Despite many years having passed since the Twenty-Year War, the Dust Empire and Gerios seem to have little intention of strengthening their bond. There is no desire from either side to involve themselves with the other. The Fire Mountains continue to serve as an effective barrier between the kingdom and the Empire, prohibiting contact between its people and thus maintaining the Empire's isolation.

  Excerpt from 'Annotated History of the Dust Empire'

  “It's crowded,” Cecille said. “I think they even filled all the reserve spots.”

  Hans simply nodded.

  They were standing in the shift hall, ready to step through the gateway that would take them to Tasselhane. As the operator pointed out, the gateway hall was filled with people, all displaying varying degrees of anxiety.

  Unlike me, they are eager to leave.

  After the scuffle at one of the ring mansions yesterday, the rumour mill had peaked and the stream of refugees was now greater than ever before. Then the late-night arrival of an eskadron worth of troops from the south to reinforce the city watch had increased tension in the capital even further.

  The situation had deteriorated so much that the ministry building was now guarded by the watch, and Hans and Cecille had to suffer being searched before they were even allowed inside.

  Cecille was nervous too, though Hans suspected that had little to do with the situation in Rios. He had spoken with her only briefly before this morning, but already it struck him as very strange that she was an operator. She didn't behave like any operator Hans had ever met.

  Not a good one, at least.

  But then again, she was from the 'misfit'. The outfit where all the Whisper's rejects had been sent until Grandmaster Lakrin put a stop to it.

  Makes me wonder what the rest are like.

  When Kell had told him he had been reassigned, he had been happy; right up until he was told it was only temporary and that it was to the Tasselhane outfit. He had considered refusing on account of Felt, but he knew Kell would never accept that. Not after he had expressed his own desire to be reassigned and heard the things Cecille had to say.

  Even so, it had pained him to see Felt so desperate when he told her, but he knew it wasn't up to him to save her. Dealing with Hyna would take far more than just a former rat from the pack, so he set up the meeting with the grandmaster as she requested and said his goodbyes afterwards.

  “Aren't we leaving yet?” Cecille asked, plucking at the sleeve of her dress. “It's already past the time for departure.”

  Hans glanced at the nearby wall clock. It was indeed past time.

  As if hearing Cecille's words, one of the ministry's channellers climbed onto a stool and spoke. “Everybody, the shift will be delayed somewhat. The ?ther is still too volatile to ensure a safe transfer.”

  He stepped down from the stool and a tense murmur immediately filled the hall.

  “Looks like it's going to take a while longer,” Hans said. “They probably took on too many people the past few days.”

  “Yes, probably,” Cecille said, smiling nervously.

  “Perhaps you could tell me something about the Dust Empire,” Hans said, attempting to distract Cecille from her anxiety. “I don't know much about it.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said.

  She stopped plucking at her sleeve. “What do you want to know?”

  “The basics would be a good start. All I know is that the Hischi clan have been in charge for a couple of years now. A week ago, I didn't even know that it's not an empire.”

  “Well, in theory it still is. Every clan that ever ruled the Empire claims to have been granted stewardship from the royal bloodline.”

  “That bloodline still exists?”

  Cecille nodded. “It does. The Tahmed clan of Irekji the Infirm remains numerous in the Heartlands, yet they don't meddle with the Empire's politics anymore. They prefer living there without the risk of being evicted by the next clan that comes to power. So they endorse whoever comes out on top after yet another war, and that's that.”

  “And the ruling clan is okay with that? I thought the clans hated each other.”

  “Well,” Cecille said, touching her lips, “hate is probably too strong a word. Disagreeable would be better. If they all really hated each other, the Empire would have collapsed years ago.”

  “Yet despite that, winning the Heartlands is enough to rule?”

  “It is,” Cecille said with a nod. “The Heartlands contain a ninth of the entire Empire's population, yet they provide over two thirds of its food. Any clan that would not accept the new rule would be cut off from their food supply, and none of them can afford to go without.” She waved her hand. “The Bohja have a lot of meat and dairy products I suppose, but those are all intended for export. That was why they felt strong enough to rebel against Emperor Nakseem prior to the Twenty-Year War.”

  “Doesn't that work both ways, then? What prevents a ruling clan from cutting everyone off from their food supply? Why help your enemies?”

