timwburke

In the morning, the Earl and Calzjha were seen out the keep door by a maid. Calzjha smiled and nodded to the sharp-faced girl. She gave a sincere and warm smile; this puzzled the Earl so much that he turned to insure that he had just departed the correct keep.

Calzjha carefully resettled the basket so as not to wake Warren. The whistling was uninterrupted.

As they passed the corner constable, he nodded to Calzjha.

“A good day awaits you, constable,” the Foofaloof smiled.

At the end of the Square was the usual group of business folk knotted around the reading board. They turned and nodded in greeting.

The Foofaloof replied, “A good day awaits you, citizens.”

Pehzpersist was about to speak, but the citizens turned back to their reading.

He muttered to Calzjha, “You do not leave the keep. How do you know these people?”

Said she, “They are stern, but if you are cordial to one, that one tells others. You should practice.”

“Pleasantry thins the blood.”

“It does not.”

“It thins my blood.”

“You are jealous.”

“It just seems that way because my blood is thick.”

“There is a way you could gain more energy for pleasantry.”

“Ah,” said the Earl, “there is the deputy.”

The Earl took this opportunity to register with the scout assigned to watch the keep; that morning, across the square beside the tea vendor, stood the short deputy Tlezjoy.

The small, rope-muscled man wore a smile that was unusually malicious, even for that now-familiar crimeherd. This was despite a blackened left eye, swollen like a cranapple.

Walking across the square, the Earl noted that eye and especially the smile.

No risk of pleasantry here. This will be good, thick conversation.

The Earl bade Calzjha continue without him, and keep Warren’s basket.

He continued to the deputy and called. “Hail to you, deputy. Did your inspector do you ill?”

“That,” said the scout, “is not your concern.”

Fazgood sighed. “He just likes to decorate his subordinates? Does he do that often? ”

Tlezjoy flushed and his jaw clenched. “He did not ‘decorate’ me! The one who did…answers quite well for it.”

A low, mean chuckle.

The Earl bought a cup of tea and brought out his bottle of relish. He brought out from his pocket and unwrapped two ricecakes.

The deputy spat. “Do you live on that stuff?”

Fazgood paused, the question resounding oddly. “I suppose I do.”

He took the stopper in his teeth and tapped a thin gold streak upon a smooth, white cake.

“Deputy, I brought one for you.”

“I just ate.”

“You’d be surprised at how much easier it is now that you know the stuff.”

The Earl put the stopper back in, snorted, stuffed the entire cake in his mouth, chewed dryly, and swallowed. It all went down quite easily with a minimal gasp, like a well-oiled ember. When it arrived at his stomach, the heat flushed his veins like an old tziembroask.

Tlezjoy saw that gasp and sniffed. “If that is what the heathens eat in Adanikar, I am doubly happy to be Harmoniad.”

The Earl pulled the stopper out, tapped out relish onto the other cake and put the stopper back in.

“Adanikarese children eat this, actually,” said the Earl. “It makes their blood mean. What of your inspector’s rage yesterday? Did you lack something?”

Tlezjoy slapped the cake from the Earl’s hand. “I lack nothing.”

Fazgood almost punched the man for that slap.

“You lack symmetry,” interjected the Earl, pointing to his eye.

“You lack much more.”

His cackle reminded Fazgood of Birqmuirish tribesmen reminiscing about those had they outnumbered.

The Earl stooped and picked the cake from the ground. He felt sorrow for the loss of even that small dab of relish.

Said the Earl as he wrapped it again for later disposal. “Certainly not! My life is a continuing abundance of divine favor. But you would not know anyone’s favor, or so it seems.”

The laughter broadened. “You lack for luck; for time; for…all things. Go to your customary, aspirant.”

“I will report to the Inspector at thirteenth hour,” said Fazgood, wary.

“Expect to wait.”

Walking away from the deputy, that brute scout gave a derisive snort. The Earl returned the teacup, his mind frantic.

