NaNoWriMo Posty Post Post

New post! It's all kinds of fucked up because Microsoft Word Starter is intractable. Sorry.


“What do you mean, no transits to Port Nanfula?” Devon demanded. “I have family over there!”
“I’m very sorry, sir, but we have removed all our Nanfulan topaz,” the clerk, an annoying girl, repeated. “Even if I wanted to break the ban for you, I couldn’t. The topazes are all in lockup at our Guildhouse.”
Devon swore floridly, making the girl’s eyes go wide, and stalked out of the tower. He continued to swear as the fog surprised him yet again. What kindo f city just let fog sit there for weeks? Port Nanfula’s priests would have banished this mess as soon as it sprang up! He yanked strength out of the earth carelessly, and fired up his map lore, directing it to the Kosmima guildhouse.
The familiar golden circle sprang to life under his feet, and he felt his blessing searching, finding the quickest route. He opened his tie to the ground as wide as he could, flushing himself with strength. His skin darkened and took on a sheen of vitality. His hair gained silver highlights, and his eyes brightened to the same intense blue as a Kosmima-lit sapphire.
The map lore caught, and Devon was running, heedless of potential obstacles. Within a moment he was airborne, and not even the thick fog could slow him. He had to get back to Port Nanfula, and even if he had to steal the damned topaz, he would. Sarah’s life might depend on it. Their parents might have virtually abandoned them, but Devon would never leave his sister.
He hit the roof and continued running top speed. His body was optimized, his balance perfect,
and the map lore provided the sense of timing he needed to fly over the tops of houses. He left behind
a golden trail of light, like a comet blazing through the air, visible through to fog even to those with no
blessing.
He made another jump, just as blind as all the rest, but midway through the arc he hit a patch of
clear air. Passersby under him stopped and stared. He heard shouts, but he was focused on the patch
of gold on the street he was going to hit. Roof-to-street jumps were tricky; even though his body was
still strengthened, every moment he hung in the air some of that extra durability leached away. His map
lore always plotted his trajectory so that he didn’t injure himself, but he still had to land properly, his
using his calves and thighs to absorb as much of the reflected force of his landing as he could.
He hit, crouched, and exploded forward, saving momentum and turning it into velocity. He
started emitting pulses of Petra power through the road with every step, hopefully sending people
scattering away from what would sound like a rampaging elephant. If they had elephants in Zydobe.
He saw the golden guide line shoot up, and leapt again. He got a flash of image – a window left
open – and curled himself tightly, leaving his hands free to catch something.
He hit and lunged forward. His hands met stone, and he shaped it around them, giving him a
strong handhold. He swung out, then vaulted into the room, releasing the stone as he passed through
the opening. Inside, the fog was blessedly gone, and he could stop and rest. He wasn’t tired, not with
the strength of rock pounding through his sinews, but his heart was beating frantically and he was
pouring sweat. He could still draw up power from the stone floor, but it was diluted by passing through
narrow walls and pillars. He walked over beside the door, not wanting to draw attention to himself as
his body wound down a little. His map lore wanted him to go through the hallway, which was odd. He’d
never had to go through a building before. Unless he was in the guildhouse now?
He realized he could hear voices, and leaned against the wall, listening and hoping for a clue of
his location.
“How are they flying, Diane?” A man’s voice.
“It’s a mixed Coalescence!” A woman. “they found fire and frost spirits, powerful but cheap. He
didn’t tell me what the price was, but he implied they could easily amass a huge store of it.”
“But how does it work?” A new woman.
“The frost spirit manipulates the weight of the ship, making it lighter than air. The fire spirit lifts,
and the frost concentrates weight in the direction they want. It’s basically a falling ship, not a flying
one.” The first woman wounded giddy. With excitement, perhaps? Devon wasn’t sure.
“can we neutralize the spirits without killing anyone?” A new woman, her deep voice
authoritative. “That Storm-blasted detective has been hounding me all day, and Alexander is working
with her. He has every reason to want me in jail, so we have to be very careful.”
Devon heard a man mutter “That’s what you get, stealing someone’s boyfriend,” and snorted
Appreciatively, then paled. This was beginning to sound like a very dangerous group of people. He
Released his map lore, and crept toward the window.
He heard a sharp voice, the authoritative man-stealer, but couldn’t understand the words. He
heard footsteps in the hall, and pulled a massive blast of strength, leaping for the window, but
he hit a sparkling field of light and fell to the ground, darkness closing in on his vision. He saw a
blonde woman standing over him, her fingers wreathed in gemfire, before passing out.

