Daisy had thought she was used to Marz architecture from being in Watergate. She had been mistaken. She was utterly unprepared for the combination of Marzian brio with the seemingly gravity-defying styles of Jovian aesthetics. It took her some time to trace the bridges between towers, the flying buttresses arcing through the air, the gargoyles mounted atop a single brick of stone, to realize that everything was rooted in thick, solid foundations.

  Oracle City was the capitol of Helland, and it seemed it was going to make sure that everyone knew it. She was surprised it wasn’t a pilgrimage site, except for the oppressive caste regime would suffer under the exchange of ideas such a mecca might permit. The foundations, the lowest levels, bore towering reliefs of fire and torment, while arms and mutilated giants and pyramids of carved heads supported archways with seemingly little regard for those traveling on the ground level of the city. Teeth loomed ominously over one overpass, only to be trod upon unaware by those on the next tier up, themselves being watched by the ever present and ever more demonic-looking gargoyles, all hanging by claws biting into simulated flesh of a massive wiry arm holding a cyclopean eyeball in its hand. Running like blood down the sides of the buildings and buttresses were copper and glass, and fire topped rooftops and minarets at all elevations until it was impossible to be certain what was and wasn’t aflame.

  The buildings seemed to reach into the sky like grasping claws, and Daisy experienced a second shock in the main square of the city which housed the great cathedral of Oracle City. When asked at the gate what the intention of their visit was, Ruler had supplied that they were, in fact, pilgrims, an answer which earned him a repressive scowl until Daisy presented her seven of hearts. The guard had muttered under her breath, “What, got a high caste in the draw and you’re too good to speak directly to a mere three? Going to have your servant explain?” Daisy wasn’t sure how much of that she had actually heard and how much Ruler had relayed for her entertainment, the hubbub of the one mobile group, the merchants, making hearing difficult.

  Daisy thought hopefully that she was getting used to the heat of Marz, having to summon water less often, as it was going to be their sole source of income. And they would need income soon. Daisy’s rations were all but depleted, and the ground was an uncomfortable bed. They sought out a pottery shop, and in short order bought a piece large enough that Daisy would not have to be overly precise with her sorcery, easing the strain of repeated castings. It had a wide neck and a mouth for pouring, and now they just needed to attract a crowd. Which, given the unique architectural style of the city, might be just a little more difficult than Daisy or Ruler had anticipated.

  There were people on the streets, though they were likely the poorest, to judge by their demeanor and clothing. There were even beggars, something that had been markedly absent from most of Watergate. Daisy went over to one and, with Ruler’s borrowed Lider, asked if he would like some water. He looked up at her with bleak eyes, and croaked something she couldn’t have deciphered had she spoken the language natively.

  Overcome with concern, she cast, and filled her jug with water. She cupped her hands in front of herself, and beckoned for the man to do the same. Eyebrows raised in disbelief, he mirrored her, and she poured water into the bowl of his hands. He drank thirstily, and then hesitantly, looking about like an animal of prey, cupped his hands again. Daisy repeated the process three times, not yet draining her urn but seemingly quenching his thirst. He thanked her, vigorously, repeatedly, and she realized this was achieving her ends rather well, as his histrionics were doing what histrionics did and attracting attention.

  The people who came to her were aces and deuces of hearts, although there were some clubs of uncertain caste standing at the edge of the assembled group. Affecting a wide smile, but seeing a downtrodden and thirsty people, she announced, “Free water! Pay what you can!” Hubbub arose at this, water being so apparently scarce on Marz, or at least in Helland. The first person to stumble forward held out her hands for water, and finished off the urn of water. The crowd began to disperse, muttering that they should have been so bold, when Daisy cast once more and repeated her cry.

  The crowd was confused. But another desperately thirsty person stumbled forward, and others broke from the crowd and ran off, to return with vessels of their own. Daisy made little money at first, but then the woman who had first come forward lay coins of copper at her feet. As she worked, the pile of coins gradually grew, until finally one of the police standing at the perimeter came up to her and demanded to know if she had the relevant paperwork to be running a business.