Reflected the Earl as he walked quickly, It’s bad when the cocky wait to brag.

“Lack?”

At the fountain near the Arterial, he had a sip of water, which still made his stomach pinch.

A teenaged human waited paces away, the one who had just walked to the rickshaws, that dark Rahsic girl? From days before at the customary.

The Earl vigorously rubbed his nose, and muttered an imprecation to the alumni of the College. He found a handkerchief, rubbed again, and muttered another imprecation. Forty paces away, without realizing, the girl quickly gave her own nose a scratch.

Fazgood turned and dodged his way through the pedestrians down the Arterial. He walked through the Plaza of the Superb, the Army headquarters being at the south side. He looked around and saw no plughats. His worry heightened.

He trotted as if making to catch up with Calzjha. At the end of the Plaza, he found a thick knot of blue-coated merchants around the sonnet vendor from the other day. He hunched while walking and removed his hat and coat. He crossed into the nearest building, bade “official apologies” to all the textile clerks within, and exited the backdoor. He walked briskly down the alley back to the Plaza, until the alley ended and allowed him back onto the Arterial. He slipped his blazer and hat back on and trotted along the side of the Plaza to the Army headquarters.

Puffing, he slipped through the door. At her post was the same sergeant.

Fazgood covered his now-ink-cleaned fingers and said. “Ah! Sergeant! Do you remember me? Is Captain Childteacher available?”

She eyed him with some disappointment, remembering his spectacle from the other day. “He is not in his office yet.”

“He is normally in his office by now, is he not?”

The sergeant conceded, “I am certain he will be here in a moment.”

“But he is punctual?”

“I am sure he will be here.”

“I will return. I thank you.”

He slipped back out the door, cursing, cursing, cursing. He needed a rickshaw and quickly. He walked quickly to the corner. Was he followed? He did not see anyone.

There were no rickshaws. There was a crowd standing around a board reading something. He stepped into that blue-coated crowd, made to look at the posted text and thought: [Warren!]

[My liege! We have almost arrived at customary! Where are you?]

[The Inspector has snatched the captain! That idiot deputy was taunting me with it! I was just at the headquarters, and Obdurate was not there.]

[But…the Inspector would not dare –]

[The Inspector knows Obdurate cannot report being interfered with, or else everything is lost. Mehzadapt is capable of anything.]

[What can we do?]

[Tell Calzjha what has happened. Tell her I am trying to flush a scout into leading me. Have her turn and travel to the Lambent Concourse outside the Exhus Gate.]

Fazgood noted that the crowd had thinned around him. He pulled his hat down and found a rickshaw. He rode out of the Plaza, then stepped out quickly just before Lanthornmount Square, his blazer and hat in hand, his sleeves pulled up and his widow’s peak mussed so that strands hung into this eyes and his bald spot showed. He affected a stiff kneed walk and followed a knot of aproned stoneworkers into the square.

The guildsmen scuffed and stomped to the building in the southeastern corner, which was unremarkable. They began to point and discuss the refurbishment of the masonry. Fazgood stood along the wall with his hands on his hips and made to listen and nod.

Some thirty paces away, beneath the smirking demons who had not noticed the gathering shadows of the General’s impending sneak attack, Tlezjoy stood and scratched. The Earl waited for the tail to report her having been eluded.

The masons gave Fazgood some odd, confused glances, but ignored his interests.

The girl may try to find me at the customary, or she may come back here. My behavior was surprising enough; she has to come back and report that I am being odd. Where the —

The Earl saw a shadow fly past not three steps away, and he looked to the wall, tried to shake a brick within it, nodded that yes that held very well, good work that. He counted to ten then glanced over to the deputy.

Just in time to see the deputy pull the girl close and cuff her ear.

Praise to all gods.

The Earl swept imaginary sweat from his brow in time to see the deputy giving angry, lengthy instructions to the girl. She scuttled dejectedly back to the Arterial.