More! More!

3k words of Devon. You're welcome.

Devon woke slowly. He’d gotten into the habit of talking himself into getting up every morning, and he had already started his daily litany of encouragement when he realized he wasn’ tin a hammock, there was no salt-laden breeze, and he had blankets and pillows. Most of all, he was alone. That realization was followed by a wave of sheer, profound relief, and Devon melted into his glorious mattress.

For several minutes, he relished the ability to just lie there, no one shouting, no sails creaking. He eventually decided that he really should get up, so he swung his legs out and stood up. He had stripped out fo the clothes Abram had given him, but looking at those and the clothes ehe’d bought with him gave him the shudders. He forced himself to slide into the stinky, stained outfit that belonged to him, and rolled the others into a small, unoffensive ball and stepped out of the room.

The inn was set up with all the rooms on the second floor, with a common room, bathing room, and landry on the first. Devon walked down the back staircase, which led directly to the bathing room. He gave the attendant there a copper coin, collect3d a towel, and went into one of the private rooms.

He stripped out of the clothes again and sank gratefully into the bath. It was the first time he’d gotten to clean himself in over two weeks, and he intended to take full advantage. The hot water here was supplied by mother of pearl strips laid around the rim of the ceramic tub, which was sunken into the ground. There were two small levers on the edge of the tub. One would open the drain at the bottom of the pool, and the other would open a spout in the side that would let more water in, to be heated by the mother-of-pearl that a gemsmith had inlaid.

For quite a while, Devon simply soaked, enjoying the feeling of being truly warm. While his body relaxed, he began to set his map lore. Since he wasn’t going to be in Zydobe long, he didn’t want to completely learn the town, but he needed to find a clothing shop, and a ship to take him back north.

He let his map loer go, and felt it stretch out. It would let him know when it had located the clothing stores, and it possibly might find a ship. Map lore was a tricky thing: buildings and vessels developed a sense of what they were after a time. The map lore could read that and find the best way for Devon to find it. A ship that had only been to Port Nanfula and Zydobe would light up to his blessing, but one that had been to several different ports might as well not exist.

Once he’d finished with that, he pulled the drain lever. When the tub had emptied, he pushed it back and opened the refill faucet. The water came out warm, and heated as it filled the tube. The strips around the tub glowed as they drew in heat from the air around them. Devon was impressed; such installations were costly and required a lot of skill, since they had to be active at the right times without a blessing directing them.

He started srubbing in earnest, using the soap and brush left by the tub for his use. He’d finished and was ducking his head to rinse his hair, finally rid of the awful buildup of grease, when his map lore lit up the air around him. He got out of the tub, dried off briskly, and suffered into the filty pants and shirt. The shoes, at least, were still in fairly good shape.

He left the inn, dropping the sailors’ clothes into the bin marked “Donate”, required by the priests of Panida, who was the patron godri of the poor, in every laundry facility.

He stepped into the street, very grateful for the bizarre fog that still cocooned the city for hiding hisappearance. He hated looking less than his best. The map lore lita path to a clothing store like a golden thread hanging in the air, one end plunged into his chest, the other connected to his destination. He followed the cord, careful to move slowly and to stick to the edge of the street. He didn’t want to have a collision.

