Lady Brittany Gold jerked upright with a start. Her eyes ran across the small quarters she had been lent in the fortress, but she saw no threat. It was then that she saw one of her assigned artificed devices glow and chime. The device in question was an artificer’s thing, always hungry for Chargers, but mandatory for all of Her Highness's more significant assets. It had reverberated on the night table, awakening her from an interesting dream. When she saw who it was that had called her, her poor mood turned worse.

  "Velvetcall,” she said. “I assume this is no mere social call."

  If only it were,” his smooth voice replied. "However, our patron has need of our service."

  She winced and put off all pretence of returning to sleep. She had no choice in the matter now, nevermind the fact that she should have been off the ledgers for the next few nights, at least so far as the likes of Velvetcall were to be concerned. But, Her Highness had placed her under Velvetcall, and Velvetcall had relayed Her Highnesses will. It left her little freedom in the matter, and that was before Velvetcall’s distasteful abilities came to account.

  “What is required of me, then?” she asked.

  "Is your current location still within the Bridge Tower?” he asked. “I am waiting out front, beyond the perimeter field. Come out as quickly as you can, I will speak of our task after you arrive.”

  She winced and sucked in a breath through her teeth. She had not been expecting to deal with that so soon. The words hit her like a weight. Diluted by the device, the compulsion was still potent. She hissed in discomfort.

  "Apologies,” he said. “I had forgotten myself due to urgency. But please, time is of the essence.”

  At least he recognized his carelessness with his wording, and that was an improvement. Regardless, she was unable to dally. It was disappointing that she had to leave the fortress so soon, her previous duties had been enjoyable. But duty called.

  Thus, she quickly donned her Vigilant's uniform and light armor. And just like that, Lady Brittany Gold was gone. In her place stood Guesswork, fearsome and powerful—or so idiots believed. She snorted at the thought.

  In truth, she was a slave to her betters. If she could go back and advise her younger self, she might have chosen differently. But the offer had been good, and she couldn't deny its benefits. Besides, she wasn't allowed to advise against Her Highness’s interests—even hypothetically. The mere thought made her sigils burn.

  "Guesswork," Velvetcall prompted through the expensive device. "Our task is growing urgent."

  "I am just leaving my room," she replied, then muted the connection before he could say something half-thought-out. From her abilities, she knew the halls outside were devoid of threats—safe for travel. She stepped out, careful not to give away her identity.

  She strode down the hall, passing another locked chamber. A mind rested within—cryptic, difficult to decipher, a maze of shifting corridors. Guesswork pitied the girl inside, as much as Guesswork was allowed to anyways. Too much empathy would have caused sigils to begin to burn, at least in this instance.

  As she traveled, she could not help but notice a ripple of excitement left a psychic imprint of Southbridge. There was that and anticipation, mixed with greed. If she could feel this ripple from so far away, then it must have been strong. Likely, this had to do with her newest urgent task, whatever that was.

  The Bridge Tower was a maze of ups and downs. She sought a vantage point, navigating the worn stone halls. Then, she came across something interesting.

  A mind stood apart from the others. Far too different from the normal stuffy knights, who either thought of onerous gear or after-shift. Far too different from a debased and humble servant. No, this mind felt sly, lacking the rigidness of the lawful… most telling of all, whoever this person was felt ambitious. She would have expected to find such in the slums, mayhaps peddling vice.

  A brief conundrum then, because while she had been tasked with finding Velvetcall immediately, previously she had been assigned to seek out disloyal elements within the garrisons. Finding this man meant she could justify a slight delay—turning an 'urgent' task into a previous obligation.

  In the end, she decided to take the slight delay as it provided a small slice of freedom, as though she had a choice in the matter. It may have seemed small, but to her, it felt meaningful.

  So rather than going upwards towards the nearest open balcony, she headed downwards, descending to the same level as the deviation of interest. She had yet to even step off the stairway when she saw the culprit.

  A knight—or at least dressed like one. Full gear, a High Knight’s armor and tabard, marking him as one of the Crown’s tax and toll collectors. Yet, his tabard was stained and poorly washed. That alone wasn’t enough to warrant suspicion.But his thoughts were.

