"Does everyone know what they have to do?" I asked as our train pulled into Exaltation's station. This time I saw significantly less crossbowmen waiting for us. I did spot a couple, but hoped their vision was significantly worse than mine. I had the benefit of magical goggles, while they had a few dimly glowing lamps and a full complement of functional eyes. Blessedly the glow was not enough to irritate any of our tonic users, who were very sensitive to brighter lights.

"Arranging the engine swap with the local rail crew," Gabian said as he gradually shut off the valve controlling the steam which propelled the engine slowly forward.

"Looking at the weapon to see if I can increase it's rate or field of fire. And perhaps find out how it doesn't set anything on fire," Skids said, picking up dro's backpack.

"Finding us something to eat and drink," Timothy said, and stifled a yawn.

"And I will be keeping out of the way and trying to think of anything we missed," I said, picking up my own handbag. It had travelled so far with me, and I would hate to leave it behind in a steam engine.

Gabian applied the brakes, producing a slight squeal as the train came to a complete stop. The weapon wagon behind us had its own brakes so it did not bump against the engine at all. Our engine was a Medium Energy High Load hauler class, and the replacement would be too. These could not go nearly so fast as Diegan's sprinter, but the spirinter could not move something so massive as the weapon. Whatever it was made of, it was dense. In fact, its brakes squealed louder than the engine's.

We each efficiently set about our respective tasks. Or rather, everyone else did. My task was mostly 'keep out of the way'. This was swiftly solved for me by the arrival of a man. Not just any man, but Amir. I had last seen him with Diegan, on the steam-powered bicycle. I wanted to ask him where it was manufactured and how it had come to be in Deepbloom, but even I knew how to curb my nosiness sometimes. This was one of those times.

"Miss Charity Wilison, you need to come with me," he said abruptly.

"To the hospital. Worry not, it is directly opposite the station. This should only take a few minutes."

"The Exaltation hospital? I do not understand." Who did I know who might be there?"

"Your father is there. Quickly, follow me."

My father? Father was here in Exaltation? A chill ran through me and it was not caused by the cold. I began to follow but was hardly aware of my steps. "Why is he here? Is he alright? Is he dying?"

"There is no need for your concern, Miss Wilison. I briefly saw him, and you appear to be far more injured."

That did not answer my question. "Why..." We had already reached the hospital. Its double glass doors stood before me, reflecting my beaten form back to my lone eye. Was that the same young woman I had been a week ago? Hardly.

"Go in and ask the receptionist for directions. I must attend to other matters." And with that, Amir was gone.

I blinked. Had that conversation even happened? I felt as though I was half asleep. I could hardly even remember what Amir looked like, beyond a curiously curled mustache and angular nose. Beyond that, I had not noticed a single thing about him.

Realising I was wasting time staring at myself, I pushed through the doors. They sprang closed behind me, bouncing a few times as they lost energy. "Hello?" I called to what seemed to be an empty lobby.

"Oh!" An indistinct mass atop a high circular desk rocketed upwards, revealing itself to be mostly hair. A young woman with uncommonly voluminous locks had been sleeping on her face. "What are you? Is this a raid? Are you kidnapping me?" She sounded surprised but not frightened. I guessed she was a year or so older than me. A potted mushroom on the desk gave enough light that she could see me well enough for conversation.

"Um. I am here to visit my father?"

"Are you? If so, who is he?"

"Yes. Please. Er, Wilison. Robert James."

"Wilison," she repeated. "His friends call him Bobby Jimmy?"

"His friends call him Wilison. He is here from the Forrester's Crossing fire. I am not entirely sure why."

"Overflow. A lot of people were hurt when that contraband went kerblam. Do you mind explaining—"

"Yes I do. I'm in a rush. I don't even know why I'm here but I was told I had to see him. Perhaps he wants to see me? If not, I have a city to go save from demons."

She was surprisingly unphased by my proclamation. "I heard something about that. Supposedly they will be making their way past here real soon. What do you think you can do about it?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. "Probably just make it worse."

"Hmph. You are telling the truth. A point in your favour. Fine. Your father is down the left corridor. I think there's some brother of yours dozing in a chair outside. A tall, dark fellow with kind brown eyes."

"That describes three of my brothers. One is married."

"But that leaves two. Now take off those funny looking glasses and let me see your eyes. Best way to tell if you are family, and only family and clerics can visit."

"You already told me where to find my father."

"If you want to find him without his room number, may the Maker help you." Something about her tone terrified me. "If you want the information, let me see your face."

"There's no need for trouble."