Every once in awhile, as he walked, the fog would end and there would be a bubble of open, clean air. Usually, these followed people walking by, presumably using a Ventus blessing. Occasionally, though, he passed through large bubbles with no one at their center. His lore led him up the city, through the docks district and into the wealthier mercantile levels. The higher he climbed, the closer he stuck to the fog, not wanting to be mistaken for a homeless person in his appalling clothes.

One of the longer bubbles he encountered had a phalanx of terrifying mercenary types clustered near an alley. A blond woman who had Fytevo energy sparkling aroundher in pink and green bursts was interrogating a blond man, while her fellow fighters stared at anyone passing by. Devon could tell that all of them who had Terros blessings were formidable fighters, fully attuned to the eath and ready to rip someone limb from limb. He moved as quickly as he could to the other side of the clear space.

His golden cord wsa thickening, a sign that he was drawing closer to the goal. It juked up,a warning that steps were imminent. Devon slowed further, having learned his lesson from the first time he’d misjudged where the steps had begun and fallen on his face.

At the top of the step,s the cord stretched out and ended in a golden sunburst. He strode confidently toward the end of the line, and walked into a clear air bubble just in time to crash into someone.

They would have fallen, but he drew hard on the earth and gripped the man he’d crashed into, a handsome fellow with short black hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Once he was sure of his balance, he released the other man.

“Sorry. This fog makes getting around difficult,” Devon apologized. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” the man said, looking disdainfully at Devon’s disheveled appearance. “Take care.” And with that, he was gone, though the fog didn’t retreat from him. Devon shrugged and continued into the clothing store.

It was an upscale establishment, with a rainbow of colors and fabrics all around. Devon definitely stood out, and quickly attracted the attention of a clerk, who came over with a very forced simle. Devon forestalled her her sure-to-be-painful greeting with an upraised hand and a winning smile, though he didn’t exert any kind of Panida aura.

“I know, I look awful. I need your help to fix this mess,” he said, gesturing at himself and looking sheepish. The clerk’s smile became much more genuine, and she led him into the store.

As she handed him shirts and pants to try on, he asked her questions about Zydobe.

“So why isn’t this fog disappearing? Shouldn’t it have burned off by now?” he asked, standing behind a screen and trying on a pair of pants the clerk swore were all the rage right now. “Isn’t it summer?”

“Where were you last week?” the clerk asked, handing him an undershirt. “There was nearly a huge crash in the harbor! It took hundreds of people putting up Tranquilus shields to keep the ship from smashing the docks to pieces. They made a…” she paused to search for the right word. “…an imbalance in the weather. The fog’s been here for days,a nd the priests say it’ll last until a natural storm comes through and redresses the problem.”

Devon pulled on the dark pink shirt he’d chosen. “I don’t understand. How fast was the ship going? I don’t see how a sailing ship could be that dangerous.”

“You really weren’t here, were you? It was an airship, not a sailing ship. Second crash since they started their tests,” she said. “Does everything fit?”

Devon stepped out from behind the privacy screen. “Seems to. Though should these pants be so tight?”

“That’s the way they’re supposed to fit,” she assured him. “So where are you from? You can’t be from Zydobe, everyone knows about the airship crashes!”

“Port Nanfula,” Devon replied. “My ship got in last night.”

“Port Nanfula? Is it true the city’s under attack? Are there really mercenaries killing and raping any girls they find? I have a cousin that lives there and I haven’t heard from her in months!”

“Nothing like that was happening when I left,” Devon said. “I can’t imagine that anyone has attacked, though. Where did you hear that?”

“It’s all anyone is talking about!” she told him. “Ships aren’t sailing from there anymore, and the transit stations refuse to send you there. They even blocked transits from Port Nanfula!”

Devon’s jaw dropped.

“That’ll be two silver kings,” she continued. “Would you like hangers for the other clothes you bought?”

Devon paid, using about half the money he had left, and walked out of the store with several days worth of clothing, and a completely new set of worries. HE stepped into the fog and swore. He needed to sit for a moment, and he was going to have to use his map lore just to find a bench. Muttering imprecations, he did just that, and an aura of golden light sprang up to his left. He stomped over to the light, though he couldn’t see the bench even when he was a few feet away.