  She scanned the surface of his thoughts, easier now with proximity. He was waiting for something, a signal of some sort to trigger his own act. He was worrying about escaping; he felt a sense of homeliness and longing for a gutter dwelling. He may have also been worried about a betrayal and receiving pay.

  A saboteur then, lacking guilt, showing no signs of hesitation about the act of lawlessness he planned to commit. She was unsure of what that act was, exactly, but it would certainly be damaging to the garrison.

  Unfortunately, this act of sabotage was not what she had been tasked with finding. The princess sought signs that the garrison obeyed bureaucracy over Her Highness. This fact meant she was compelled to leave.

  But simply leaving the saboteur be sat poorly with her. Especially so when she caught sight of the alchemical vial the man withdrew from a pouch. Unlicensed alchemical devices were never good, especially when weaponized.

  She was a servant of the Crown. The knights also served the Crown. The fact that this saboteur planned to harm what was Her Highness’ gave her just enough leeway to delay just a bit longer–although several sigils along her ribs had begun to warm in warning.

  It would only be a minor delay, she told herself. The sigils stopped warming, although she knew she was pushing it.

  One of her abilities granted her a sense of thoughts and feelings, the psychic imprint as she thought of it. The other ability granted her a degree of control, although it was strenuous to affect anything greatly. But little nudges here and there were well within her range. It was this second ability that she began to use.

  She reached out as far as she could, all of the minds nearby, including the floor above and below and parts of the garrison. She clenched that invisible muscle, focusing upon the direction she wished their thoughts to turn.

  A ripple of wariness.

  A whisper of alarm.

  A nudge only, enough to make someone notice—enough to ruin his timing.

  She was taking too long in this act. She knew it. She could have been faster. The control sigils along her ribs began warming once more, now bordering on too hot.

  No longer could she delay, and so she turned back to climb up the stairs. But as she did so, she sealed the saboteur's fate, by shouting as loud as she could.

  "Ware, intruder!" she called out in alarm. Her voice echoed through the halls.

  The saboteur panicked.

  Knights stirred. A warning rang out. Behind her and below her, a flurry of motion could be heard, and she felt a mess of surprise and anger and pain.

  It would have to be enough.

  "What is our objective?" she asked him.

  Those were the first words out of her mouth as she landed from one of the tower battlements, finding Velvetcall waiting for her just where he had said, although it had taken several seconds to find him in the shadows of the night. Not that she ever had trouble finding anyone, not when she could feel their presence.

  Rather than answer immediately, he gave her a shrewd look. "I was left waiting here for too long. If we are tardy as a result, I trust you won’t blame it on me."

  She privately appreciated that he had been taking pains to improve the way he wielded his language. The boy was improving.

  "Naturally," she replied. "Though I believe my delay will bear interesting fruit for Her Highness. But tell me—what is our mission, and why was I pulled from my hunt?"

  Velvetcall sighed. "That is one way to describe screening the knights. But come, let us not dally. I shall explain along the way."

  A small mercy—he had worded it in a way that lacked compulsions, not that she was lacking a compulsion to continue about the task regardless, as the sigils made sure of that. But it was the thought that counted.

  He set a very brisk pace towards one of the districts at the base of Blossom Hill. They had taken to the rooftops, sprinting and leaping and possibly knocking several shingles loose. As they went, Velvetcall managed to debrief her despite the wind.

  "We’re dealing with anarchists at best—traitors at worst,” he said. “They are moving tonight. Your help is needed to locate the ringleaders and assist in interrogations."

  Several seconds later, a loud groan echoed through the streets and buildings, causing everything to tremble just slightly. In the distance, in the slums, a great tumult erupted—a series of crashes, a plume of dust rising into the night sky.

  She stumbled just as she kicked off from one rooftop, causing her trajectory to fall short, causing an anticipatory breath to hiss between her teeth. Velvetcall, who had already landed, turned back and saw her coming in too low. He swung down and caught her, spinning and lifting her about before setting her down upon the roof.