That is the walk of one sent to the boss for a mistake.

Waiting a count of ten, the Earl took the moment to think:

[The scout is flushed. I am following her. The Inspector is preoccupied today, and I think it to be with the captain. He would not trust any of his scouts with the interrogation.]

[We are in a rickshaw about to come to the Concourse.]

[Step out there; I may pass you while following her.]

At the thought of “rickshaw”, it seemed Zhazh made to play another joke. The girl hailed such a transport and climbed inside.

Damn all scouts to all hells! I will never keep pace without a rickshaw!

But he could not risk her trying to duck out of the conveyance to shake a skulker, had she suspected, or even out of habit. Knees aching, the Earl trotted.

He noted that her driver was a lanky Rahsic, but he knew better than to count even that piece of good fortune. The way down the hill to the Modus Gate made his running easier, and made the dark Human close his stride to keep control of the vehicle.

[Warren, she is in a rickshaw. The driver is a tall Rahsic.]

[We are waiting at the Concourse, my liege!]

[Watch for him!]

The Earl found a rickshaw. As he rode, he projected his perceptions into Warren.

From the basket, he heard Calzjha’s voice, loud and booming to the weasel’s ears: “I am very sorry, rickshawman. My friend will be here in a moment. I will pay to wait!”

Warren kept his gaze fixed upon the bounding, bobbing pedestrians and carts, rickshaws and wagons.

[My liege, there!]

The Rahsic plodded into view. Within the cart, the girl sat sullen.

It was that way that they followed the girl that last ri to a house in Cliffside-Bastles. Fazgood arrived not two hundred heartbeats behind.

 

*         *         *

 

Inside the dark bathhouse, the Inspector shook the girl at the door. “Ah! Did you? Did you lose him? If it isn’t scorn all of you give me, it is incompetence! Deputy!”

Just up the outside stairs, on the path before the bathhouse stood the hulking adact Varalam.

Mehzadapt said, under his breath, “I have been already too long away from headquarters. Hyek-kukuk will join you, and the two of you will track down the fellow that this one missed. Cornpudding will see our willful guest home. Come along, fool!”

None saw the small rustling not even a pace from their feet.

The Inspector swept along the grass-lined path, the skulk following in a grim procession.

Behind the Adactoid, the door creaked.

A feathery Exult head poked from the dark and took a deep breath. “I demand air! Cornpudding’s reek is smothering me. Has he gone?”

“The Inspector’s fury leads to more devastation back at headquarters.”

The Exult shook his hackles. “The magnate election has got him in a twist. And Bookwright and Tlezjoy going all angry. I tell you; all of this ills.”

Varalam nodded beyond the open door. “Did he spout information, or merely water?”

“I put him under enough to prune his skin, but he would not accept obligation.”

“Some are like rock and all drain over them.”

“He’s protecting a sweetheart. Older men would cut their losses. Old men would just die. If I had more time to crack him, I would. Still he’s to go with Cornpudding.”

The Adactoid’s expression darkened.

The Exult’s laughter became a light panting. “It’s better for you to ask ‘what shall I read for lunch?’ than to guess where Cornpudding takes his charges. Lunch matters. Ha!”

Popping a plughat upon his crest, the Exult hopped down the brickwalk. “Cornpudding is a deputy meant for herd-work in a windy field. Ha!”

Varalam stepped close behind. “Note your speech: you are more Adactoid than I today.”

“Perhaps we can get you to laugh like a Exult, Varalam. Without making the fledglings shriek with fear that is.”

The scarred deputy said nothing as the cackling echoed up the street.

Behind them, Fazgood stepped from behind the neighboring house. Calzjha walked from the one farther beyond. They slipped up the walk and joined Warren at the bath-house door.

[There is something rancid within, my liege. The deputies say the smell comes from one deputy.]

Fazgood tried the door and found it unlocked. He opened the door wide with a casual attitude.