Once he’d gotten seated, he closed his eyes and got ready to send his map lore out searching again. He was extremely grateful that his was so strong, and he’d gotten so much practice with it lately; being in a strange city was disorienting enough. HE needed to find the Temple of Terros. His map lore flexed and shot out, finding the Temple instantly. He got up, made sure he had a good grasp on his baggage, and set off toward the Temple. The cord led him down levels, and he found himself moving west across the city as well. HE tried focusing on his Panida as he walked, hoping it would give him a clue as to when he was about to run into someone. He couldn’t tell if it was working, though he knew he was doing something.

Petra and Kosmima depended on power inherent in stone and rock. Fytevo worked by combining power from plants and his own personal energy, and PAnida was alla bout drawing power from himself. Usually, Devon felt like his blood as filled with slivers of scarlet light that he could slowly tease out. He did that now, sending tendrils and darts out into the fog as he walked. Once, he hit a body with one of the flickers, lighting it up with a faint scarlet aura and gettinga burst of emotional information – irritation, impatience, and a hint of fear. The person was headed in the opposite direction, and he quickly lost track of her, but he did take a moment to grin giddily at his success.

HE continued making his way through the desne fog. HE didn’t encounter anyone else, so he sassumed this was not a well traveled district. The golden cord grew steadily thicker, and soon he found himself opening the door to the Temple of Terros. He gratefully sat on one of the many pews lining the walls, taking a few moments to enjoy being able to see more than an inch in front of his face.

The room was massive and eight-sided. At the cardinal directions, shrines to the four aspects of Terros had been carved. The other walls held stone arches that housed staircases leading up into the higher levels of the Temple. Devon looked interestedly at the shrines, which were much more elaborate than the poor church in Port Nanfula.

Petra in the north was a strong farm woman, wearing a simple dress, boots, and holding a spade in one hand. For all her lack of accoutrement, she was still stunning, with wide eyes and elevated cheekbones. Across the hall in the south, one wall over form where Devon sat, Kosmima stood, gemstones in his hands. He was a slight figure, wearing pince-nez, and well-fitted tunic and leggings. To the east was PAnida, notoriously difficult to represent. Panida was the Godri, both male and female, and ze was supposed to be aggressively attractive. This sculptor had captured that by suggesting, rather than depicting. Panida’s chest rounded slightly, and the statue’s hips had a subtle flare, but the Godri was muscular and stood in an assertive, masculine stance. Baby fawns and birds sat at zhir feet, and zhis expression was one of gentleness and love.

And to the west, the distant Godfen Fytevo stood, fenced in by plants. Fytevo was the patron Godfen of knowledge and science, and while xie would occasionally intervene for xis priests and acolytes, praying to xir was not very encouraged. Fytevo would much rather you use the tools you had to solve a problem. Xie had a stern and harsh face, suitable for the most unreachable of the pantheon.

Devon noticed a sign on the wall to the northeast. It was the symbol of Panida, a pair of wings framing a set of antlers, and it marked the House of Alms, where the Temple would provide lodgings for the needy. Typically, it was for the poor, but Devon was lost and homeless in this foggy city. He stood up and walked over to the stairway and began to ascend.

At the top of the stairs, a spacious room filled with tables and benches waited. A monk walked up to Devon, smiling.

“Greetings, my son. How many we of the House of Alms help you?” The monk was an elderly man, with a neat salt and pepper beard and deep set brown eyes in a wrinkled face.

“I need information, mostly,” Devon said. “Is all travel to Port Nanfula currently cut off?”

“Indeed. The Guild of Kosmima has removed all Nanfulan topaz from their transit stations for fear the fighting will spill over to our cities. Ships might travel there for a price, but I fear that price would be much too high for anyone one persont o pay. Are you trapped in Zydobe?”