  “Trade,” Cecille replied with a satisfied look. “The Heartlands may have an abundance of food, but that is all they have. There are no forests, no mines, no other natural resources. Yet the residents of the Heartlands, and especially Saffir, wish to maintain their high standard of living, so they trade their food for everything else they need.”

  “It sounds like outside clans could take advantage of that.”

  She shook her head. “Food is the most basic need, so the ruling clan always comes out on top in the end. That's why every clan wants to rule. For some it's not even about being in control, it's about having enough food for once.” She shrugged. “It might be different if every single clan rose up against the ruling clan in unity, but that never happens. They dislike and distrust each other as much as they do the ruling clan. And the internal conflicts each of them has with the minor clans beneath them makes things even more unstable.”

  “And the Hischi?”

  “We don't know much about them, I'm afraid,” Cecille said. “Their homelands are in the south-east of the Empire, near the Emerald Death. Before they became the ruling clan, the odds of meeting someone from Hischi here in Gerios were nearly non-existent.”

  She scoffed and a pained expression flashed across her face. “Although these days it seems you can't go anywhere without tripping over them.”

  Did she have a bad experience with the Hischi? Hans did not want to pry, however, as he had initiated this conversation to reduce her anxiety, not increase it.

  “How did they come to power?” he asked.

  “That is a mystery, unfortunately. All we know is that their ascension was a non-violent one for the most part, and that the few battles they did fight were decided overwhelmingly in their favour. They smashed through the Velhem and Ziveem homelands with little trouble, and secured the Great Citadel Chain before the Ociek could send reinforcements.” Cecille brushed back a stray lock of hair. “Although those stories are likely exaggerated.”

  “The winner decides what happened,” Hans said with a nod. “How often did Hischi rule in the past?”

  “Never.”

  “Never? Not even once?”

  Cecille shook her head. “The clans adjacent to the Heartlands usually rule, as their location is more suitable. It has happened on occasion that an outlying clan has ascended, but they never last long.” She turned her head. “Oh, they're ready.”

  “We are about to proceed with the shift,” the channeller from before said loudly. “Please form an orderly line.”

  Hans suddenly shared the anxiety of the other people present. Not just because he was about to be transported close to seven hundred kivors in the blink of an eye, but also because he would be further away from Rios than he'd ever been before.

  People positioned themselves on top of the white line as indicated and Hans fell in with them, standing behind Cecille, who he now noticed was as tall as he was.

  He leaned to the side to look past her, just in time to see the portal appear. On the other side he could see a line of people similar to theirs.

  The line started moving.

  “Hurry, hurry,” one of the channellers said. He looked agitated. As he walked, Hans noticed that several of the channellers present displayed the same agitation, urgently observing their scrying stones as they conducted the crowd through the gateway.

  And then he was in Tasselhane, where another channeller quickly ushered them onward as to his left the other line of travellers started to move back to Rios.

  That wasn't so bad, Hans thought as he followed Cecille, who suddenly seemed to have gained some confidence. Nonetheless, he did check his limbs to make sure nothing was missing.

  “Welcome to Tasselhane,” Cecille said as they stepped outside the ministry office.

  Hans took a moment to look at the view. Before him lay a small park that appeared to surround the entire building. Beyond that he could see the city stretch up the mountainside, and in the distance a wide road snaked away through the city towards a tall wall that appeared to mark the city border.

  This was the first time he had ever seen a mountain, and he gawked at how high some of the peaks were before shuddering as a chill gust of wind passed him. The air was much colder and clearer here than the thick humid air that hung over Rios.

  “Is that the Galebreak Wall?” Hans asked, pointing at the wall in the distance that straddled the valley leading into the mountain range beyond.

  “Yes,” Cecille answered. “Although everyone around here calls it the Galebreaker. Behind it lies the Long Valley, which leads all the way to Kesh in the Dust Empire.”

  “How much further is the Dust Empire?”

  “It's another one hundred kivors to Kesh through the Long Valley, so about two days by enchanted horse, one at a push. The actual border is closer, though.” Cecille gestured to a nearby carriage. “Let's go to my home first. From there we can try to figure out where to put you for the time being.”

  “You don't have haunts here?”

  “We do, but truthfully I don't know where half of them are or even if they can still be used.”