"You have clearly brought trouble to this city. Now let me take a look at your eyes if you want to avoid additional drama between us."

A movement of her hands drew my attention down to her desk. Beside her were several mugs, a stack of clipboards, countless pens, and a loaded crossbow. Oh. "Fine. Is one eye enough for you?" I pushed the goggles up. The sudden cold air on the previously protected skin made me blink. Or was it a wink now?

Gradual realisation washed over the young woman's face, as if I had upended a bucket of used mop water. "I... But you must be... You're the escaped prisoner!" Now the crossbow was in her hands. "Do not—"

I pulled up my black eyepatch.

The receptionist recoiled at the sight.

I bolted for the door to the left corridor, hoping she had meant my left, not hers. To my immense relief, I was not bolted in the back, and the door was not bolted. As I leapt through the doorway I crouched low to present a smaller target. I slammed the solid wooden door closed behind me, and as I did, a crossbow bolt slammed into the door and poked through, right below the bolt.

I fled before I confused myself thinking about that any further. As I strode down the hall — running hurt too much — I fumbled my goggles back into place so I could see a little more than the vague shapes of walls.

Charles had been dozing on a wooden bench, by a door near the other end of the hall. Now he was rising woozily to his feet, rubbing his eyes. "Wha's going on?"

I easily recognised that he was my oldest brother and not Channing or Champion, due to the way his hair stuck up in the front. Also he had benefited greatly from his wife's cooking, making me realise the others were almost unhealthily thin. He did not seem to be recognising me as readily. "Charles, it's me. Charity."

He stared with his mouth half open, as if a horse had spoken to him. "No. You cannot be my sister."

"It's only been two and a half days," I said, scarcely believing that myself. "I asked you to tell Father I was running a quick errand to the bakery. But everything went wrong."

Charles took a step back, withdrawing from me. "You were exposed. You are dangerous," he said, the words laden with accusation.

"No, I... There is nothing to fear, really."

"That is what they would say. You are one of them now."

Hearing those words said to me that way by my big brother hurt more than being blasted through a wall. "No! I... That's not... Look, I came because I was told I need to see Father."

"He heard that you were part of some harebrained scheme and that there was a high chance you might pass by this way. He insisted that you be brought to him if possible. Is it true that Forrester's Crossing is in danger?"

"I don't know for certain," I said, because I wasn't. "But I am sure enough that I will do whatever it takes to stop the demons. Does that sound like the plan of someone who has been corrupted by dark forces?"

"Darkness can be subtle," Charles said, considering. "But I do not think you can be. Maker's Gears, I can hardly believe that is really you, Charity."

"Me neither. Now, I am actually in a hurry, so..."

Charles stepped aside and pointed at the door behind him. "He is in there. Bed C."

"Thank you, Charles." I glanced back as I entered and saw the receptionist standing back at the entrance to the hall, watching. I could not see her face from this distance.

I walked into the ward and to the side of Father's bed with only minimal awareness. Half my brain was asleep and the other half did not want to deal with this. The next moment I was fully aware of, I was standing at his feet looking down at him. It felt wrong to see him so small. He was meant to be a powerful figure, seeming to tower over me even while he was sitting down.

The thought of waking him was too heavy for me to grasp. Waking him meant initiating a conversation with him. That meant facing the person we had lost. I was sure that when he looked up at me, he would only be thinking of Chalice. I was certain of this because I could not think of anything else, and because I had spotted a book resting on the small table beside his bed. It was a thin book with a leather cover. The corners were designed to be held shut with ribbons, but these had been replaced by coils of fencing wire. It was Chalice's diary.

"So. You actually dared show your face here."

In an instant I forgot I was the young woman who willingly climbed into a burning building, and survived being captured by raiders. As I heard that first word from Father, I was a little girl again. "M," I squeaked, and nodded in the affirmative.

"I provided for your every need, raised you to become a devout young lady, found a fine man who can take care of you, and what do you do in return?

"I..."

"Was a little respect and gratitude too much to ask, girl? Why turn up your nose at such an opportunity? He is a good man with a good business, and he has proven himself an acceptable husband. He would have given you a stable home, but you threw that away, and for what? All manner of trouble and filth. Even now you have their poison on your face, covering your shame."

He knew about the eye. But where had he got the idea that I had run away to flee my marriage? It was true that I had some reservations and worries, but all that was incidental to my departure.

"Well?"

"I ran to seek medical help. I knew I had no chance to receive the boon. I didn't want to die!"