“You are astute, sir,” Devon said. “Could I have lodgings, at least for a few days? I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

“Of course, my son. Shelter is always available to those in need. If I may be so bold, however, I would point out the charity box. You appear to be a man of means. We do not require a donation, we only ask you consider it.”

“That’s certainly fair,s ir. Should I put my things somewhere in particular?”

The monk led Devon into a tiny cell, with a bed, a chest, and a window. Devon thanked him and began carefully arranging his new clothes in the chest. While he worked, the monk departed and he tried to think Sarah could take care of herself, and as an innkeeper she would have a commodity an invading force would need. He didn’t know exactly what was going on in Port Nanfula, but he couldn’t do anything from here. He had to find a way back, and the best way would be a Kosmima transit.

When he had the clothes chest filled, he walked back into the larger common room and approached the monk again.

“Sir, could you tell me what you know of the situation in Port Nanfula?” he asked. “I left family there, and I haven’t heard anything reliable. What do you know?”

The monk rubbed his lips with his thumb, thinking. “We have received little word from our brothers in Port Nanfula. Two and a half weeks ago, a fleet of mercenary ships attacked the Nanfulan harbor. The Nanfulans were caught completely by surprise and could not fight them off. The last message I heard that I would trust was that the President has been killed and the harbor chancellor has taken over in his absence.”

Devon felt the blood rush from his face. “The President is dead? And Aron Mark has taken over?”

“As I said, that was my last message. Did you know the President?”

Devon sat down abruptly, rudely ignoring the monk. ARon Mark had sent a message – except it had never been delivered. The navy had been caught off guard because…because…

“Eye and Needle,” he swore, forgetting he was in a temple. The House of Acuity had the funds for a mercenary fleet. Mark had the motive, and Judge Hanover was well-known as having an interest in the maneuvers of the Nanfulan fleet. The messages had been the first steps in a coup.

Except, wait. IF the messages hadn’t been sent, wouldn’t they have aborted? Not receiving a message would be a terrible signal for an attack.

He’d been outside the Lord Marshal’s office when he was assaulted. Wheels spun in his head as he followed the logic. If Hanover had been warning the Marshal of the impending attack, while Mark and the House were finalizing their plans, it made sense that Devon’s attacker hadn’t been merely a thief, but had had the intent of getting Devon out of the picture. It really had been a terrible robbery anyway. That wind must have een intended to steal his messenger bag.

Would they have gone after Sarah? He’d told her about the messages, and she’d even been suspicious, her old life as a political informant giving her the perspective to see the connections. If he’d been followed that early, they might have tried to silence her. He had to get to Port Nanfula, somehow.

He stood up, absently thanked the monk, and ran off, already priming his map lore to search out the nearest major Kosmima transit station.

More NaNoWriMo!

Here's the end of the last Alexander scene I posted. I've got plenty more but my fingers hurt. ; ;

He’d drilled Alexander mercilessly until he could easily close a cut Lenn had opened on his own wrist with a knife. It had been an intense night.

Alexander didn’t think he could fix something as complicated as ruptured eardrums, but he felt an imbalance in Dawn shift abruptly back to equilibrium at the same time she sighed and announced “Eye and Needle, that’s better.” She retrieved her hand, adjusting the leather where Alexander had pushed it back for more skin contact. “Any second now–”

The shield she’d put up over the alley entrance was struck by a brilliant white light. Instead of exploding into shards like Alexander’s would have, it stretched out, containing the energy blast until it shrank and died away. She then released the shield and drew cold into her gloves, frosting the steel plates.

Alexander snapped out of his shock and sent a pulse of energy across the road. A mirror of himself and Dawn appeared, mimicking their actions exactly. The man – was he some sort of hitman? – charged out of the alley and tore into the illusion Alexander had put up. Dawn took advantage and streaked across the street, striking him in the back and throwing him to the ground. Alexander saw the fog rolling back in, drawn to all the Tranquilus power they’d burned, and drew some around himself, reinforcing the stealth with an illusion of more fog, though the two disguises were corrosive to each other.

