Far from being devastated by Faith’s bargain with Mylera, the orphans gleefully organized a canal-side-pink-bow-removing party that involved scuffles on stepladders, mudball fights, and shredded bits of pink satin that stuck everywhere until the rains swept them all into the canal. (I opted not to meet privately with Mylera after my next class.)

“Perhaps we should move out of the railcar into Strathmill House?” Ash suggested hopefully while the two of us were supervising Faith supervising her little revenge party. In reply, I raised one eyebrow at the confetti-like fabric dotting the canal banks.

Ash persisted, “We should live in a style that’s more appropriate to guild members of our status.”

By which he probably meant windows that actually shut and kept out the damp, rooms larger than the space of one train compartment, and beds that weren’t thin mattress pads scavenged from the Brickston dump. Tempting, but – “No,” I answered flatly. “This building has had pink bows on it for a week. Everyone in Crow’s Foot knows that we own it.”

To that, Ash could only sigh in assent and surrender his dreams of opulence.

As compensation for his shattered aspirations (and over Faith’s protests of “But the orphans, Isha! You’re interfering with their education! Do you really want them to wallow in ignorance for the rest of their lives?”), I did help Ash remodel one schoolroom. Although the original intent was to create a decent meeting room where we could host allies and contacts, the room quickly turned into his private study. There, away from the grubby little hands of his beloved orphans, Ash would periodically sequester himself to update his account books and agonize over each coin he’d spent.

Just about the only sum he paid out willingly was a handful of slugs to the Insect Kids for the life essence that they’d collected from dead Crows. Privately, he confided in Faith and me that the children hadn’t exactly done a stellar job at scratching out the appropriate runes, and the life essence they’d collected was weak at best, but he wanted to encourage them. So he doubled the amount his mother had paid him for the little vials and handed a pouch of slugs to Spider, who immediately dragged the other Insect Kids plus Azael and few of their special friends off to the nearest bakery. (At some point, Ash was going to have to teach a class on savings and investment.)

By this point, the Insect Kids were splitting their time between the railcar and Strathmill House. On the one hand, they had friends at the orphanage, but on the other, they took their runner duties seriously. Also, while Sleipnir sometimes hopped along with them on their errands, he lived at the railcar with me. At first, I suspected that his presence drew them back as much as their sense of duty, but I soon noticed that where the children slept correlated strongly with the crew’s mood. On evenings when Ash, Faith, and I were bickering amiably in the common area, we’d hear little thumps, barks, and squeals of delight from the Insect Kids’ compartment. But on nights when Ash, Faith, and I were genuinely fighting, the children would mysteriously vanish, to reappear in the morning. It was a little sad, but perfectly sensible.

In the midst of all these changes, Faith found time to track down the Charterhall priest at whose service we’d murdered Skannon Vale and Tocker Helker. Months later, the clergyman was still in disgrace because two people had died under his supervision, plus – horror of horrors – he’d surrendered control of his body, however briefly, to an unholy abomination (i.e. gotten possessed).

“The poor fellow was starting to worry that he’d get demoted to somewhere truly terrible!” Faith cried after she returned from her little mission.

“Like Coalridge?” I suggested.

“Coalridge? No, I meant Nightmarket!” She gave a delicate shudder at the thought of the priest ministering to a flock of merchants and minor nobility. “It was dreadful! I couldn’t leave him in such dire straits. I had to reassure him that serving the populace of Nightmarket should really be the least of his concerns.”

To that end, Faith ordered Cricket to possess the priest and walk him to Six Towers, where he ambled about, peering curiously at echoes and traipsing after spirits, until he stumbled across the ghost-infested mansion that we’d used for our fake demonic cult headquarters. There, he stood motionless in the middle of the ballroom for hours, mouth ajar as his eyes gazed sightlessly at the ghosts that swirled around him. Off to the side, Faith set up a camera on our sacrificial altar and practiced her long-exposure spectral photography skills.

The next morning, the priest woke on the floor of an unfamiliar house. On his chest lay a photo that showed him surrounded by a flurry of blurred wisps that could only be ghosts – and a note, written in perfect penmanship on a parchment scroll tied with black ribbon.