  “I had expected more of the training we both endured. Perhaps a remedial session should be recommended to Lady Trigg?”

  Guesswork scowled and pushed off and away from him. She chose to ignore the uncomfortable threat, and instead justified herself. “You were not the one who is forced to endure the psychic upset caused by madmen,” she said. “Because just now, there was a large spike of pain and fear, all coming from the slums.”

  “Yes, that could explain that,” Velvetcall said, then glanced at the rising plume against the horizon. “Although that fails to explain just what those so-called madmen are about.”

  "Such a large event must have been planned for in advanced. It surprises me that we are just learning of this now…” He gave her an expectant look. She returned it with a flat stare.

  “My limitations were never hidden. I cannot know everything.”

  He nodded and then shrugged. “I suppose so. Regardless, I expect we will learn more before the night is through.”

  "Yes…" she answered slowly, already acclimating to the psychic awfulness. It was just another source of it, afterall. There were plenty of other locations where misery and excitement mixed, such as Guesswork and Velvetcall’s original targeted neighborhood. They were close enough now that they could hear the disturbances, one of pounding fists on doors and wood then splintering, of panicked shouts and pugnacious demands. “That seems a reasonable assumption.”

  “Then shall we?” Velvetcall asked. While his face remained hidden by both mask and cowl, she knew he had raised an eyebrow, and possibly wore a smirk as well.

  “We shall,” she confirmed, before beginning to run the rest of the way to the nearest disturbance.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It came as some surprise when they arrived on scene. They landed in one of the funneling squares, an open space meeting up with multiple winding avenues and footpaths, and one customarily populated by merchants and their ilk, typically with residences atop whatever their ilk’s shop happened to be.

  While Guesswork had expected looters and possibly rioters, or just general malcontents taking advantage of the mess elsewhere in the city, she had not expected those malcontents to be the baron’s own men, the peacekeepers.

  The idiots, barely better than a gang of criminals themselves, had long been emboldened by their service to Baron Oren, and they now felt both safe and justified as they went about causing trouble for ordinarily protected and relatively affluent commoners.

  Both Velvetcall and herself were left somewhat at a loss for words as the scene unfolded, but they quickly honed in on the nearest troublemakers, a duo of peacekeepers slamming upon the door of a clothier.

  Velvetcall took the lead, striding towards this duo, just as the wooden door broke and caved in. Before Velvetcall had a chance to stop them, the peacekeepers had already rushed inside the shop, where crashes and shouts and shatterings followed. Guesswork and Velvetcall arrived just as a protest stammered from within the shop.

  "Next time, don’t forget our honest, Crown-forsaken due, yeah?" One of the peacekeepers, the more spiteful of the two, shouted in a poor justification at the quavering merchant.

  Guesswork entered behind Velvetcall, laying eyes upon the mess inside. There were fabrics torn, ink pots broken and spilled, and manakins slashed. How all of this mess had been created in a handful of seconds, Guesswork was unsure.

  It was bad, and the peacekeepers just realized that Velvetcall and Guesswork were there. But it was too late for the peacekeepers, for just as they turned and startled and felt a glimmer of panicked recognition and fight-or-flight, Velvetcall addressed them.

  "Pause a moment," Velvetcall said, his voice smooth with compulsion. "Calm yourself."

  The peacekeepers shuddered but obeyed. The bulk of Velvetcall’s compulsion was aimed away from Guesswork, but she still felt some of it weigh her down, leaving her somewhat sedate. Velvetcall seemed oblivious to this fact as he continued, while gesturing to the wreckage.

  "What is all this about?" he asked, directly, but sufficient for pulling truthful and immediate answers, especially with the compulsory force weaving itself through his voice.

  The peacekeeper, the spiteful one, kept silent, struggling against himself to give an answer. Guesswork could feel the mental fortification crumbling beneath the slight pressure being applied by Velvetcall. She currently lacked the capability of emotional satisfaction, but she found herself lazily amused as another suffered what was too familiar to herself. Smugly, she thought that spite and stupidity could only protect one's secrets poorly.

  Especially when the duller of the two peacekeepers filled the silence eagerly.