"Hmph. You gave up hope and ran to the enemy. You should have trusted the Great Maker to provide for your needs. If he willed it, your survival would have been secure through Pure means. But you took matters into your own hands. And now..." He trailed off significantly.

"And now she's gone," I said, barely above a whisper.

"One daughter dead, and the other... worse. A disfigured outlaw. Not worthy to look upon the Maker's light fully. Not even truly looking upon me now."

I quickly pulled down my goggles, letting them hang around my neck. They brushed against my face and I winced at the pain.

"You have gone against the Great Maker," he continued. "What has happened to you, what has happened to this family because of you, this is only the start. You should hope not to survive to see the sunrise, otherwise your remaining life will grow ever darker. Since you are here, that must mean you are about to throw yourself in front of a flood of demons. This may be the one small penance you can make."

"I... I'm doing that because I can help."

"You, help? A goat would be of more use against demons. What do you have there, a cursed trinket that lets you see in the dark? How did you get that? Did you steal that too?"

"Too?" Just what was he implying? What had I stolen?

"Surely you had to pay for whatever foul magic they claimed would cure your illness. So you must have sold your engagement ring."

I pulled up the sleeve of my robe. "You mean this ring?"

"You still have it?" two surprised men asked. Father, and someone behind me.

Had Charles joined us? I turned to see. "W... what are you doing here?"

"I was sent to fetch you. We're ready to leave," Timothy said. He was pretending not to be amused by my embarrassment, but I could see it in his eyes.

"This is... not what I expected," Father said, not wanting to accept what he was seeing.

"I have to go and save our home, Father," I said. "This conversation has been..." I had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"Before you go. You should hear it from me," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

"There was a message from the clerics in Forrester's Crossing. Last heliograph before sundown. The searchers. In the rubble. Of the blacksmith. They found... the body."

"The... Oh." A tiny spark of hope was extinguished. I had not known I had been nurturing it. Now I felt it go, and the room felt that much colder. "Are... you alright?"

"I will live. The doctor wants to be sure a burn on my leg stays clean, that is all."

That wasn't what I had meant to ask, but I did not press further. "Maker bless," I said, expecting that to be all.

He grabbed at my wrist. "That is not why I asked you here."

"Huh?"

He pointed to the table. To the diary. "Do you know how to read that?"

"The diary?" I picked it up and began unwinding the wires.

"The diary is enciphered. You taught her that, right?"

"Right," I admitted. I flicked through the pages and saw no recognisable words. "I don't know exactly what cipher she used for her diary, or what key she used. But I'm sure I can figure it out. With time."

"You do not have time," Timothy said with obvious urgency.

I found the final entry. It covered multiple pages, and looked freshly written. Possibly the morning of her death, or the night before.

I skimmed the first couple of paragraphs to see if anything stood out to me.

Fdms frmsl, Y okvmf rn. Yrffdp qllial yp mch mibbb mmau uch chds kcefhv ugc csqf cetf br keacmd helhlci. Yz sci pxb vbbbay cme bcmigrh lm hqb bpe, cmr bsqf cetf br orcp, yzm nyd erhrnygcmnh hvfdi pched. R frf qhp imsi clll cth gayhde sf kypcde nycm nylm. Hy nyry nrcmy R uga sdlyn. Ncmsyzs'h ymsmpcde os nyh cdeg pmsfdv cgr qy hd nyr nckd vby gcradf nyd fdelrk. Yp mbq ko nylm, nyr hmicmcde acatypc chsaicr Qmss bma hdhv khqerenri ph qyq edcatl fvrym. Ych ugy mch umcd caa ckypc, vbely ea slmchf soo, hdgcrad R'e brcef nyr nckd fedccdf qsed tycf m ucm. Gcp mch amnr ndsahq khveetlepctl ferha mh ryzchd? Mdescmb, rhndlecatl vbhv ndbqci msr hl lohrhhrb dyzc nkynyetp. Gzm yz trcbp yd friidedpm oks uckrh. D zhqfde sbx kypc