The Earl’s shadow fell across a dark room. Laying on his back along a board tilted back was Obdurate. A stream of water fell from a cracked showerhead onto Obdurate’s cloth-covered face. Over the captain stood a round man. In his hands was his black plughat. His dark-haired, greasy head was tilted back, and his jaw hung open. The deputy made vague, gargling sounds.

The two entered, eyes watering at the stench.

Calzjha asked, “What is wrong with him?”

Fazgood said, “Tried to eat his soap, I imagine. See to the captain.”

They looked to Obdurate. He was tied to the board and drenched with water. A filled bucket was at the end of the board above his head. The Earl grew grim.

He turned to the deputy and seized the man’s shoulders. The Earl head-butted the man square in his upturned chin. The deputy cried out and fell back into the shadows. The gargling grew harsher.

Fazgood said, “If you will excuse us, we will take our friend and –”

Calzjha broke the brick foundation securing the ropes with two quick elbows.

“—be on our way.”

The gargling smothered into a low moan.

Warren popped into his head, [My Earl, I believe I recognize what is in the room with you.]

“Calzjha, there is a ‘what’ in here with us.”

Calzjha was already pulling the captain outside. The Earl skipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Weight thundered the wood.

A thick green ooze squeezed under the door. The wood smoked and sizzled.

The three limped away from the back of the house and into the quiet residential street. They looked back at the quiet bathhouse.

At the end of the path, Warren loped from the weeds.

[I saw people at their windows, my liege. We must hurry!]

Obdurate cried, “What was that? What in the idiom of the Concord was that?”

Said the Earl. “Be quiet.”

“What – what…?”

Calzjha soothed. “You must bear up. We are in public. Let me help you.”

“Those – those wretches tried drown to me!”

“Calzjha, seize him.”

She stepped close to the soldier and restrained his arm. Fazgood did the same to his left arm.

Fazgood whispered, “Hold your tongue. We are still not safe!”

“We cannot allow that thing to be on the loose”

“Yes, we can, because at this moment we are not in the occupation of ‘thing-killing’.”

“If the neighbors summon the police,” smiled Calzjha as if speaking idle chatter, “all is lost. Your bravery would have been for nothing. Just a little more strength. Think of Respiration.”

And Obdurate took a breath and gritted his teeth and kept quiet. Fazgood and Calzjha quickly sorted out the drenched uniform coat. The water merely darkened the maroon color, and fortunately was not noticeable.

Calzjha spoke loudly, as if in conversation, “What I admire the most about your love is her wit. Pehzpersist?”

“Yes. Yes. Her wit. And her resiliency. She is beautiful, as well. Is she not beautiful, Obdurate?”

Obdurate swallowed back a sob and nodded.

Warren’s head peeked from the basket and looked to Calzjha, [The Earl and I know of this sort of creature. All are safe from it now, except us.]

Fazgood muttered, “And to have us, it needs get in the queue.”

Beyond and away from the houses, the three walked as best they could to the bustling street corner.

*         *         *

 

At mid-day, the warehouse at the end of the quay lost all gloom. Instead, the sunlight reflected bright from the rainwashed brick. The building retained its simplicity, so that it gave one a chill as it reminded those viewing it of a bleached, square skull.

Cornpudding stood shadowed in the doorframe, eyes downcast.

From within the humid, rank warehouse, behind the deputy, spoke the Inspector:

“Your close friend is lacking discipline.”

Mehzadapt wanted to scream. Can no one do a proper task? No one? Three days from the vote, and my Magnateship or ruin lies with fools!

But he kept his voice low and consoling. Cornpudding was the last person in Harmonium that he could afford to lose.

The deputy scrubbed his swollen chin with the back of his hand. “When I am threatened, my close friend attacks. You – you know that.”

“So they gained advantage and the captain escaped.”

“He did.”