  “We’s just making sure they pay what’s due, yeah?” The dumb one said, causing the spiteful one to groan in irritation.

  “Hm?” Velvetcall prompted further, another slight application of compulsion. The boy was hardly trying and already the men were helpless. Such was the might of the Imperial Sigil.

  “Honest due for honest work, y’know?” the stupid one added.

  The spiteful one’s defences finally crumbled, especially as his internal reservoir of anger depleted itself against the first compulsion of calm.

  Guesswork was already skimming both of these men and their thoughts. It was a blurry and imprecise art, mind reading, but it was easier when the mind had already been opened through conveniently timed compulsions, and questions helped direct the viewed content towards directions that made sense, or were at the very least relevant in some way.

  Through the imprecision, she found that there was pathological motivations. For retaliation, and to strike out and prevent a perceived loss of status. It seemed that a local possible demagogue had roused these men to action, a focal figure in both of these peacekeepers’ thoughts. A certain Lieutenant Dane, although the surrounding connections were blurred still. If that lieutenant acted alone or in conjunction with others was unclear.

  Guesswork stepped up to just beside Velvetcall, an unspoken prompt to let her provide further direction. He nodded towards her, well used to this byplay between them.

  She fixed the dumber of the two peacekeepers with a firm stare as she asked, “Who ordered this ransacking?”

  The man spoke, but it was his thoughts she was parsing. The image of the lieutenant grew clear, and it seemed that the lieutenant had fired up a portion of the garrison without observed conspirators, at least not from either of the two peacekeepers. But still, it was best to be certain.

  “Do you believe that Baron Oren approved of Lieutenant Dane doing this?”

  There was a hesitation, an unclear and uncomfortable feeling of possible guilt. A certain hindsight that their actions might not have been lawful, even more so unlawful than normal.

  "Maybe—" the dumb one started, but the spiteful one cut in and over him.

  "Yes,” the spiteful one said. “It was our orders, and lieutenant Dane said it was good and proper.”

  Ah. It appeared the spiteful one was covering his tracks. A ‘just following orders’ sort of defence. One that seldom worked, but which could help ameliorate punishments.

  From outside the shop, sounds of shouting and cracking wood were growing more distant; the malcontent peacekeepers were spreading throughout the district.

  “It is likely this lieutenant Dane that needs to be found,” Velvetcall said, musing in a way that avoided compelling anyone listening.

  Guesswork agreed. But there remained the two peacekeepers that they had already found. “And what of these?” she asked.

  Velvetcall answered with a smirk in his voice. “They shall help us quell the unrest! And they will accompany us as we go.”

  The peacekeepers paled and one of them trembled as the compulsions sunk in.

  The process was not so complicated as they went gathering the troublemakers. With Guesswork able to locate them by feel, and Velvetcall’s compulsions, the largest obstacle was the traveling. They would run down a side path, gather all of the peacekeepers, and then send them to wait peacefully in the square. Then, the two would race back and travel down the next side-street.

  It took a quarter of an hour, which was not terrible… but the compulsions had already started wearing off the first of the batch by the time Velvetcall and Guesswork finished, rejoining the peacekeepers gathered.

  By this time, the nearest garrison of knights had responded, clanking their way towards them through the square. And by this time, the bolder of the commoners had gathered, some sporting bruised limbs and possibly broken bones, and all of them wishing to press claims for reimbursement, or at the very least justice. And of course, once the milder of the commoners saw this action, they followed suit. This made it so that when Guesswork and Velvetcall had finished, there was a sizable crowd gathered, near riotous violence, judging by the psychic imprint of the gathering.

  Fortunately, they had located the culpable lieutenant Dane within the crowd, a man who was identified by Guesswork through the visual recollections she had been gathering from the peacekeepers themselves. A simple questioning would have also revealed the lieutenant, but there was no reason not to be thorough in this instance. But just as Guesswork had Velvetcall extract the lieutenant with honeyed words, the knights arrived, clanking up towards Guesswork. She had waved them towards her originally, so that made sense. Along with the fact that any sensible person would rather deal with her than Velvetcall.

  She turned to address them.