Swz Y'p ainzypc rkf syy qytdl. Nched'a m fddnde tsymdes bder cpe Ncmsyzl ya mu uch nhpmde ko yz. Vhms nyh nhvnis, mz trcym. R fhq'm zpedeymcme bbx hynrnyetk afli nyeh asxgi scxxhv qy Ncmsyzs. Ozm ndesgmy R hbsxgi sceh hrhv nyry khtrpc. Umsod R'u abbetl pyepca usfh ncimstl et yepeyrcbq. Ys ulshd R't rtcketetk ghqvhlnfymh hdgcraf hd xscz Y nyetl F cqbx. Et cmh lmad, vcht E khmhrfde nyd nmaz, Y'q rlrias hrsi nscm ysqinyepc sch obbp vfspc zdny Ncmsyzo isf c udel thql prtd. Rm'y qhm lth hqi nyepc, swn yde hdsczesxf sehsmmm sch obbp ebxmedlyn bff. R cqbx hbr'h caugsh hdhv okavhrr, bsqinrtrh oyefdeetk bq hohrhyrhq, swm pbx nylm Y tlll cu uch ydp welmzed, R't edcaryetc bbx femulmelcatl chf sohrhyrhqh bcur hyeiqdf lm zynry.

R ...

Chalice had made this easy for me. Punctuation, spacing, and capitalisation were all present. Unless it had been arranged to mislead potential spies, this should make it simple to guess words and figure out the key. For example, 'Ncmsyzl' mid-sentence and 'Ncmsyzs'h' elsewhere had to be 'Charity' and 'Charity's' respectively.

Timothy loudly cleared his throat.

"Huh?"

"The train!"

"Oh. I... Uh..." I looked helplessly at the diary.

"Take it," Father said. "Perhaps it will do you some good."

"Thank you. If I find anything... you might want to see, I'll send word. Somehow." Or perhaps I would be able to deliver it in person. I still had the relic from Sente to trade in. Perhaps if this night ended well, I might be able to...

"Make me no promises, girl," Father said.

Timothy tugged at the sleeve of my robe. "Hurry! Every minute we wait is a minute in which a local with a crossbow or an unsympathetic cleric could put an end to this mission."

"Right, sorry. Maker bless, Father."

"I accept no blessings from the blinded," Father said.

I didn't respond or look back. There was no point.

We hurried past Charles and the receptionist. She was holding her crossbow in two hands. Rather, one splintered piece in each hand. I shot Timothy a questioning glance.

"I disarmed her with my hook hand," he said as we ran for the exit.

I fitted my goggles back in place so I could cross the street without tripping on shadows. "She tried to attack you?" I asked through the pain of moving so quickly.

"She was startled. By my hook hand."

"Ah." As we crossed the street between the hospital and the station I looked down at my own hands, particularly the left which still bore his ring. Should I return it, or hold onto hope? Did I want it? Was what I wanted important? I had already lost so much hope on this night, and the ring was a symbol of an important part of my life. Just like the ridges on the same arm were a symbol of another part of my life. A promise of provision and protection on the one hand, and a tally of wrongs on... well, actually on the same hand.

I banished those thoughts to concentrate on not falling down the stairs. We stepped with care down to the lower part of the station, where our ride awaited. The new engine looked just like the previous one, and the weapon sat behind it with Skids crouching astride it.

"There you are! You took so long that I made a few extra adjustments," Skids called, sounding quite pleased. "Don't worry too much, they haven't quite caught up to us yet."

I looked up and down the weapon, which was a long, reinforced boxcar with a massive tube or pipe mounted on top, as big around as my body. Assorted tubing and fittings were bolted and welded all over the outside of it. Spurts of steam hissed from a few tiny apertures, and a harsh light spilled out of various cracks. "So you actually know how this thing works?"

"Well..." Dro tightened a large bolt with a larger wrench. "I know enough. More than expected. And I figured out how it keeps from setting anything on fire." Dro shifted over to shifting the next bolt. "Its projectiles release mephitic air, which smothers the fires. And it should help smother the demons too."

"Are you done up there?" Gabian yelled. "Steam's not getting any hotter."

"Just a tick! You really don't want this coming loose at the wrong moment," Skids called back, and gave the wrench another heave.

"When is the wrong moment?" I asked.

"Any moment you're within shouting distance of it, I suspect. Don't worry too much, I've got it well taken care of."

"If you say not to worry too much one more time, I might start to worry."

Skids chuckled and stowed the wrench in dro's backpack. "All set. Let's get out of here."

Five figures appeared out of the shadows. Men. With crossbows.

"What is your business here, gentlemen?" Timothy asked, suddenly standing between me and the newcomers.

One man stepped forward from the middle of the group. "These are the finest marksmen of Exaltation. They have practiced since childhood, for countless hours. They can aim and fire like you can blink. They can reload like you can breath. They can spot a pinprick of light in the dark and hit it dead center while running, or riding a horse or wagon."

My heart was in my toes. There was no way we were getting out of this.

"Or while riding a train," the spokesman added.

A spark of hope returned.

"Tonight, they will ride with you."