Epilogue

Captain Wen Duan had once spent a well-liquored evening with Sasan and Chanda figuring out the broad strokes of how much money went into the yearly upkeep of the Rookery, and it was a ridiculous sum. Standing armies went for less, and not bad ones either.

Knowing this made it all the more bewildering how the hallway he currently sat in could be so cold and damp. This was the Old Chantry, not some hole in the ground. The former monastery stood less than an hour’s walk away from the great hall where the Conclave itself sat session, you’d think they would have at least put some fresh tapestries on the wall – he’d checked and two of them were getting moldy. Baffling. The cushions, too, could do with restuffing. He could feel the stone through them.

Wen pawed at his bag of candied almonds, popping a few in his mouth and making sure to chew as loudly as he could. Both because that little shop in the Lanes still made them just the way he liked it, and it would be a waste not to savor them properly, but also because he knew it made a particularly obnoxious sound.

“Wen Duan,” the Name-Eater said. “You have an interesting dossier.”

The thing looked like a little old lady at the moment, one of those dignified white-haired Sacromonte matriarchs whose raised voice still made their commander grandsons squirm at family dinners. Wen knew and rightly feared the type, even those that weren’t also rumored cannibals. No wonder Abrascal was such a mad little shit, if that was the only other filled seat at his family dinners.

Wen kept chewing loudly, not because he wasn’t scared of her but because he was. The Name-Eater was the kind of creature that would pounce if she sniffed out so much as a hint of weakness in him. You had to get in their face, those sorts, and keep them on the backfoot.

“Almonds?” he said, offering the bag.

The monster studied him.

“Only the one,” she said. “I am watching my weight.”

She ate it up, teeth turning into fangs as she crushed the candied almond with a snap. Ah, nightmarish. You just had to admire someone so dedicated to the cause of being genuinely ghoulish. He pushed up his glasses to mask his reaction, allowing himself a wince. Even after weeks, the skin from where glass had cut up his face remained sensitive.

“I think it’s the sea breeze,” Wen said.,

The old monster stopped.

“Pardon?”

“Why this place is so damp,” he said, tone implying she was a little slow. “The sea breeze must be what keeps it humid. Only there’s no windows on the lower levels, so I’m guessing there’s some sort of tunnel below that leads to the cliffside.”

That got him a raised eyebrow, like he was a grandson who’d brought home a rich wife or a little monkey who’d done a funny trick. Wen wondered if when she shifted she kept the mass. No, it didn’t matter. She could probably turn into a fish, no point in trying to drown her.

“There is,” the Name-Eater amusedly said. “Pirates used to feed sacrificed to storm gods by throwing them down at the rocks through there.”

“Pirates,” he scorned, shaking his head. “Just wait for the fucking wind to turn, would you? It’s not that hard.”

At least the Watch had mostly stamped out that practice in the Trebian Sea. On cult scale, anyway. Crews still drew lots and sent a man to the deeps when the winds stalled, but you might as well try and stop men pissing in alleys after drinking.

“Did you have such strong opinions on human sacrifice, before Tariac?” the Name-Eater idly asked.

He stared at her unblinking, letting the silence last.

“Oh no, the well-connected Mask got my full record even though that part is sealed,” he said in his flattest monotone. “How surprising. Who could have seen this coming.”

Fuck. With how influential the Ayiram Parani were he’d hoped that would stay quiet, but it figured. No matter how sprawling free companies got, the Mask were the Masks.

“Deflection, Captain Duan?” she teased.

Like a cat playing with a wounded bird, that one. Only if Wen was to be roasted it’d be as goose instead of a rooster – you ended up on the same plate, but the goose got to be an asshole first.

“I looked into you as well, you know?” he said.

“I know,” the Name-Eater smiled.

He narrowly managed not to shiver at her tone.

“I dug up some ancient Trebian island tales about a cult that was the daughters of some shapeshifting god,” Wen said. “The Nereids, they were called.”

“Some shapeshifting god,” the Name-Eater repeated in disbelief, then guffawed. “Oh, how he would have hated that.”

She shook her head.

“I am surprised you found even this much. But then you do have a wealth of connections, don’t you Wen? Despite the best effort of some very influential captain-generals to bury you in the deepest hole they could find.”

“The Dominion was a pretty deep hole, you have to hand it to them,” Wen said. “But cream and scum rise, as they say.”

“That they do,” the monster said.

She paused and he prepared for the knife in his ribs – verbal or not.

“Your promotion back to captain drew some attention,” she said. “It is fortunate that your being a Scholomance patron marks you as to be left alone.”