  That's not very reassuring.

  The closed carriage Cecille beckoned for halted in front of them. “Madam De Alistrin,” the driver said. “How was your trip?”

  “Eventful,” Cecille said, waving her hand. “To my home please, Nerial.”

  Hans watched her step into the carriage with a dumbfounded look on his face. She has her own carriage and driver? A closed one even?

  “What's wrong?” Cecille asked Hans with a questioning look.

  “Nothing,” Hans said quickly, joining Cecille on the velvet cushions inside.

  As they rode through Tasselhane's streets, Hans took note of the people. There were far more Dusters here than back in Rios, and everyone dressed differently too. Tunics had a looser fit and many people wore some kind of hat Hans had never seen before.

  What the people did, however, was the same as in Rios. Workers and servants were clearly distinguishable, and when they drove past a more dilapidated part of the city Hans saw that the slums were the same as well: people covered in filth scurrying around like rats.

  Some things are the same everywhere.

  He looked at Cecille, whose mood seemed to have improved tremendously. She was looking towards the mountainside with such a look of relief on her face that Hans stretched his neck to see what she was looking at.

  It turned out to be a small house sitting precariously close to the edge of a large ridge that split the north-west side of the city in half.

  “This is my house,” Cecille said, with a hint of pride.

  Hans couldn't imagine living so close to a steep drop, but he just smiled and nodded.

  Before they reached the door of the house, it swung open and a strangely dressed man appeared. He was wearing a long-sleeved tunic that was turned inside out, trousers with one of the legs rolled up to the thigh, and he was carrying a ragged-looking doll.

  “Cecille,” the man said with exultation clear on his face. “You're back.”

  What the blaze is this?

  “Ventus, look at yourself,” Cecille berated him. “I'm gone for two days and you turn into a scarecrow.”

  Hans stifled his laughter. This is Ventus?! Cecille had told him the names of the two men in the outfit, and while she had added that Ventus was somewhat odd, Hans had not expected the man to be a fool. The only thing missing is a funny hat.

  Cecille didn't notice Hans' muffled laugh and herded Ventus back inside. Hans followed them and closed the door behind him.

  “I'll just be a moment,” Cecille said, disappearing down some stairs with Ventus in front of her. “You can wait in the living room.”

  Hans entered the main room and looked around. The way the room was furnished made it obvious a woman lived here. Lots of trinkets, soft furniture, colourful pillows and frills attached to everything made out of cloth.

  Hans sat down and stared out the back window, which afforded a good view of the city below the ridge. Unlike Rios, the houses here were two storeys high at most. The only exception Hans could see was the ministry's office he'd just left and a large citadel that stood out like a grey and white island in a sea of orange-tiled roofs.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  That must be the militia garrison.

  Even though there had been no hostilities between Gerios and the Dust Empire since the Twenty-Year War, the kingdom still maintained an armed presence here that patrolled the city and the Galebreak Wall.

  In the cellar beneath him, Hans could faintly hear Cecille speaking with an agitated voice. Whatever Ventus had been doing the past few days, it wasn't to her liking.

  The sound of a door opening came from the hallway and was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps.

  “Are you back, Cecille?” came a voice with an eastern Rion accent.

  A rough-looking man appeared in the doorway of the living room and halted the moment he spotted Hans.

  “Who the blaze are you?” he demanded with clear hostility.

  “Cecille is downstairs,” Hans said, ignoring the man's aggressive demeanour. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You can start by telling me who you are.”

  “My name is Hans,” he replied with a polite smile. Who might this be, then?

  “Why are you here?”

  “That depends on who you are,” Hans said, folding his arms across his chest. He'd seen this kind of belligerence before. The best thing to do with men like this was to avoid antagonizing them. However, Hans did not want to give any ground either.

  The man narrowed his eyes at him and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  Hans coolly met his gaze. It was very likely that this man was Rocam, the third member of the Tasselhane outfit whom Cecille had described as a thuggish man.

  If it is him, he's living up to his description. No wonder he's part of the rejects.

  Apparently unwilling to share his name, the man left the doorway and yelled down the stairs. “Cecille, who is this guy?”

  Hans couldn't make out Cecille's response, but the man came back inside and sat down at the opposite end of the table without saying a word.