Green flared around Dawn, and she hurled the hitman over her shoulder, before hitting him with a powerful wave of motion that sent him flying directly onto the frost rune she’d inscribed on the wall.

Chilly, steel-gray arms slid out of the brick and gripped the man. His flesh flushed red with cold where the frost-flesh touched him. Alexander felt all his hair stand on end, a reaction to the Coalescence Dawn had just invoked.

She stroked over to the man and slammed her fist into the brick beside his head. Electricity crackled around her and the fog rushed back again. Alexander wondered what effect all this power would have on the fog bank long-term; they were making no effort to balance their forces and could only be making the root problem worse.

“Who are you?” Dawn snarled.

“Who wants to know?” the man spat back. His face was not pretty, with dark black tattoos covering most of it and scars running through those. His hair was black, but cut short, and his nose had been broken often.

Dawn gestured, and a third frost limb appeared from behind the man. It uncurled and placed its single, sharp talon directly above his calf. “Talk or I tell my Coalescence to exercise,” she responded, baring her teeth. Lightning crackled around her again, and Alexander felt the air lose tension, as if she was deliberately bleeding it off.

“Aron Stonespar,” the man growled, and Alexander was startled to hear the ring of truth in his voice.

“Who sent you to kill us?” Dawn asked, her voice amiable, though her eyes told a different story.

“Dunno. Some Kosmima bitch gave me a purse and a picture of the blond fella. Told me to ask some fairy bartender where he’d be. Nancy started getting all sniffly when I showed him the picture, though, so I had to track him down the hard way. You, I just wanted out of the way.”

Dawn glanced at Alexander, who nodded. Every word had been true. Why had a Kosmima woman told this hitman to get his location from a bartender?

“Describe the woman. How did you know she was in the Kosmima guild?” Dawn demanded.

“She rubydazzled me, that was my first clue,” he growled. “She was medium height, short blond hair, blue eyes. Real hardass chick.”

Alexander’s eyes widened in shock, and he stumbled backward. He recognized that description.

“where did she talk to you?” Dawn asked.

“Some inn over on the east side. Life Support.”

Roaring filled Alexander’s ears again, though he could still hear every word.

“She’s been hiring me from that bar for weeks. She’s knobbing the bartender there,” A lewd grin spread across his face. “Though I don’t think he’s appreciating it as much as he should, if you catch my drift.”

“So this bartender’s in league with the Kosmima woman?” Dawn asked.

“Guess so. We always do the deal right there in the common room.” He shrugged, and the frosty arms clenched tighter around him. “There’s always a group of them Kosmimas there. He waits on ‘em personally, doesn’t let his barmaid near.”

“No!” Alexander snarled, lashing out. A blast of frigid air frosted Stonespar’s hair and skin, and a barely visible ripple of force pressed him hard against the wall.

“Alexander, no!” Dawn shouted, one hand plunging into her pocket, the other extending toward Stonespar and the Coalescence.

Alexander felt something press against his force wave. It had to be Stonespar, so he pushed back even harder.

The frost limbs of the Coalescence abruptly dissolved into a whirlwind of white powder. Alexander’s push snapped, throwing him backward into the fog bank. He heard Dawn and Stonespar both scream, then there was an ominous silence, except for the peculiar swoosh of a Coalescence dissolving.

He got to his feet, the fog around him sharpening his sense of balance, and charged back toward the hollowed out section. He burst into clear air, but the dome was empty. He closed his eyes and let his hearing pour down the street, listening for Dawn, but no sounds reached his ears. Even through the dampening fog, he’d be able to hear something, surely.

He heard the sound of running footsteps from the alley, and withdrew his extended hearing. He opened his eyes in time to see Andrea leading a group of detectives out of the alley, each armed to the teeth. Andrea was holding an ebony staff, and every step she took was shocking loud and kicked up a huge cloud of dust. She had once again covered her fists with rose thorns, and her skin seemed to have transformed into bark.