The Inspector said, “Do not worry for a moment. They know about your close friend, that is true, but we know about them. They cannot accuse you of anything, and there are many hours in the day. There will be busy hours, Cornpudding.”

“They could leave a slander with the police! Through a messenger! They would find me and kill me! There is no way I could withstand even a basic examination!”

“And who would lead the investigation into your behavior? I would.”

Cornpudding scrubbed again. This deputy’s confidence was most important of all, so Mehzadapt explained:

“The conspirators have to keep to their ruse. Because of that, everyone will just settle deeper into their shells, which makes them easier to retrieve, if we are patient.”

“Those two sleep in the keep. Trying to surprise both would be a problem.”

“Your friend gained on those two smugglers with no difficulty last year. Do you remember?”

Thin lips twisting, the deputy considered that.

“They are all more isolated. The captain sleeps alone,” the Inspector added.

“But within an army barracks! And he will never let himself be alone again. The captain will not go back to the canal. Inspector, how is it the captain appeared in the drain at the canal? He couldn’t have hidden.”

There is a secret entrance into the Greatsergeant Keep, you idiot.

“I am looking into that,” Mehzadapt said.

Mehzadapt had pored over the green pages of the book-plants from the brigade archives for Greatsergeant Keep and found a clue to such a portal. Notes of hasty construction led by a journeyman mason, followed by the remark “all accomplished within a fortnight, no details notable until builders can be found” (as the scout had written scores of years before Mehzadapt had been born).

If the entrance was not important, it would have been made known, or walled up.

That wretch Fazgood has been playing duncebird with me. He is shrewder than I had thought.

How will he avoid our next meeting? It would be slow death for him to appear; even slower suicide for him to delay. But he still must go to customary if he is to keep up his ruse.

The Earl has saved his captain, the money is free, and all may flee at an instant. But if Fazgood flees, he will be powder in a month from the obligation.

Not an hour ago, the Inspector had suspended all smuggling in the city. Let the other Inspectors contest it or argue for the embargo’s ending; he will gain at least an evening’s security, as smugglers would rather idle and play cards for the next few days rather than risk offending a future magnate.

The Inspector’s foot scuffed the ablewood floor.

“Cornpudding, go to the canal and watch. I will have someone relieve you in the evening. Have Tlezjoy approach.”

He watched the deputy trudge away to the knot of deputies on the quay.

Fazgood is cornered, but it will take too long to go get a good grip on him. The captain would rather die than be subverted. Now I set aside the protocol and do what I should have done; address the goodwife directly.

Tlezjoy walked from the group, stiff backed, neck cords straining, flushed with anger.

How does he imagine he is justified?

“Deputy,” the Inspector started low. “Can you avoid being arrogant and stupid for an hour? Can you manage that?”

The deputy’s face purpled. “I told you I don’t know how he found out! That skulk led him to the captain!”

“To whom are you speaking these loud, harsh words, you brutal little bungler?”

Tlezjoy tightened but said nothing.

“No, I imagine you let something slip,” continued the Inspector, louder. “I imagine that a wicked little childbeater like you might just blurt something. How is it that everyone in your life develops welts, deputy?”

The knot of deputies stopped whispering and took notice.

“Your parents, your siblings, your lovers. All of them filed charges upon you. How is it that man who cannot keep his hands open actually believes he deserves to be a deputy?”

The scouts at the Quay were now quiet with eyes averted. Longshoremen trudging beyond, started to trot to avoid the scene.

Anger spilled out of the Inspector. “Was I mistaken for placing trust in you, Tlezjoy? Should I have left you ready for your life paving the Royal Road, Tlezjoy?”

The additional insult of having his name hurled into the street with his crimes caused the man to tremble with humiliation.

Give respect to a disgraced man, and it will hurt tenfold when the respect is taken away.

“So I repeat my question: can you avoid being arrogant and stupid for an hour?”

The deputy’s face twisted. “Yes, Inspector.”