Back in our common room, twirling a length of the same black ribbon, Faith chirped, “I explained that it would be so very unfortunate if he were to mention the details of the night he was possessed! Because if that happened, who knows what other damning evidence of his obsession with ghosts might surface?” Dropping the ribbon, she fanned herself with a sheath of black-and-white photos, then mockingly held them in her right hand in a gesture that meant, You are too willing. Green eyes wide, she declaimed, “After all, he knows what happens to clergy who indulge in scandal and heresy!”

And so he did.

And the clergy themselves typically weren’t fanatic enough to want to be Hollowed.

After all, the Church wouldn’t have much of a leadership if they all got themselves Hollowed now, would it?

Among our contacts, the priest wasn’t the only one in agonies. Along with our usual cut of the money she was siphoning off from the Hive, Tess included a terse warning: “Djera Maha is starting to ask a lot of pointy questions. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

As soon as Zamira Slane passed on the message, Ash yanked Faith and me into the Strathmill House meeting room for an emergency conference. Handing us the note, he paced back and forth in front of the blackboard, on which he’d scrawled interest rate calculations. “I’d like to ensure that our flow of money from Tess stays positive,” he told us, pointing at the numbers. “Not to mention that she is my sister and I – ” Unaccustomed to expressions of affection, he fumbled for words before settling for an emotionless, “I have a vested interest in this situation – I think we all do. But I’d like to help my sister in a way that doesn’t cause the Hive to send assassins against us.”

With that, I heartily agreed. Fending off assassins on top of forestalling an Imperial invasion of my homeland would just be too much. “Do you have any ideas?” I asked.

“Some,” he replied in a tone that suggested he didn’t. “But honestly, I don’t have too many contacts in the Hive besides Tess.”

“Do you have any contacts in the Hive besides Tess?” retorted Faith sweetly, echoing my thoughts exactly.

Unabashed at being caught in a gross exaggeration, Ash only shrugged. “My mother might. And Irimina. Regardless, to second order, the three of us should have contacts in the Hive.”

Given that Zamira Slane’s contact in the Hive was Tess herself, and Irimina didn’t have contacts so much as targets, I had my misgivings. Still, I sent a coded message to Sigmund, who at least moved in the right social circles. He promptly responded that the Hive didn’t intersect anything he was trying to accomplish in Doskvol, so if any of his acquaintances were a member, he was not aware of it. He did not ask why I was wasting time tangling with the Hive.

He didn’t offer to investigate for me, either.

After considering the matter, I proposed to Ash that Tess could experience the memories of people who’d known Vhetin.

He immediately improved on the idea. “Faith,” he called. “Faith?”

After a suitably long time, Faith hauled herself into the railcar common area, looking as if she were already mortally bored and expected the upcoming conversation to bore her even further. Without acknowledging either of us, she sagged into Ash’s usual chair.

He barely noticed. “Faith, I’d like to trade you a very big favor – and I’m happy to have that favor called in right now if you wish – for the memories of the woman my sister is currently impersonating.”

In the middle of tracing designs in the dust on the table with one fingernail, she suddenly perked up. “Oh, right, those silly things!” she exclaimed, as if she’d forgotten all about them until now. “But they’re so pretty, decorating my mantel!”

“Wait, you keep them on your mantel?” I blurted out before I could catch myself. Even after translating “mantel” to “desk” or “bookcase,” that still seemed foolhardy.

“How else would you get that nice electroplasmic glow in your room?” she scolded. Preening over her interior decorating skills, she purred, “The blue really complements the pink.”

“Well,” said Ash slowly, as if he were working through a particularly complicated calculation in his head, “I know there is something you want…but I have no idea what it is, because every time I try to guess anything, I am completely wrong. So…what can I do to help you? With your decoration problems? Or any other problems you might have?”

Blinking innocently, Faith conveyed with one expressive pout that she didn’t know either what she wanted, and only a lout and a cad would point that out to a lady.

Ash heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, Faith. Then I’ll write you a poem.” Tapping a pen against his notebook, he frowned in concentration and began to mutter to himself. Casually, I leaned sideways to scan his work. So hesitantly that the ink pooled in spots, Ash composed the lines: “You flutter through the air/Like a swarm of bloody butterflies/And when you wake each morning/A gathering of ghosts serenade your exquisite burnt skin.” Then he stopped, crossed out “burnt,” and glared at the paper, spinning his pen through his fingers as he sought one last alliteration.

“My exquisite sunburnt skin?” Faith suggested.

“Yes, exactly!” He filled it in, ripped the page out of his notebook, flapped it to dry the ink, and handed it to her with a flourish.