  “You are Rocam, I take it,” Hans said.

  “You already heard about me,” Rocam said. “What else did you hear about our little outfit?”

  “That depends on who I was speaking to at the time,” Hans said. “But most of it was negative.”

  “The misfit, right?” Rocam said. He didn't seem upset about the name, merely stating it as a fact.

  “Right,” Hans answered. If Rocam knew the nickname the rest of the Whisper had given his outfit, there would be no point in lying.

  Cecille returned from the cellar and entered the living room. “Stop badgering him. He's here to help us. Everything is far more complicated than we thought.”

  She certainly seems different now, Hans thought as Cecille sat down at the table. This is the same nervous and uncertain woman from two nights ago? It's like the blueshift changed her entire personality.

  “I got that part,” Rocam said. “Less than two weeks ago the Whisper didn't care about us at all, and now they are assigning people to us. Functional ones.” Rocam eyed Hans. “Speaking of which, what division did you belong to?”

  “He belongs to ?ther division,” Cecille said before Hans could answer.

  “?ther division? How is that of use to us? The only thing we have here that might count as a magic guild is that group of scamming charlatans down at the Fourth High Road. We're dealing with a hostile syndicate here, which is a whole other bag of cats.”

  Cecille seemed unsure how to respond so Hans spoke up. “I've spent most of my time with the Whisper as part of the Low-Order division.”

  “Sewer division, huh?” Rocam said with a smirk. “So you think you can just come here and crack this wide open?”

  “No. I don't know anyone here and the underworld operates on reputation and familiarity more than anything else. I don't think Tasselhane will be different from Rios in that regard, so I'm going to leave the introductions to you.”

  Rocam didn't respond immediately but then nodded slowly. “He'll be useful,” he said to Cecille.

  “It's great that I have your approval,” Cecille sneered. “Now, do you want to hear the rest or not?”

  “Shouldn't Ventus be here for that as well?” Hans carefully interjected.

  “He's busy refolding his clothes,” Cecille said.

  Of course he is, Hans thought, keeping his expression unchanged despite the absurdity of the statement.

  “And besides,” Cecille continued, “telling him everything would be pointless.”

  With that, Cecille started to explain the situation to Rocam with Hans adding the occasional point.

  As the conversation progressed, Hans noticed that despite his behaviour and appearance, Rocam was not a stupid man. He was quite clever even, asking the right questions and easily piercing through Cecille's sometimes convoluted explanations.

  I suppose that makes sense, Hans thought. If he was as dumb as a rock, he wouldn't have lasted here as long as he has. Ventus must have a similar redeeming quality despite his madness.

  Cecille ended her story and they sat in silence for a while. Rocam drummed his fingers on the table, lost in thought.

  “That's no good at all,” he said finally. The casual smile and carefree demeanour he'd shown at the start had vanished.

  “What are you talking about?” Cecille asked. “This is all top secret information. Only a handful of people know about the entire situation, yet you still want to know more?”

  “That's not what I meant,” Rocam said, his drumming fingers coming to a halt. “I meant that we could be dead within days.”

  Both Cecille and Hans stared at him.

  “Don't you get it? I already knew that there was something big going on, but if the Duster syndicate here is related to the annihilation of one of the kingdom's most powerful magic guilds, then how dangerous do you think it is for us?”

  “But we have Hans here now—” Cecille began.

  Rocam cut her off. “Yes, Hans, who is here to spy on us.”

  “I'm only here to assist you—you don't believe that?” Hans asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Rocam said, making a throwaway gesture. “You'll help us out, but I won't believe for a moment that the Whisper is leaving something this big in the hands of rejects like us without some kind of direct control.”

  Cecille now looked at Hans. “Is this true? You really aren't part of my outfit?”

  That's what you're worried about?

  “Of course it's true, woman,” Rocam sneered. “There are over ninety thousand people living in Tasselhane with only the three of us to cover them all. If the Whisper was serious about getting to the bottom of this, they would have sent several outfits. Not just one person who isn't even familiar with the city.”

  “You are right,” Hans said, “but the truth is that the Whisper doesn't have very many people to send. In fact, you are lucky I'm even here.”

  “Wait,” Cecille said. “So you don't deny it? You really are here to spy on us?”

