miss Malone couldn't help it. She flinched.

"Now, now," Lord Baccia's tone became soothing, expugning the caustic tone he had used before. "I am not angry with you, Miss Malone. I will extract my retribution from Mister Deadman, of course."

"Of course." Miss Malone didn't hesitate to agree.

"Is there anything else for you to report?" Lord Baccia asked, his eyes still absent from the mirror.

"No, Lord Baccia." Miss Malone's grip tightened on her dress.

"Good. I do not wish to bring myself into the nightsea. It would draw far too much attention to our organization. The Scions and nobility need not know too much about us beyond the prizes we offer from the Dark Meridian. I trust that you will ensure that there will be no more mistakes that might require my presence, Miss Malone."

Hiss.

"Yes, Lord Baccia."

"Then I will bid you adieu."

With that, the inky darkness warped in the mirror, receding back to the Outside in a reverse whirlpool that left Miss Malone's reflection and the empty room behind her. She took in a few deep breaths, focusing only on her rapid heartbeat. She had to calm down. If she let her feat control her, she would only wind up making more mistakes.

After she took the time to regain her composure, she stood from the vanity, her heels clicking softly as she exited the room and took the long stairs down to the bottom of her current tower home. At the bottom, where the tower connected with the rest of the keep, was the meeting room and section she had dedicated to her Fingers. There, she would listen to their report and deal with Mister Deadman, regardless of his current status.

Mister Tyson stood by the fireplace, waiting for her with his arms crossed behind him. On the table lay a pale older man in a pinstripe suit. It was Mister Deadman, just as she had requested, lying dead on her table. She approached the table and looked down on Mister Deadman. His entire exposed body looked incredibly bruised.

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"So, he died," she said.

"He did." Mister Tyson didn't turn around.

"You want to say more than that?" Miss Malone put her hands down on the table. "What else do you have to report."

"The gems were broken around me as we entered the area. The person who had stolen them decided to throw them all from the highest place they could, dispersed around the entire city. The spiders are almost all gone."

Miss Malone narrowed her eyes.

"Whoever did this had to be incredibly powerful. How did we miss it?"

She tapped her fingers across the table as she thought through the reports Mister Deadman had regularly sent. As far as she knew, they hadn't brought anyone they couldn't handle into the island. The entire operation had been built on steady incremental steps. None of the outlaws they had let in were particularly powerful, and the few Military Policce ships they captured hadn't presented a problem.

None of them should have had the will to resist her memory manipulation.

"I have a hunch about who did it," Mister Tyson said. "I just don't know how."

"Hunches aren't proof." Miss Malone shook her head. "I hope you've brought me more than just a hunch."

"Hah." Mister Tyson let out a chuckle before composing himself. "Do you remember my report when I returned to Grim Aegis?"

"That Ortega had breached Tartarus. There was a reason we were so careful to make sure his crew was under our influence."

"We should have killed all of them." Mister Tyson clenched his fists behind his back. "I know why we didn't, but I am certain, absolutely certain, that this was Ortega's work."

"He's an outlaw, big in the backwater, but hardly a threat."

Thump.

"He burned down August!" Mister Tyson turned, slamming a balled fist into the fireplace mantle.

"That was never confirmed." Miss Malone stood from the table, stretching out her back to her full height.

She wouldn't stand here and quiver in fear for some outlaw. While Ortega had some accomplishments, nothing about him made him seem particularly powerful. Trouble followed him, but trouble could be contained. It could be planned for.

"I can confirm he tore Tartarus to pieces, steel beam by steel beam," Mister Tyson said, letting his fist fall from the mantle, gathering himself. "I don't know where he got the power to do that, and we saw none of that strength when they were ambushed, but I know what I saw on Aherlow."

Tap. Tap.

"My spiders can gauge the strength of a person." Miss Malone stalked toward him, power flowing from her gate uninhibited and crisscrossing her limbs. Ortega may be at the same strength as a captain, maybe slightly higher. With my cadre of power from their memories, he should have stood no chance."

"But, I am certain." Mister Tyson grimaced, shying away from her. "I know that I have no evidence. I know that I don't have proof. However, the distraction at the counting house, that so many of our Knuyckles survived reminds me of how Ortega operates."

"Explain." The power flowing from her gate twisted back down the tangled webs through her body.

Miss Malone couldn't let her power cause her to be hasty. Mister Tyson was trying to help her, and she recognized that. She didn't have the same proclivities as Lord Baccia. She didn't kill underlings for bringing up real problems.

"In his files, he almost always runs a distraction while his real plan comes up second," Mister Tyson said. "While this isn't an uncommon strategy, I have trouble believing many others we had under control could fight Mister Deadman and win. Despite his faults, he was a strong fighter."

"That isn't much to go on."

"I agree, but it means we should be prepared," Mister Tyson said. "I don't think this is going to end here. They're not just going to cut and run for a different key island."

"Because they can't." Miss Malone nodded. "We control the way in and out."

"Precisely." Mister Tyson nodded. "That's why I had all the Knuckles returned to the keep. We can regroup here and assess the situation as it comes."