  Daisy was no stranger to corruption, and had no doubt that it ran deep on Marz as it had on Jupitre. But she didn’t know the proper amount of currency to offer the officer, and guessing too high or too low would be a fatal mistake to her ambitions. She glanced at Ruler, who shook his head, before relying on charm alone. “How much would those papers cost, officer? I’m not from Oracle City, things are a bit more relaxed where I come from. I would be most appreciative of help filing the correct paperwork. I am, after all, a seven.” The officer did a double take at her mention of her caste, and she saw the policewoman was a mere two. Mere two? Be careful, Daisy chided herself, that you don’t buy into the system now that you’re not at the bottom of it.

  Daisy thanked the One God for the fortune that favors sleep-deprived sorcerers flying by the seats of their pants, as the officer named what Daisy judged to be a modest sum from what she had made already. Then the officer cleared her throat and asked if she might partake of this free water. Daisy was surprised, but happily complied. She couldn’t avoid trouble forever, but she would delay its arrival as long as she could.

  With a trailing crowd stopping them every block or two, Daisy was led into a building where the crowd stopped, up a staircase, across a bridge or two, and within an hourglass was the proud holder of a license of business. At Ruler’s suggestion, she also asked for a permit for public speaking, but this, she was told, would only be issued by the Church. Which, she supposed, made sense for a repressive regressive religious regime. “The Kingdom of Hell” was far too dignified for such a thing, perhaps she would think of them as 4R. But no, that kind of designation was the sort of thing geometers like her found tantalizingly full of meaning. “Helland” it would remain. And at least she knew who she’d be picking a fight with when she began speaking in public.

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  The next stage of Daisy’s plan would require more coin, and more to the point someone literate in Marzeilles. So with few wrong turns, she made her way back to the street, and once more cried out “Free water! Pay what you can!” The crowd from before had begun to disperse, but the core of it had remained, perhaps hoping for their turn. It was enough to break Daisy’s heart. When one person remained on the perimeter, counting their coins over and over, looking guiltily at the pile at Daisy’s feet, she sent Ruler over to offer a different kind of payment. Shortly, she had a second helper, organizing people into a line. Their name was Hot Irons, but Daisy overheard, possibly again with Ruler’s help, them introducing themselves as “Ser Irons” as they organized the crowd.

  As the day grew long, Daisy declared she had concluded her business for the day. Of course, this ushered in protests from the few remaining in line, but she had Ser Irons keep the line from growing any longer as she finished with those who had been waiting. Irons stood in a middle distance from them, their garb considerably more worn and dirty even than Ruler’s. Daisy asked if they knew a place they could get food. Irons looked hungry, though no longer as parched, and looked around. They knew where to get food, this much was obvious, but there was some internal dilemma going on in their mind. Daisy added, with a gesture to the pile of coins at her feet, that it could be somewhere nicer, and that of course, “Ser Irons, you are invited. You were invaluable today.”

  Irons eagerly led them to a building, up a flight of stairs, and across a bridge that met another in midair. Shortly, they were eating an absolutely vile tortoise soup that Daisy supposed she would have to get used to. The people of Helland clearly couldn’t spare cropland—or more likely the water—to grow spices. They ate at approximately the same pace, Ruler and Daisy out of distaste and Irons presumably out of the caution of one who routinely misses meals.

  “So, Ser Irons,” Daisy began. They looked up from their food with a mixture of caution and curiosity. “I was wondering if you knew your letters.” Irons looked perplexed, but nodded and indicated they had received a standard Church education. “Excellent. I need to have something printed, but I don’t know how to read Marzeilles. Do you think you could help us with that?” Irons looked at Daisy, looked down at their mostly-empty bowl, looked at the now-heavy pockets of Daisy’s vest, and then back at her face and nodded.