  Hans sat in his chair like a statue. Should I tell them?

  After all, Rocam had guessed correctly. Two nights ago, after both Cecille and the Fifth Lance guard-captain had left, Kell had informed him that apart from assisting the Tasselhane outfit he was also to keep a close eye on them.

  It's better if I tell them. A firm denial will only make them more suspicious of me.

  “Considering the nature of your outfit, I was told to keep an eye on your performance, yes.”

  “See?” Rocam said, satisfied.

  Cecille's expression was one of shock and dashed hopes.

  “Did you expect anything less?” Hans asked her gently. “You know how much is hanging in the balance.”

  Cecille did not respond.

  “Forget about her,” Rocam said. “She's just seen another one of her dreams shattered. I'm more interested in what the Whisper is expecting us to do. I discovered some stuff about our targets the past few days, but there is little we can act upon.”

  Rocam acts more like an operator than Cecille does. What the blaze is up with this outfit?

  It was becoming increasingly clear that despite his blunt behaviour, Rocam was the most competent person in the outfit.

  Why was he assigned here? There has to be some reason that goes beyond him being an ass all the time.

  “What did you find out?” Hans asked.

  “About our Duster syndicate, close to nothing. All I know is that most of them holed themselves up in a building next to Echeb's trade-house with the rest staying at his mansion.” Rocam's face turned grim. “They're all real tight-lipped, too. Very disciplined, using voicespheres everywhere and not speaking to outsiders. Fortunately they aren't above wenching, so they let some stuff slip there.” Rocam briefly beamed a devious smile at Cecille, who blushed and then gave him a cold glare in return.

  These two don't get along very well.

  Rocam chuckled. “Anyway, what all of them are talking about is how they will soon be rich and famous.”

  “Could be common boasting,” Hans reasoned. “Especially when with whores.”

  “Yes,” Rocam agreed, “but their language is too specific in this case. They all refer to the near future, which is in line with what Cecille overheard.”

  Hans closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. None of this was news to him, but it caused him worry nonetheless. I wonder if the Royal Guard will really be able to steal a march on them. This syndicate seems well organized.

  “Something on your mind?” Rocam asked Hans.

  “There is only one blueshift portal in Tasselhane, right?”

  “Yes,” Rocam replied. “You're thinking they want to go to Rios?”

  “Maybe. I don't know,” Hans said. “They already have more than enough people in Rios, so I don't see what the added value would be.” Again he rubbed his forehead. “Is there anything in Tasselhane of particular value?”

  “Nothing that I can think of,” Rocam said. “The only thing it has is its wealth. If it wasn't for the Long Valley trade route, Tasselhane would be the same as any other mining town. Rich in resources, poor in everything else.”

  “Then I have no idea what they want,” Hans said. “Even if they are related to the events at the White Candle, I can't fathom what they are planning to do with the sanctum there when Rios is close to seven hundred kivors away.”

  “I already considered that,” Rocam said. “So I focused on Echeb instead, as he's the common link here. I did some digging on him and found some interesting things.”

  “You did?” Cecille asked, who had let the conversation slide past her so far. “Something that wasn't in our original report?”

  “That old report was from when he started his trade-house,” Rocam said. “He'd been living in Tasselhane for two years before that, and that period has so far been unknown to us.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at Hans. “Are you familiar with the underworld in Tasselhane?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Five years ago, there was a shadow war involving the four major syndicates in Tasselhane.” Rocam stretched out four fingers. “The Black Rose and the Nameless syndicate joined forces against the two Duster syndicates, who had formed an alliance as well. After a couple of moons, the Geriossa syndicates were victorious, and we kicked the Dusters out of Tasselhane. They have been exiled from the city ever since.”

  “There are only two syndicates here?” Hans asked with a raised eyebrow. “And that works?”

  “Why shouldn't it?”

  “In my experience, when you only have two sides, eventually one of them will decide they can get rid of the other one. I've seen it happen with gangs several times. That's why there have always been at least three major syndicates in Rios.”

  “After the Dusters were removed, the victors divided the spoils along strict lines. So the areas they operate in have very little overlap.”

  “As long as their current leaders stay in power, that will work, yes,” Hans said, before noting Rocam's tightened lips and piercing glare. “But please continue.”