"It is our keep for the time being." Miss Malone pursed her lips. "We may even be able to retreat through the gate to the temple, though I don't think that will be necessary."

"It is a prudent plan." Mister Tyson smiled.

"No, you did fine here." Miss Malone nodded. "Let us see how the people react to regaining their memories. Until then, we will turn this keep into a fortress so that whoever killed Mister Deadman can't break through. If we catch the culprit, we can move forward with impunity."

"I still think it is Ortega, but it will be done." Mister Tyson bowed. "I will see to the keeps defenses if I have your leave."

"You do," Miss Malone said. "I will take care of Mister Deadman for the time being. Do not fail me."

Slap.

Alex closed the book on the lectern. Around him stood what he could only describe as a cathedral. Hasan had taken them to the first level of Grim Aegis, far down the tiers to sea level. The mist was heaviest there, and the streets had been entirely empty. The first tier felt like it had been abandoned for years, even though there should have been hundreds of people there.

"Makes you wonder where they all went," Alex whispered.

Faint candlelight flickered across the walls, illuminating the painted white stone walls around him. Stained glass windows across the walls depicted various people, some fighting dragons and others summoning fiery creatures from burning holes. The book at the front, in front of a long, bronzed, rounded altar, was just a list of names.

An entire religion, built around something, was just out of reach because there wasn't anything written down. Alex could guess at some of it by interpreting the stained-glass depictions, but beyond that, it could disappear just as easily as the people on the first tier. He frowned, sitting down on the steps leading up to the altar.

He had gotten away from the rest of the crew to think. They had to get into the keep, and the odds felt unfairly stacked against them. They had gotten lucky with Mister Deadman and his Knuckles. Because of the gems, they had nearly lost two of the crew. If they hadn't been lucky, he might have even died. He hadn't known that his training in the Path of Grit would activate while he was unconscious. He was thankful it did, but that didn't change that it had been luck.

They needed help. Alex was sure of that. He knew of one place he could ask, but he also knew that help wasn't likely there. He had encountered the two captains every day as part of the preprogrammed routine, which meant they were stuck, too. He just didn't know if past conflicts could be put aside or if he could find them within the city.

Another option was to get the people involved. They wouldn't be happy about the manipulation of their lives. A riot could provide a distraction, but it would also put their lives on the line. Would the people of Grim Aegis be easily cowed into submission, or would they fight? He didn't know.

"So many paths ahead, but no easy options." Alex sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

He sat there for a while and stewed in his thoughts. He had the information he needed but just needed to know the best way to put it all together. The most important fact was that Artur was in the castle. Artur was the key, in both senses, to the way forward. From what he understood, they could turn the tables on the Hand and Fingers if they could save Artur. Without Artur, they were trying to walk without legs.

Thud.

He opened his eyes when Erin dropped down next to him. He hadn't even heard her approach because he had been too trapped in his thoughts. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together as she watched the floor. Alex already knew he wouldn't like what she had to say. He took in a deep breath.

"Who's watching Mari?"

"Sayed."

"Okay." Alex sighed. "What's going on?"

"I think you know."

"I do." Alex cracked a lopsided grin. "Doesn't mean you can't tell me what's happening."

"Jerk."

She was skirting around, talking about the People's Revolution and how they wanted her to leave for some big goings on in the Twelve Kingdoms. He didn't know all the details but had seen the information thanks to Li Wen. He already knew how he felt about it, but it was obvious Erin was torn.

"What do you think this crew is?" Alex asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you conscripted into it?"

"No." Erin frowned. "Of course not."

"Is it some pact you sign to the death?"

No, but why are you saying it like that?"

Alex sighed, suddenly finding the stained glass above him very interesting. It depicted a fiery creature smiting down a dragon, with small figures standing beneath it. Alex knew that he needed to find out more about the religion that this cathedral was built around. Maybe Hasan could tell him something.

"Erin," Alex said. "You are free to go where you will when you will. No one in this crew has to stay if they don't want to. I'll miss you if you leave. Mari will miss you if you leave. However, if you have to go when we escape Grim Aegis, I won't stop you."

Erin didn't respond for a moment, her gaze still focused on the ground.

"I know that, somewhere," Erin whispered. "I know you don't want to join either. Getting to the Dark Meridian is what's important."

She paused, and the cathedral's quiet returned.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she said. "I don't have to leave until we actually get inside the Core. While they have ARtur, while we're stuck here, we're on the same path regardless."

"So what's there to worry about?" Alex chuckled, looking down at her.

Tears welled in her eyes. Alex reached out a hand, grabbed it onto her shoulder, and gave it a little shake. She smiled, but more tears fell as she leaned into him, and he found himself in an awkward hug. Alex did his best with the situation, even if he wasn't sure exactly what to do. He let Erin cry into his shoulder until she had no more tears.

Their situation wasn't perfect. They still had more problems to face than solutions. At that moment, however, Alex knew that they would be okay. Whatever happened in the next few days, he knew they would save Artur and make their way into the Core. Even if his crew frayed, they would make it through the tempering and come out stronger on the other side.

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