After the obligatory raptures, she finally agreed to negotiate with his mother.

Before she could change her mind, Ash immediately scribbled a message to Zamira, in which he offered our assistance in his own inimitable way: “We’ve attracted more attention than we’d like, but Tess’s situation is not good. Once our affairs are in order, we’ll come in person to talk to you.”

As he handed the sealed note to the Insect Kids for delivery, Faith observed cheerfully, “Like Isha, I’m always happy to consort with demons.”

By now, the Insect Kids were so used to her random comments that they didn’t even squeak. They simply took the note and scampered off.

Faith’s needling, however, reminded me of something I’d meant to investigate. Feigning disinterest, I drifted over to the window as if to check on the runners and addressed the Old Rail Yard, “Speaking of demons, what is a Setarra anyway? In that diagram of the Ascension ritual, why did you label the tentacle ‘Setarra’?”

In her reflection in the window, Faith’s eyes lit up at the prospect of baiting me some more. “Noooo,” she whined, “I labeled the tentacle ‘Totally not Setarra.’ Because it wasn’t Setarra. It was just an arbitrary tentacled demon.” She paused for so long that I turned around to cock my head at her inquiringly. Then she finished triumphantly, “With sharp, pointy suckers that claw off people’s legs.”

In spite of himself, Ash chuckled.

“So what or who is Setarra?” I persisted.

Frowning, Ash asked, “Isn’t that the name of the demon that tried to rip us apart in the canal? Faith, didn’t you tell me to go talk to Setarra last time? And tell her that you sent me? I tried, but she wasn’t under the bridge.”

“You did what?” I demanded.

Faith just bared all her teeth in a bright, chipper grin.

The crew member she’d nearly gotten killed betrayed no trace of concern. “Consorting with demons is probably a great way to find allies against the Church,” pronounced Ash. “Not that we aren’t up to the task ourselves, of course – ” yes, of course – “but more allies never hurt.”

Now it was Faith’s turn to chuckle.

Before we could get sidetracked, I quickly summarized our discussion. “Let me just get this straight: Setarra is a water demon. Specifically, the water demon that nearly killed us while we were assassinating Ronia Helker.”

Ash automatically dismissed that with a “We were in fine shape.” Then he reconsidered. “Okay, fine, yes, it was very painful.”

That was one way of putting it. “Ye-es.” But all memories of that fight vanished in a flash, because I’d just connected two more dots. “And Setarra was also the strange lady who asked my student about Faith.”

Weeks ago, Vaati Zayana had whispered that a mysterious woman approached him to inquire about Faith and me. His very demeanor had screamed, “Demon!” and I trusted his instincts. After all, he was Iruvian, and we Iruvians knew our demons.

“Oooh, you mean the founder of my fan club?” Clearly, Faith also remembered the incident. “You shouldn’t call her strange, Isha. That’s not very nice.”

Ash, on the other hand, had a different objection. “What makes you think this is the same person, and that the canal demon can take human form?”

“Unless Faith is friends with multiple demons?” I retorted. It seemed unlikely, although at this point I wouldn’t put anything past her.

Turning to Ash, Faith entreated with a hint of a pout, “We’re friends, right, Ash?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied absently, then mused, “I wasn’t aware that the canal demon Setarra could take human form.”

“So they’re possibly two separate demons?” I clarified.

“Faith?” asked Ash.

Her hint of a pout transformed into a comprehensive mope. “But I was so enjoying listening to your wild conjectures. That sounds a lot more fun than explaining myself.”

“Setarra does seem to be very sophisticated,” Ash taunted.

The compliment to her enemy worked. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll explain myself. If you really must know, back in the day, Setarra and I had a very close personal relationship.” She drew out the last words and waggled her eyebrows at me, implying all sorts of scandalous aspects to said close personal relationship. When I blanked my face and refused to blush, she continued blithely, “I was teaching her how to be a Whisper, but then I decided she was an abomination, so I stopped teaching her. Or maybe it was the other way around.” Her dimples flashed. “I have a hard time remembering, sometimes.”

And I had a hard time trusting her, all the time. “Ash,” I appealed, “which part of that was actually true?”

He was scowling at Faith’s careful logical wording. “It’s certainly true that Faith was teaching Setarra to be a Whisper and decided she was an abomination, or the other way around….”