  Rocam glowered at Hans a moment longer before continuing. “When the Dusters were thrown out, a lot of Duster merchants who had close ties with them suffered heavy losses. Some even became destitute.”

  “But not Echeb, I take it?” Hans said.

  “No, but here's the interesting part. The reason Echeb wasn't really affected by this was because unlike the other Duster merchants, he never had any ties with the syndicates to begin with. After they were evicted, however, he filled the gap they left behind. He even started his trade-house with a loan from the Black Rose.”

  “So you're saying it's strange that someone who was never close to other Dusters is now suddenly very close to them?”

  “It's not just that,” Rocam said. “As I heard it, the reason that Echeb didn't have any dealings with the Duster syndicates is not because he chose not to, but because they didn't want to have anything to do with him. He was 'katjia', which means 'tarnished' or 'unclean one'.”

  “I take it that means he did something bad?” Hans asked.

  “Yes, but not beyond redemption. They call those who are damned forever 'nicatjia', which translates as 'deeply burned' or 'charred one'.”

  He knows a lot about this, Hans thought, taking note of Rocam's tanned skin. Is he perhaps a Duster himself? Or one of his parents? “What did he do to earn that mark?”

  “Everyone who might know that is long gone from here,” Rocam said with a shrug. “However, considering that Echeb came all the way here from the Hischi homelands, it must have been something he wanted to get as far away from as possible.”

  “Yet the syndicates found out he was 'katjia'.”

  “They are marked as such by a spell, and there is no way to hide that from someone who knows what to look for. I'm guessing every new Duster arrival was checked for it, and as the Hischi clan wasn't in power back then, Echeb was nothing more than trash to the syndicates.”

  “So where is the interesting part?” Cecille asked with a snippy tone. “How does any of this relate to the current situation?”

  Rocam sighed and rolled his eyes at her. “I learned that the only way to get rid of the mark is to risk your life in service of your clan, with the emphasis on the part about risking your life. Now considering what we know of Echeb, it's safe to say an opportunity to do that never presented itself in past years. Yet here we have a Duster syndicate with Hischi leaders that closely associates with him and even lives in his house.”

  “And?” Cecille said impatiently. “They weren't exactly being positive about him.”

  “I get it,” Hans said. “You're saying that Echeb's cooperation in their coming operation will free him from his mark. Otherwise they would never have bothered with him.”

  “It's refreshing to have someone here who understands immediately,” Rocam said, beaming a mischievous smile at Cecille.

  “That still doesn't make sense,” Cecille bit back. “You say you have to risk your life to stop being katjia. Smuggling strange objects and housing a group of Dusters isn't very dangerous.”

  Rocam pointed his finger at her. “Exactly,” he said, nodding once. “Where's the risk? There is none unless you assume that the operation they are planning is going to involve violence. Remember how all those guys at the soirée were wearing brigandines? Why would they need those unless they were expecting to be in a fight?”

  “Oh,” Cecille said as understanding dawned upon her.

  A shiver ran down Hans' spine and he shifted in his chair. He had been here for two hours at most and already the situation appeared more dangerous than it had ever been in Rios.

  No, that's not true. I had plenty of close calls in Rios as well. But still... that was different. Back in Rios he had an established web of acquaintances and friends, knowledge of the city and its organizations, and direct support from the Whisper. Here in Tasselhane he had none of that, and the realization made him far more aware of the danger that lay ahead.

  I can't entrust these people with my life.

  The thought left him aghast, yet he knew it was the truth. From what he'd seen, Cecille would crack the moment a situation took a turn for the worse, Rocam would save himself before anyone else, and Ventus obviously suffered from some kind of mental illness. None of them could be relied upon.

  “What did they order you to do here?” Rocam asked Cecille.

  “Not much,” Cecille said as she rubbed her temples. “Just keep an eye on Echeb and his guests. That and try to find out what their relation to the magistrate is.”

  “They don't want us to look into their planned operation?”

  “Not specifically, no,” Cecille said. “But what would you want us to do? As you said yourself, there are only four of us. I'm not going to risk this entire outfit looking into a group that is preparing itself for combat.”

  Hans nodded in agreement. “I feel it's better to play it safe. There isn't enough time left to properly prepare in any case.”