  "Guesswork," one of the knights said, stepping forward past the rest of the squad. A cursory examination of his mind showed an overly formal and rigid structure, akin to those knights who were trained in Kwin. "Where are our swords needed?" Blunt and to the point, ignoring both the curiosity and suspicion the knight felt.

  Guesswork answered by grabbing the lieutenant Dane and shoving the lieutenant towards the squad. The lieutenant stumbled but went along with the motion, still dizzy and out of sorts, likely from quickly and somewhat contradictorily applied compulsions.

  "See this one safely to one of Her Highness’ own for an interrogation,” Guesswork added, to ensure the lieutenant was well taken care of and not allowed to escape.

  The knights seized the lieutenant, but they also noted the peacekeeper’s rank, and obvious faction. There were dangerous politics in play, and the knight felt wary that they might be left on a dangling hook, bait or forgotten. The lack of trust was reasonable, Guesswork knew, but it was less than helpful.

  "A peacekeeper, or an imposter?" The knight asked, regarding the lieutenant. A smart way to frame the suspicions, allowing the knight to avoid questioning Her Highness’ intentions outright, and shifting potential blame to the peacekeepers. Afterall, who would fault a knight for arresting a suspected imposter?

  Guesswork decided to allow it, so long as her intent was achieved.

  “Possibly an infiltrator. His current alias is lieutenant Dane, that is the extent of what we know.” What was not mentioned was that Guesswork could easily identify almost anyone. But the plausible doubt was what she sought at the moment, to abate the knights’ worries. “This one sought to use Baron Oren’s men to sow discontent. We will need to find out who put the purported lieutenant up to this act.”

  "I see," the knight said. The chaos was obvious, with broken-in doors, citizens scrambling to salvage belongings, and unrest still simmering. "Is it proper for our forces to intervene further? I am unsure of how to best handle a rival garrison in this matter that would avoid certain implications."

  “Good sirs,” Velvetcall intruded. “I have a plan in mind for the gathered peacekeepers. No need–”

  Guesswork cleared her throat loudly, preventing Velvetcall from mispeaking and applying an unnecessary compulsion to allies.

  “Only the lieutenant need be your concern,” she once again explained. “All we require is for you to retain and protect lieutenant Dane here until we can learn more of the instigators of this."

  She glanced at the residents—despair and fury radiated from them.

  "... That, and provide assistance to residents while cataloging damages." It would appear benevolent, which would reflect favorably on Her Highness—though she was nothing of the sort.

  "If we are asked,” the knight continued tentatively, “what are we to say to account for these peacekeepers you have gathered?” This question, addressed to Velvetcall, proved that the knight’s bravery and valor outweighed the knight’s well justified fear of Velvetcall’s rightly earned reputation.

  "No need to fear for any of that, as my plan is quite simple,” Velvetcall took the prompt and decided to answer bombastically. “For these gentlemen have all volunteered to help bring order to the unrest that has unfortunately arisen across the divide, in the slums.”

  More than one person glanced towards the rising smoke and dust, the source of the roaring discontent, only muted by distance. Likely multiple forces were responding, to at the very least protect what assets they may own within the industrial portions of the slums. Word must be spreading quickly regarding the riots.

  Of course, not all of the peacekeepers were under a compulsion to remain silent, and at least one of them, one of the angrier ones, voiced a nasty scoff and comment. "Volunteered, like godspit we would?"

  Velvetcall turned his attention towards the angry voice, along with all the other surrounding peacekeepers. The compulsion came somewhat heavier, in a voice laden with silk that seemed to leave the ears muffled. "Yes, you are volunteering right now, and we thank you for this graciously. In fact–” his voice grew heavier, now focused upon all gathered peacekeepers and diluted as a result, “-all those dressed up in the red and black of peacekeepers, all of you shall accompany Guesswork and I to the dividing highway, where she and I will see you off as you go about your volunteered service." As he spoke, his smooth voice wormed its way in, compelling obedience.

  While this was happening, behind where Guesswork stood, she heard one of the knights mutter.

  “Poor bastards,” the knight said. “Heard it’s deadly there, even alchemics.”