Sitting up as straight as an etiquette master’s dream pupil, Faith announced, “She taught me a very important life lesson.”

Very cautiously and even more skeptically, Ash inquired, “Yeees?”

“Demon eggs,” she pronounced with great authority, “do not taste great in mousse.”

Who would even want to try that? Who would even think of trying that? “Ugh!” I cried. “Ugh!” Visions of burnt, blackened dessert pulsing with demonic veins and slowly oozing over the sides of a crystal bowl filled my mind.

To purge the images, I reached out to Grandfather. Do demons lay eggs? Did you hatch from an egg?

There was a surprised silence, tinged with wariness. Then Grandfather offered enigmatically, I could teach you more about the mysteries of my kind, if you were interested.

Already regretting the impulse, I didn’t answer. But I did file that away for later consideration.

Meanwhile, Ash was saying, “Maybe we should invite Setarra in her nice, elegant human form – ”

“To tea!” cried Faith brightly.

“ – to dinner someday,” he finished.

“No!” I yelped.

“No!” Faith screeched at the same time. “I’m not inviting an abomination to our house!”

“Thank you, Faith,” I said.

Faith slumped all the way down in Ash’s chair and mumbled, “Besides, she’d say no.”

“Maybe that’s safest,” he agreed.

Straight away, she changed her mind. “Or maybe we should. But only if she brings more of her eggs. If we cooked them longer, they might actually be palatable….”

“No,” I told both of them emphatically, “we are not inviting a demon over for dinner. Or tea.”

“But – but – haven’t you ever wanted to taste a demon omelet?” pleaded Faith. Waving her hands, she conjured up the image of a big, fluffy platter of cooked baby water demon.

Ash answered for both of us. “Not specifically, no.” Then his merchant side took over and he added, “But I’m sure there’s a very good market for demon eggs. Probably not for eating, though.”

Before Faith could come up with even more ridiculous uses for possibly-nonexistent demon eggs, we were saved by Moth returning with a note from Zamira Slane. Gratefully, Ash’s mother wrote that she would appreciate our assistance in this delicate matter, and that we should feel free to call on her at our earliest convenience.

Ash and I, at least, thought that our earliest convenience was right now.

When we were ushered into Zamira’s office, Mistress Slane looked more frazzled than usual, but she still gestured graciously at the chairs across from her. The three of us took our usual seats, with our usual postures.

“We heard about Tess’s problems – ” Ash began.

“I think we should pull her,” their mother interrupted.

The potential loss of revenue hit Ash hard. “Is that what she wants?” he demanded.

“It’s what’s best,” Zamira informed him. “She’s going to get herself killed.”

“Not if we can help her,” he argued, “which is why we’re here.” When she continued to look unconvinced, he wheedled, “Pulling her at this stage is going to draw a lot of unwanted attention.” Having thus set the stage, he proposed selling her Vhetin’s memories for one favor, to be determined at a later date.

Zamira agreed without thought. “All right. Done.” Then she cast a slightly apprehensive glance in Faith’s direction, which I personally thought was very wise of her.

In reply, Faith smiled lazily.

Bargain complete, Ash threw in a bonus to sweeten the deal: “If you need help getting Tess to the Sensorium, that’s a service we can provide. The memories are there.”

“That place in Charterhall?” asked Zamira. At his nod, she said, “That should be fine. It’s not so unusual for a noblewoman to wander around Charterhall.”

“I think she’ll find the experience quite intoxicating,” Ash noted, most likely referring to the Sensorium rather than the streets of Charterhall.

“Informative! Informative!” Faith corrected him. “It’s supposed to be informative! Not intoxicating!”

More relaxed now that her older daughter probably wasn’t going to be exposed and slaughtered by a criminal organization, Zamira sat back to watch the show. I, however, kept a sharp eye on all three of them, even as Ash remarked sardonically, “That’s not what you said last time, Faith.”

“Oooh, maybe if we make a ghost – ”

“Regardless, it should help a lot with Tess’s problems.”

And so it did.

On her next “shopping expedition,” Tess slipped away from her handlers and made her way to the Sensorium, where Vhetin’s memories and a private room were already waiting. She came away much better informed, if perhaps not quite intoxicated.

Faith, naturally, had to have the last word on the matter. “I suppose I should have thought of this earlier,” she confessed. “But it just didn’t seem worth mentioning!”