“What’s going on, Cartwright?” Andrea demanded, keeping her eyes scanning about them, alert for any sign of danger. Te officers behind her fanned out, covering every possible angle of attack. “Someone sabotaged our doors so we can’t open the Kosmima ones, and all the others were barricaded. WE had to blast through to that alley. What’s the story out here?”

Alexander gulped, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. “Dawn and I were going to have a little match in the alley, so she could see what my style was. Two men attacked us; at first I thought they were friends of hers, helping out, but they started throwing lightning around. Dawn knocked one of them out and I captured the other, but he blasted through my shield with more lightning and we chased him down here. Dawn Coalesced a frost spirit to hold him and he gave us some information. Then something weird happened, and they both disappeared.” He closed his mouth, aware he was babbling.

Andrea growled. “She didn’t feed her damned spirit again, is what happened. She’s got a good rapport with a benevolent one, but it’s known to kidnap summoners. She’ll be back eventually, but that was damned careless. I need her right now. Did you get any good information before they got voided?”

Alexander bit his lip. “Well, he told us some stuff, but I can’t guarantee every word was true,” he said, knowing anyone with truth sensitivity could hear the lie.

“Most times we can’t, Cartwright,” Andrea said. “Spit it out!”

“He…he was hired by someone I suspect is Jenay Deen,” Alexander started. “There’s some kind of…a cabal, I guess,of Kosmima adepts. They’ve been hiring him for smaller operations for weeks.”

“Do they have a base or safe house?”

Alexander hesitated, and Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “Cartwright. You wanted this job. You swore to protect the citizens of Zydobe. You have a responsibility to report anything to me. Now tell me where the damned safe house is.”

“Life Support inn,” Alexander confessed, shoulders slumping. “Isaac is I league with them, according to this guy.”

Andrea nodded, then turned and issued orders to her followers. Pairs peeled off, going to surround Life Support and start a stakeout.

“Are you really putting everybody on this?” Alexander asked.

“They bottled up the entire Constabulary,” Andrea replied. “It’s top priority that we get these people contained. They’re dangerous to the public. And I have a hunch this is connected to the airships. Follow me.” She slid her ebony staff into a pair of canvas straps on her back, which wove themselves around the dark wood, and took off at a job down the street. Alexander followed, hoping they weren’t going to run very far. He had a suspicion Andrea could run up and down the levels of Zydobe all day, and would have fun doing it.

“Who stands to lose the most from the airships becoming successful?” Andrea asked, no sign of their exertion in her voice. Alexander, who was trying to push the fog away in front of them, grunted. Andrea laughed at him, and continued. “The Kosmima guild has a stranglehold on transportation. If the airships become viable, they’ll be able to move people at competitive prices and with the bonus of actually flying. They only take two people to operate, and I’m told they don’t require any specialized building materials.”

She took a turn, and Alexander realized they were headed for Jenay’s trinket shop. He found the breath to ask, “Are we going to stakeout Jenay? She’ll notice me, won’t she?”

“I’m counting on it,” Andrea replied, slowing her pace as they reached the cluster of trinket shops. “She’ll see you and not look for anyone else. Hang out conspicuously on that bench and make a note of any other Kosmima guildmembers she talks to. If you can keep the fog off this street that’d be even better.”

Alexander gratefully dropped onto the bench Andrea had indicated across the street from Jenay’s shop, and firmed up his concentration on the fog. What had been a ragged clear area expanded and cleaned into a dome. He tried to make the center of the clear space shift over, so it wasn’t obvious that he was doing it. When he felt comfortable with his work, he looked around to find that Andrea had vanished. He looked for her for a few moments, but gave up and started focusing on Jenay’s shop. Andrea was an extremely skilled Fytevo and could blend in to any vegetation with ease, no matter what the weather was. Alexander tried to find a comfortable position on the bench and extended his hearing into Jenay’s shop, wondering how long this would take.