“Then do so one hour at a time. Get out of my sight and get to your post.”

Tlezjoy turned, chest heaving, and walked down the quay, eyes straight ahead. The knot of deputies watched him walk. They gave the Inspector bitter, sidewise glances.

Merhiazadapt looked back at them. They will not bungle this. Not with everything at risk. Not being so close to Magnateship. Not so close to being ruined.

 

*         *           *

 

They had explained to the headquarters staff and to the police that they found Obdurate in a canal, beaten by unknown persons. Obdurate had said that he had not seen his attackers. He was taken to the recovery ward of his barracks, where a physician rushed the young man to a bed to check for cranial concussion.

The Foofaloof, Pehzpersist and Brumpf rushed to the keep to convey the terrible development. Respiration held her resolve through the report of the attack to the shocked contemplators, through seeing those distraught guests away. As soon as the last was away, the goodwife begged off dinner with a headache, and retired, arms held close, the Earl surmised to keep her hands from shaking. The Foofaloof and Pehzpersist likewise retired, under the supportive gazes of the maids, which galled Fazgood.

In their room, Calzjha slumped onto the bed, her thumb pressing upon vitalizing points along her neck and chest. Warren struggled onto a bolt of combed cotton. The Earl remained standing, his eyes seeming to twinkle with anticipation.

“May I now know,” sighed Calzjha, “what was that thing that attacked us?”

“That,” the Earl whispered, “and my knowledgeable colleague agrees, that was –“

[It was a Dropsy of the Gods, Calzjha!]

“There you are, squire.”

[Like all creatures who are named and who know laws, the bacterium worship greater forms. A Dropsy of the Gods is an inconsequential sniffle to a god, but a ravenous parasitic assassin to mortals.]

Fazgood chuckled. “They are very wicked!”

“You are enthusiastic about this! About poor Obdurate being attacked!”

“Customaries and contemplations were wearing me down. Now that everything is in the open, I can complete the plan. ”

Calzjha peeped, “What of your plan?”

“The plan builds. Press your thumbs so very well, Foofaloof. I will say no more.”

Late that evening, Fazgood, Calzjha and Warren found Respiration sitting on her bed, hunched, feet on the floor, her dress removed to her slip. She sobbed without sound. When she noted their entrance, she let her head drop again. The Earl went to the window. With a finger, he pulled aside a drape and peered out, the glow of greennight making his drawn expression more haggard.

“Ah,” said the goodwife, low and bitter. “what is your plan now, nimblest man?”

Fazgood swallowed and drew a breath, then said firmly, “He has survived and he is safe.”

Ha and Calzjha explained the story, the first opportunity she had to hear it. They excerpted the green creature from the tale.

“He said…Obdurate said that he told them nothing. I believe him.”

“Was this in your plan?”

“Your lover knew there was danger. He would risk his life for you and he did.”

“That man was going to kill him.”

The three messengers looked to each other, again impressed and stung by her acumen.

“Yes,” said the Earl.

Respiration looked up at Fazgood, furious. “When are we to see our advantage in this plan of yours? After we are murdered or dead of exhaustion? Will our ashes at last be free? Or do we need more minute reduction?”

“By the captain’s own reckoning, this should be the last night of waiting.”

“Ah, you are going to abandon us. Your plan is failed and we are worse for it.”

“The plan is still in place. We will soon see its next step.”

“Leave. Just leave the city.”

Calzjha sat beside the desperate woman and held her hand. Warren slowly walked to the door and listened.

At the window, The Earl sighed as if about to bear a great burden, and said, “The next step begins. See now.”

They went to the window. Above the rippled rooftops, the yellow glow of Rezhalla was being blotted. A cloud rolled and swelled like coal dust in wine. Sparks of lightning flickered near its head. It rolled to meet the now-swelling Cumulid above the Citadel.

The goodwife deduced immediately.

“Enthus!” she cried. “All gods! He is here!”