  “You are okay with them going ahead with their operation?” Rocam asked with a dark look in his eyes.

  Cecille looked annoyed. “Why not? Why should we risk our lives for something like that? Besides, if they are planning to get violent, their target is probably the Black Rose or the Nameless syndicate. Maybe even both.”

  Again Hans nodded. “That's probably correct; it might even explain the magistrate's involvement. Maybe he made some kind of deal with them to get rid of the existing syndicates here.”

  Rocam slammed his hand on the table, causing both Hans and Cecille to jump in their seats. “That won't do!” he thundered, his eyes shooting fire.

  Why the blaze is he so angry? Hans thought with wide open eyes. Rocam's earlier relaxed posture had been replaced with one that suggested he was about to get violent. Hans pushed his chair back so he would have room to move.

  “We're not going to let those Duster bastards back into the city,” Rocam snapped. Then he stopped and looked from Cecille, who sat frozen, to Hans and back again.

  Rocam relaxed his posture again with a loud sigh. “I'm sorry. It's just that I haven't told you everything yet.”

  Hans felt his discomfort deepen. This person is definitely dangerous. No wonder he was sent here. How did Cecille manage to work with him all this time? He retained a composed expression, however. “What else is there, then?”

  “We aren't the only ones interested in Echeb's new companions. Both the Black Rose and the Nameless syndicate took note of their arrival as well. Like us, they've been keeping a close watch on them, and both have been gearing up for a potential armed conflict.” He looked at Cecille. “If it comes to blows, it will be a repeat of the last shadow war, Cecille. Can you really stand aside and allow that to happen?”

  Cecille interlocked her fingers and stared down at them. She did not speak.

  “What... what happened the last time?” Hans asked. Cecille's sudden meekness made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Two ?ther blowouts,” Cecille answered, her voice barely audible. “Two blowouts that caused forty-eight civilian deaths.”

  I heard about that, Hans thought, sifting through his memory. They never said anything about a shadow war being the cause, though.

  “Why didn't the garrison prevent this from happening?”

  “They tried,” Cecille replied, “but the Duster syndicates were losing. They became so desperate that they abandoned all caution. There was little the garrison could do.”

  “Tell Hans how those citizens died,” Rocam said, retaining his dark stare.

  Cecille did not answer, simply shaking her head.

  Rocam turned back to Hans. “Some of them were still alive after the blowout hit them, and they had to be put out of their misery. Do you want me to describe their appearance to you? Have you ever seen a demon?”

  “There is no need,” Hans said. “I'm aware of the effects of a blowout.”

  Rocam scoffed. “You aren't aware until you've seen it. Or perhaps I should say experienced. The aftermath of a blowout is an assault on every sense you have. Even with an aura protecting you.”

  “I remember that they looked unhappy,” said a voice from the door. They all turned to see Ventus standing there. He was now wearing his clothes in a suitable manner, making him appear normal, yet he still carried his doll with him.

  “Unhappy is one way of describing it,” Rocam said. “Sit down, Ventus; we need to decide on something.”

  “Really? What?” Ventus said, his cheerful voice in sharp contrast with everyone's mood.

  “We need to decide if we are going to let it happen again.”

  “Damn you, Rocam,” Cecille said, still staring at her hands. “That's not fair.”

  Rocam just rolled his eyes at her.

  He's right, Hans thought. We can't risk ?ther blowouts. In Rios such a thing would never happen, yet this is not Rios. They don't have a Royal Guard here, or any powerful magic guilds.

  Hans carefully studied the dark man in front of him. Is he just playing us? Or is he genuinely worried? He had difficulty reading Rocam's sincerity, which he found unsettling. Understanding someone's true intentions through conversation alone was something he prided himself on.

  “What do you suggest then?” Hans asked Rocam. “If they start fighting, there is nothing we can do. Regardless of whether or not ?ther blowouts occur.”

  “Which is why we need to expose the Dusters completely before that happens. If their entire plan is laid bare, they will have no choice but to withdraw.”

  I'm not so certain about that, but what other choice do we have? Hans thought. “I take it you have some kind of plan for making this happen given our limited time?”

  “I do,” Rocam said, his grin returning. “Although it's going to be a bit more excessive than our regular operations.”

  “I like operations,” Ventus said as he petted his doll.