Feargus

Strauss hadn't been shopping for undies. He'd been shopping for robes instead. Red ones, and similar to what a Strachan Petitioner would wear. I was genuinely impressed. Not only had he taken the initiative, but he'd solved the problem of my questionable appearance around Oskari, and provided me with a disguise that could come in handy down the line.

I could've kissed him, but we were running late for our meeting with Alexander.

After putting the robes on, we made our way to The Jaskar where there were two rules: wear only upscale fashion in black, and wear a hat. We didn't have either of those things, but we were moving up in the world, weren't we? With Alexander's patronage, we were shown to a private lounge area with black leather couches and iron tables. Odd design, the Jaskar. The floor was patterned in a spiral of black and white, making it seem like the room was spinning under your feet, so imagine that after a few drinks.

Look, I won't bore you for too long with what you already know, but let's recap: Alexander pretended not to know me when I introduced myself as Petitioner Finnegan. He then offered up a few hints about the Vonsinfonie legend, and 3,500 notes for the portrait. Considering I was the one who insisted we hear Alexander out, I initially turned the offer down because that was the more interesting thing to do.

Here's a tidbit: in his own account of this very evening, Strauss neglected to mention the few minutes he left to go to the restroom. First of all, I was beginning to realize the man had a seriously small bladder. It was a problem. Second of all, and most importantly, it left me alone with Alexander. He smirked. I grinned.

"I thought you could use the funds." He kept his voice low.

I sipped my Pig. "It's a bit much though, isn't it?"

"A drop in the bucket. If you say no again, I'll only offer you more."

Well, I gave him his chance to back down. There was more to Alexander's approach, I suspected, but as long as he was on our side, it didn't matter much yet.

"Strange place, this," I said.

Alexander lit his pipe with matches. "And an even stranger owner."

"Is it you?" I asked.

Alexander laughed and shook his head, and we were quiet until Strauss came back. By then I'd nearly polished off my drink. You don't live close to four hundred years without knowing a few things about life, and Alexander knew what he had to do. He excused himself for the bar, leaving us alone to discuss. We didn't have much time, so I had to think fast. Faust had confirmed the map my parents gave me was a map of pre-Divide Auditoria. Leberecht was still Leberecht, but we needed to make one more stop first, and Istok would've been a town called Amsteg back in the day. The Vonsinfonies would have been in their prime around 3215 pre-Divide, so—time to lie, lie, lie.

"I think we should sell it," I said.

"Don't we need the portrait?" Strauss asked.

"What's important is the message behind it. Do you trust me?"

He trusted me, technically, but that didn't stop him from questioning Alexander's motives when he returned with my drink. Good for him not getting intimidated by the fancy man. He was also conflicted about not returning the portrait to V, who from his perspective, had been especially forgiving after the tornado incident. Eventually, Alexander manipulated him into accepting 4,000 notes by saying it could help the village of Oskari.

So, we were rich, and that was ideal.

Now I just needed Strauss to go to bed so I could do some breaking and entering.

???

Stranger, and stranger, Closer, and closer.

???

If there was one way to tire Strauss out, it was to annoy his sensibilities. It'd been a pattern of his; I talk too much, he gets a headache and suddenly needs to sleep. So I whipped out my map of present day Amalia, and for twelve minutes, I pretended to look for something. I huffed, I puffed, put on a whole big show.

As you know, it went a lot like:

"I can't find it," I said.

"?" Strauss replied.

"I can't find Amsteg on the map."

"There's nowhere in Amalia called Amsteg," he insisted.

"It said: Amsteg 3215 on the back of the canvas."

Right, so, it absolutely did not say that when I checked for hidden treasure.

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Strauss hesitated. "I should have thought to look back there."

"Aye, but you didn't."

"If Amsteg is a place, then 3215 might be a date," he said.

"You really should have told me the Vonpurplesuit Brothers were from the future."

"If they were real, the Vonsinfonie Brothers would have lived pre-Divide."

"You should have told me that."

"I did."

"I'd remember if you had."

He had. Also, I already knew that. Obviously.

"What difference does it make, Finlay? Amsteg no longer exists."

That's when I whipped out my pre-Divide map of Auditoria, but not before pretending to look at it for an annoyingly long while, and then after a quick cross-check, Strauss connected the dots: Amsteg equaled present day Istok. When he asked where I got the map, I told him my parents gave it to me, which by now you know they really had done. I then told him my middle name was Barnabas. He didn't believe me.

"Hank," I said.

"No, I don't believe it's Hank," Strauss answered.