Calzjha asked, “What is that?”

Fazgood looked around the room. “We have not much time. That is the Cumulid assigned to General Greatsergeant’s fleet. The servants may be here any second.”

“But isn’t that Cumulid supposed to be protecting the fleet from rogue storms?”

“Yes! Warren, have we gathered all of the cups?”

[What? Oh! They are still behind the secret door!]

“Stay sharp-witted, squire. You must go back to our room.”

Respiration whirled upon the Earl. “You knew? You knew he was coming!”

“How else would the General be hundreds of miles away from the coast unless he was over the ocean?”

“But,” Calzjha gaped. “to fly for thousands of miles on a Cumulid! How?”

“In its mouth or bundled in blankets upon its back! It makes no difference!”

“How do you know that is what he would do?”

“That is what I would do.”

“You would leave your fleet without any protection from hurricanes!”

Fazgood amended. “To save my hide!”

The goodwife nodded, numbed. “Yes. Indeed. It is what the wretch would do.”

Wind slammed the drapes open and whipped the candles into darkness.

Fazgood leapt across the room and seized Calzjha by the shoulder. Calzjha startled. The Earl slapped a hand across her mouth.

He said, “Go! Get to our room! And when they ask, you are shocked at all you are told!”

Calzjha allowed herself to be led to the door, and they quickly fumbled for the catch. A rush of moist air and the erstwhile woman was gone.

Fazgood quickly unbuttoned his shirt and cast it fluttering into a corner.

Behind the Earl there was a loud crackling and a flash of blue light.

He turned and called loudly into the storm. “What is this, my love?”

Backing away to the bed, perplexed by Fazgood’s sudden adoration, Respiration cried, “What do you say? It is an educated wind! Haven’t you seen one before?”

She then noted his bare chest, his stomach and chest which bulged noticeably from age. The disbelief in her face was such that it choked her attempts at inquiry.

Framed by the billowing drapes, another blue spark lit the air within the window. Within that brightness were peculiarly molded shadows. Fazgood closed his eyes and saw the after-image of that flash under his eyelids:

The molding of cheekbones and forehead, pudgy and ill-formed, turned toward Respiration. A puzzled, scrutinizing squint.

Fazgood sprang toward the bed and said, “I will save you, my love!”

Farther into the room, the bedsheets fluttering, there was another crack!

The face, the face of that named breeze given a soul, was an arm’s length across. It was looking directly at Fazgood.

The Earl turned, grabbed Respiration around the neck with the crook of his arm and kissed her full on the mouth. She shrieked against his lips and punched him in the jaw with both hands. The Earl secured her pounding left fist and brought his shoulder up to guard against her right. Fazgood looked at Respiration. Her eyes were wide with rage and bewilderment.

Fazgood felt the hair on his head and hands prickle as they raised.

Another crack! Respiration looked just over Fazgood’s right shoulder and screamed louder. The wind howled almost loud enough to hide the sound.

Then all was quiet and dark.

They both paused, lips crushed together, and noted the sudden relieved change. Then she started slapping the Earl anew.

He brought his head away and hissed. “Be quiet! It had to be done! Be quiet!”

“What are you doing? Get away! Do you know what that was?”

“Yes!”

He let go of her hand and dodged a last punch. “An educated wind. From a Cumulid, a nanny of the atmosphere.”

“It will go and tell what it has seen to the Cumulids at the Citadel!”

“The General had his Cumulid send that wind to catch us out and…yes! See? This is delightful!”

The sparkling wandered and wafted over the square, its flashes brightening the greenight over the rooftops and toward the approaching thunderhead.

“’Delightful?’ Was that your plan? To destroy me, then escape?”

“No. I am not leaving,” Fazgood said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Her face tight with rage, she stalked to the corner grabbed the shirt. “Put this back on!”

“I speak of your contribution! To the cause of success! You want a divorce? You wish to be away with your love, and not have him made a criminal?”