  “Better them than us,” another knight said, before their leader silenced them and their murmurings.

  It took longer to shepherd the two dozen peacekeepers than Guesswork or Velvetcall wanted, but it was to be expected when dealing with unenhanced and unexercised fools. If all of them had even a basic set of glyphs, then it all would have been over faster and Guesswork and Velvetcall could be off to complete their duty.

  The fact that Velvetcall felt comfortable with the justification for the delays was the only thing that allowed Guesswork to continue with the plan, although the control sigils remained warm, a reminder that she was to be about a task on behalf of her benefactor.

  But finally, all of them had reached a bridge that crossed the sunken hallway, that led into the slums and all the misery those slums entailed.

  Velvetcall applied one last compulsion to the group before sending them across the bridge to quell the dissent. Whatever was happening across the highway seemed like bad news. The riot of emotions left her feeling ill—the air was thick with a gritty smog that left her teeth dirty, her nostrils clogged. As the peacekeepers crossed the bridge, their reluctance began to break through the compulsion, shifting from glad obedience to grudging compliance. Given time, they could break free entirely—if they survived long enough.

  Even as Guesswork and Velvetcall saw the peacekeepers off, already she could see the pink actinic flashes of arc-bows firing, and the scent in the air was caustic enough that she knew it would damage anybody’s lungs over time.

  The men had just disappeared into the labyrinth of overhangs and unmapped tunnels when the first of them disappeared in a flash of pain, accompanied by anger and fear from those nearest.

  “One of them died already,” Guesswork commented. The sigils were beginning to heat uncomfortably, reminding her that they absolutely needed to get back to work. It seemed Velvetcall lacked that same impetus, as he was content to stand their watching for the moment.

  "Odd that it happened so soon,” he mused. “Who would care enough to do that now, when they could so easily hide instead?"

  Guesswork grimaced just slightly. Velvetcall’s question applied just enough compulsion that she would be required to answer, even if she would rather continue moving. But answer she did, and it did help somewhat, as she was somehow aiding an agent of Her Highness.

  "It could have been the same subversives that sent lieutenant Dane about such a foolish task.”

  Velvetcall nodded slowly, humming in thought. He then felt a brief flare of satisfaction and pride. This was accompanied with him saying, "I am glad we thought of that connection. The timing is too coincidental."

  Her sigils calmed a second, as there was likely a plot afoot that she was ferreting out. Between the riots, the peacekeepers, and the saboteurs, there likely was a conspiracy to hunt, which she had already started, and which Her Highness would want to know about. One way she could hunt that conspiracy would be by entering the slums and seeking out the instigators of the madness happening there. Fortunately, there were alternative means forward.

  "Thankfully we have a lead to follow up on with that purported lieutenant.”

  “Yes, him… he was in fact a lieutenant, and not an imposter?”

  Guesswork confirmed. “Indeed, which means questioning him is all the more important… rather than quelling the source of that,” she gestured to the slums. “I am glad our task does not lead us into that mess tonight.”

  With that, they began their track towards where the lieutenant was likely to have been taken by the garrison of knights. But before they went and really picked up pace, just after they had turned northward along the promenade, there was a familiar presence. One that was very out of place.

  The familiar mind that was only familiar due to its alien shifting unfamiliarity—a presence shifting, blending in a distinctive jumble of passages, hidden entrances, and forgotten abodes.

  This mind was below Guesswork and Velvetcall, somewhere along the wall of the sunken highway.

  Surprising that, and one that caused Guesswork to pause. Here was a girl that was of a high interest to Her Highness. One that was likely able to change their physical shape, one that was hiding secrets and definitely a criminal. And one that had recently gained too much freedom from Her Highness’ oversight. And Guesswork would know, as she was the one that was often left tracking and observing this person of interest.

  Guesswork could have ignored the presence. Her empathy demanded that she did. But the control sigils compelled Guesswork to intervene, even if it would delay other and arguably more critical tasks. Thus, Guesswork slowed her pace before calling out to Velvetcall.

  There was a person of interest to take, and it would only be a slight diversion. Velvetcall would understand–after all, he had the same sigils she did, although his seemed less effective than hers.