"Simon."

"No."

"Bobert."

"Finlay, that's not even a name."

"Aloysius."

"I almost believe that one."

That was especially interesting, seeing as my middle name is Alistair. Not a bad instinct. Oh, by the by: Rhian's middle name truly is Lucky, which I often teased her about. Reckoned there was a story behind it, and aye, there is.

"Do you have a middle name, Strauss?"

"I don't know—I don't think so."

I bet he did, and I bet I could find out what it was.

Anyhow, it wasn't much longer before Strauss left the room to brew a mug of herbs in the kitchen, and after twenty-two minutes examining the map on the bed, he finally fell asleep.

???

Dark, and darker. A sandwich, a sleep.

???

Before heading to the garrison, I broke into the tool shed behind the church and swiped a wrench, a crowbar, and a pair of pliers. Next, because I hadn't had the chance to scope out the garrison grounds at night, I hurried over and had a quick look from the bell tower. I'd expected at least a skeleton patrol, but what I got was barely a knuckle. Four guards total: two standing around chatting nowhere near where I was destined, the one at the gates reading a book and eating a sandwich, and the other—near the barracks—fast asleep.

Look, I'll be the first to admit my plan was a little rough and could result in collateral casualties, but if there were casualties, it'd be the Captain's right and left hand men. Meaning: also scum. But, according to Vivienne, he typically addressed the public alone. It'd look like an accident, and that's what mattered. Half the city would be there as witness. And even if someone did go poking around afterward, the structure was already being held together by hope and rusty nails. The Captain really ought to have fixed it.

First thing's first, I made my way over to the staging ground. Reckon both Adeline and Rhian have mentioned what a sorry excuse for a construct the garrison was, so I'm sure you understand where this is headed, but I'll spill. In the event you need the rundown if you find yourself in a similar situation:

Step one: loosen the bracket bolts on the inside frame. Step two: pull the stabilization pegs. Step three: step back and make sure everything still looks mostly normal. Step four: pry the structural braces out of alignment so the load sinks inward. Step five: weaken the beams under where the Captain would step forward to deliver his speech. Step six: step back and make sure everything still looks mostly normal. Step seven: sweep up any suspicious wood bits. Step eight: walk away.

Following the sabotage, I got myself into my next position, which is to say, on the roof of the Captain's quarters. I watched the sleeping fellow for a minute knowing I couldn't do that for long, but—how asleep was he? The quarters had a window, but it was facing away from the guard, so once I was inside, I wouldn't be able to keep an eye on him.

I tossed a pebble, knocking the stone beside his head.

Not even a budge.

Now it was a matter of which key to use. I'd spent some time examining them while Strauss was making tea. There were twelve keys and three with notably more wear. One was slightly larger than the others, didn't carry the same motif or whatnot. I reckoned it was his house key. Of the two remaining, I couldn't be sure, but narrowing it down to two was close enough. To make matters even easier, the torches outside the Captain's quarters were doused.

So, down I went, and I prayed to the goddess Rhian Lucky Sinclair.

The first key was a perfect fit and turned with a satisfying click.

No movement from the sleeping guard.

Once inside, I closed the door quietly, locked it behind me, and unlocked the window just in case. It took a second to get used the darkness, but as you know, Partisans can see in the dark, so—I blinked a few times and had a look around. First stop, desk.

Up until this point, everything had been fairly standard. Get the job, do the job, get a fun little hair ruffle from a Councilwoman later. Aye, everything had been fairly standard up until the point I realized something—and it was something dire, mates.

Stacked on the corner of the Captain's desk was a neat pile of folders, and on top of the folders, there was a small scrap of paper with an odd symbol. I'd seen a similar symbol before in Delphia—not quite the same, but close. And while I couldn't tell you what it meant, I knew it was music related. If that wasn't strange enough, under the symbol in a loopy script, "Looking for this, Mister Finlay?"

A shiver passed through me, and I set the paper aside for the minute to have a look through the folders. The blackmail—loads of it. Files on everybody and pages and pages of their dirty deeds. If there were more of it somewhere, I'd be surprised. But why was it just sitting on his desk, and why was my name on a paper with a music note?

Maybe it was because my spines were up, but more likely it was because the room darkened suddenly. Whatever moonlight was filtering through the window was shadowed over. I glanced to the window and a figure stared back at me for a whole three seconds. Its face was covered with a black mask, and a black hood hung low.

But just as soon as it was there, it was gone.

And that's when I made the dire realization.

Someone knew what I was up to, and that someone was a few steps ahead.

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