She listened, fists clenched.

He sat upon the bed and brought his foot up to remove a stocking. “Then it is you and I who are having an affair. We confess. You will be divorced. I will be arrested. What happens after will be no one’s concern.”

The left sock went flying. “If all is made clear…”

The right. “…and contrite, then there will be no determination to call us liars.”

He slid back upon the mattress to its center. “You never liked it much here, so you said. Obdurate will still marry you and share your burden, and you may leave to the provinces or even emigrate. If you want Obdurate himself to stay out of prison, then you and I had the affair, and we profess it loudly to all.”

The door opened, pushing the cloth at the bottom.

The most-senior maid named pressed into the room. She was followed by the younger maid.

“Goodwife!” she sneered. “ At last! Our master is here and this shame will be exposed!”

Called the Earl, “Did you citizens bring a bottle? We are a bit dry.”

“Night after night since the guests were dropped upon us, I have suspected. Oh you will be cast –”

The elderly maid’s expression plummeted into disbelief.

“This one? You disgrace yourself with this one? But…but I would have sworn it would be the Foofaloof! That one is charming!”

“Do you not have duties?” Fazgood gave Respiration’s hand a squeeze. Both of them flinched at the strange familiarity. “And spare us your rudeness?”

The maid snarled to her cohort, “Go to the Plaza, to the Public Works! Bring a despoiler! And the police!”

That maid retreated.

Respiration had gained the wind of Fazgood’s spirit. She asked, “May we dress, or shall we be deprived even that moment’s privacy?”

“Ah! How you will both suffer!”

The goodwife rose and walked to her bureau for a proper dress.

After a rather awkward wait, the younger maid brought a young man in the brown smock of Public Works. Behind him were two policemen. All were awed at the circumstance. With a properly respectful audience, the Earl felt his blood surge.

He stood and clapped. “Citizens! Let me make this sweeter! It will be revealed, so I reveal all: I am the Earl of Weiquant, Fazgood.”

Spat the maid. “What a flabby spawn-of-lies you are!”

“To think,” said the Earl with grief, “that I sang the praises of your gummy toast!”

“Was it paean?” asked the goodwife. “Or a eulogy?”

The Earl gawked at her spirit. “Ha! Indeed!”

“What is this?” called a voice from the hallway. “Pehzpersist! What are you doing?”

Calzjha, in full haughty dudgeon as the Foofaloof, slipped through the crowd.

“I am tendering my resignation, your highness.”

“What! Goodwife! What is this?”

Then Calzjha spoke Adanikarese in great, assumed rage, “What-shall-I-do? They-shall-determine-me-and-find-me-a-fraud!”

The Earl puffed and replied in same: “Respiration-and-I-insist-on-being-guilty! Tell-them-Respiration-and-I-are-in-love! The-story-is-easy! They-shall-not-look-farther!”

Calzjha whirled and howled to the throng, “He says they are in love! Treachery! Treachery!”

Fazgood rolled his eyes and bellowed in Adanikarese to make himself heard over the performance. “This morning, take all of our money and buy clothes! Be ready to flee! Seek the Birqmuirish! Tell them all!”

Calzjha wailed in Rahsic: “I have been deceived! My soul is torn asunder!”

The maids patted Calzjha’s shoulders with sympathy and cast vile looks to the Earl.

Warren thought, [With your permission, my liege….I believe I will stay in our chamber.]

[Granted, squire. I thank you.]

A policeman approached the bed. “Up, you! Goodwife, if you may rise?”

Respiration straightened and stood. “I regret hurting the Foofaloof so. He is a decent man. Tell me, officer: do they serve palatable meals in prison?”

“For you, goodwife, yes.”

“That will be a welcome change.”

“Ha! Indeed! She may use her spoon to actually eat, instead of tunneling to escape!”

This is how the stunned procession proceeded through the plaza to Public Works, as the clouds sputtered over the Citadel.