  Daisy was relieved on several fronts. First, if literacy were available even to one of Irons’ clearly limited means, she could count on the written word to spread information. Secondly, Irons being willing to help meant she only had to sell water as often as she needed coin. She wanted to help, but being a water seller was not the best way she could achieve that, unless she mixed it with Scripture. And thirdly, that she could have something printed meant that movable type was not one of those strange holes in Marzian technical knowledge. To not know basic astronomy!

  She couldn’t imagine it; or she couldn’t have until she were forced to live with it. She wondered idly if Retty might hold that map until she could lead a populist movement back to Jupitre. She hadn’t talked to Ruler about it, but it was the most feasible means of spreading his message throughout the thoroughly dragon-run Kingdom of Air.

  The next week followed a predictable order, their nights spent sleeping on the streets and warding over overzealous police officers with a combination of caste papers and dragon staff. The second day, Daisy spent much of her coin on a print order, the third she went out with Irons and Ruler just sort of scattering broadsides from the parapets, and the fourth she sold water again. The fifth, sixth, and seventh days followed this same pattern. The only thing that made it distinct was what Daisy and Ruler did as they sold water.

  ”You know there was a Savior! He is enshrined on minarets, burning alive for your sins! But that is not the end of the story,” Daisy lowered her voice, encouraging people to lean close even as she continued distributing water. “The Savior rose again!” she cried. “He appeared to special people, and gave them the Word of God. You know this too. You hear that He died for your sins—but! You cheapen his death! You proclaim that the burden of your sin, your personal sin, is so much greater than His divine mercy! I am here to tell you that the Enemy has not won! The enemy cannot win!” Okay, Daisy had to admit that a good declarative statement lent itself to giving speeches, and the priestess in Watergate had not been all wrong. On stirring up crowds, she clarified to herself. She had her theology all out of whack. “The Savior is the Son of the One God, and His mercy is infinite! The Lord desires that all souls be brought back into the fold, not just a privileged few!”

  At first, it seemed like nobody was listening. Daisy took a sip herself from her urn, making speeches being thirsty work. It was on the seventh day when she heard a small voice, from somewhere in the middle of the line, asking, “What of us, then? The Ranks of the Damned?”

  “I am here to tell you that you are. Not. Damned.” Daisy said simply. “You are on the fire planet Marz, and if you made the trek to Watergate, you could go… well, don’t do that, because Jupitre isn’t a whole lot more pleasant, unless you prefer the cold—”

  “So we are in Hell! What good is one damnation for another?!” Another voice cried. Discontent spread along what had been an orderly line moments before.

  Daisy was flabbergasted. She stood there, and then Ruler, bless his heart, piped up. “Go to South Helland, and find the cave holding the dragon gate there! That will lead y-y-you to a temperate place, with good people like y-yourselves, without the constant and oppressive need for rune cooling of the buildings, without a caste system!” Daisy’s head whipped around to Ruler, who looked slightly strangled as he realized he had stepped too far. You can’t uproot someone’s perception of life all at once, they’ll reject even good news.

  “But that’s not the important part!” Daisy declared after a pregnant pause. “The important part is that you are not damned!” That was when the headache of a psychic assault came down upon Daisy’s head. She nearly dropped her urn, had the next person in line not grabbed it for her. Ruler, too, was reeling. She looked around through bleary eyes and some instinct drew her eye to a club in camel leather. He was concentrating intently, to judge by the look on his face, and he had one hand to his temple. “Ruler! Over there!” She pointed at the figure, but Ruler looked back to her and shrugged, as if to ask what he was supposed to do about him. With a groan, Daisy leveled her dragon staff, ever an entertainment to juggle with her urn which was now in another’s hands. The psionic club clearly recognized a rifle when he saw it, for Daisy’s headache redoubled. This was, in the end, his mistake. By taking his focus off Ruler, he enabled Ruler to focus on defending Daisy, and while he claimed his psi was small change, it was sufficient to shield her from the club’s attack. Rather than get shot—which Daisy thought she rather convincingly pulled off being about to do—the club nodded, and ducked into an alley between buildings, leaving them to their water selling.

  “Well. W-w-we got s-someone’s attention.”