  As the two of them traveled towards the miniature fort that the knights in question kept, the two of them were intercepted, and by someone that Guesswork would have rather avoided at that. Apparently, the delays had been noted, and Guesswork had been expected far earlier. She was the one that suffered the worst of the glares given off by their taskmaster.

  The interloper had appeared suddenly, stepping forth from the shadows where there had been no presence previously. Of course the duo recognized this person, this stern and greatly enhanced matron, this personal aide of Her Highness.

  Lady Trigg.

  Guesswork shuddered and resisted the urge to wilt. In her mind, she remembered many of the reprimands regarding posture and presentation. The silent reminder kept her back straight.

  Lady Trigg, once certain she had the attention of Velvetcall as well, issued her demand.

  “Explain yourselves and your tardiness,” Lady Trigg said. While she spoke, her physical form shimmered and revealed its partially translucent nature, more of an image than an actual presence. Trigg’s images always disconcerted Guesswork slightly, given their psychic absence.

  Guesswork refrained from answering and let Velvetcall take the task upon himself, as he was the leader of the Vigalants and held that responsibility. Thankfully.

  "Apologies, Lady Trigg,” Velvetcall said with a short and quick bow. “Our delay was caused by us seizing an unplanned opportunity, one which went along with the spirit of our assigned task…” Velvetcall went on to boastfully describe how they had seized the peacekeepers, quelled that riot, and then sent the disloyal forces to quell the other group of anarchists and dissedants. Trigg did not seem overly interested until Velvetcall reached when he had issued a compulsion to Jackie. “Along the journey back, we happened across a girl of interest to Her Highness—"

  "Describe this girl,” Lady Trigg said, suddenly appearing more real than before, and giving off a faint psychic presence where before the mind had been absent.

  Velvetcall went on to describe Jackie, both naming her and her physical description. "... Lilac hair, shoulder-length, disparaged. Almost glowing blue—"

  "Enough,” Lady Trigg interrupted. “This girl is indeed a subject of interest. Where is she now and what was the exact compulsion laid upon her?" The way Lady Trigg asked was foreboding. Velvetcall picked up on this and felt a vague bit of unease.

  "Well,” he started, then restarted after clearing his throat. “I, or rather we, sent the girl off to the academy. And I will note that the compulsion barely stuck. I could tell, and I think one of my sigils grew. It was a challenge which I only succeeded in with the help of Guesswork here.”

  Guesswork frowned. On the surface it sounded as though he was sharing credit, but it was also a means of diluting the blame. If the compulsions were insufficient or worse, somehow ruined Jackie, then undoubtedly Guesswork would suffer alongside Velvetcall. She thought several unkind things towards the boy at that.

  "Sloppy,” Lady Trigg said, snapping her finger and pointing at Velvetcall. He took an instinctive step back and started to make another excuse, but Trigg kept going. "Your handling of the girl was insufficient. You should have escorted her personally. Did you fools not consider what may happen to a beguiled girl walking the streets this night?” Trigg sounded disgusted at this point, before shaking it off. “Foolish. Both of you should have known better, especially you, Lady Gold.”

  Guesswork winced. Her identity was supposed to have been kept more rigorously, but it appeared Lady Trigg was upset enough to use Guesswork’s civilian guise. A guise that she very much wanted to keep, as it gave a means to escape servitude, if at least temporarily.

  Lady Trigg shook off her disgust and recentered herself. “I suppose what is done is done. All I can do is clean up the messes left by children. Submit a report later on all you told her, along with pertinent context.”

  Velvetcall and Guesswork shared a glance, before Lady Trigg ended the discussion in a curt and impolite fashion.

  “Expect penance,” Lady Trigg said. As she spoke, her image then faded from sight.

  When the psychic imprint faded away, seconds later, Guesswork deflated with a sigh. The both of them remained there for several seconds further, just to ensure their benefactor’s servant had left.

  Once they were certain they were alone, Velvetcall tried shaking the upcoming penance off. He used glibness to cover his deeper concern.

  “That… could have gone better.”