His eyes narrowed. The question was on the tip of his tongue but he choked it down. To ask would give her power over him. Besides, there had been a warning inside that warning: implicitly, he was only protected so long as he was assigned to Scholomance. If the Name-Eater ever thought him a detriment to her apprentice, she would have him removed from that assignment and thrown to the dogs.

This is why you’re my least favorite, Abrascal, he unkindly thought. At least Colonel Zhuge had served him fine tea and sesame biscuits before threatening him. And Osian Tredegar had baldly offered him a bribe within minutes of their first meeting, one of the many reasons Angharad remained solidly at the top of the Thirteenth in his eye.

No doubt Totec the Feathered would swing by for a visit at some point in the coming years. Might be good for a laugh and several nightmares. No one considered the Akelarre’s go-to man to learn local Gloam traditions and hammer them into Signs could be anything but expertly unhinged. Not a trait Wen typically enjoyed in people who could melt him with a word.

“Fortunate, sure,” he affably replied, then popped more almonds in his mouth.

As he had been hoping this cunning delaying tactic bought him long enough the door was opened by Ademar, the Obscure Committee’s secretary. The leathery middle-aged man leaned through the doorway so his gaze might find them.

“Captain Wen, Officer Nerei,” he called out. “The committee will see you now.”

Wen gallantly ensured that the Mask wouldn’t stand behind him by letting her go through first, lingering behind and then leaning close to Ademar in order to slip him two silvers.

“How’s the mood?” he asked.

“Laghari’s in a black temper,” the secretary whispered back. “Asher’s been waiting for something.”

Wen grimaced. Anju Laghari was not someone he wanted to end up on the wrong side of. He’d asked his acquaintances in the Stripe patronage circles for the story on her and learned that Brigadier Laghari had served not only served a decade in the murderous shitshow that was Old Liergan but that she’d done a four-year tour in Hell as well. While over there she’d saved the life of some bigshot Jahamai prince and shot right up the ranks after coming back.

You didn’t make it through tours in either of those places and come out commended without both being lethally ruthless and owed whole heaps of favors by equally dangerous people.

The other committee chairs were all dangerous in their own right, even that smiling Peiling Society scholar, but Laghari was the one he least wanted after his hide since she was the most likely to actually get it. And she might well want his scalp whatever he said today, since she’d shoved him into the role of the Thirteenth’s patron with the expectation that he would do his best to get Tristan Abrascal in front of a firing squad.

Wen sighed, slapped Ademar’s shoulder in thanks and squared his shoulders before stepping into the dark room. He openly rolled his eyes at the ostentation of the place, as he had last time: four high desks, each sat at by one of the Obscure Committee, with the good lamps around them so they seemed in a spotlight while he and the Name-Eater stood in cowed half-light. What, had it been too costly to dig into the floor so the supplicants could be literally beneath the Committee? His distaste went unremarked upon by the four officers across, though not unnoticed. They were all watching him like a neat little row of hawks.

Brigadier Laghari, that stocky warhorse, sat the leftmost. Then Professor Fenhua He to her right, impeccable in their formal robes, and by them half-blind Captain Falade. If that Akelarre witch was even half as feeble as she pretended he’d eat his boots. Lord Asher closed the set to the right, wearing an impeccably tailored suit and equally tailored clothes over it. Fucking devils. Hage was the only one he’d met he ever liked, the old transaction fiend.

Wen walked up to Obscure Committee and saluted vaguely enough it was directed at no one in particular.

“Captain Wen Duan, reporting for consultation.”

There was a moment of silence. The Name-Eater must have introduced herself while he spoke with Ademar, as she said nothing and simply stood to his left. It itched away at him he couldn’t properly see her whole frame from the corner of his eye, though the logical part of him knew he didn’t have a gun to pop her with even if she did attack. And that it was even odds a pistol wouldn’t do much anyway.

It was Brigadier Laghari who broke the silence, that hard face scowling. The Someshwari looked like she’d fought several thorny brambles to a draw and spent the following decade bulking up in preparation for her revenge. If they met strangers in a tavern, he would have bought her a drink and tried his luck.

“Asphodel was a bloody mess, captain,” she said.

“It was,” Captain Wen agreed. “As I wrote in my initial report, it is clear that the senior officers of Stheno’s Peak grew dangerously lax over the last decade. Not only did they fail to pick up on a major cult rising, when presented with circumstantial evidence of a prison layer failing under their nose they delayed instead of acting decisively.”

He foresaw nothing good coming for Colonel Adamos’ career.

Professor He drummed their fingers against her tall desk. The scholar was Peiling and thus sat here charged to look out for the whole College – of which Wen was theoretically a member, despite his disgrace and how he had been run out of every Arthashastra posting that wasn’t an open career killer. Still, he knew better than to bank too much on College solidarity. You didn’t get to sit on a committee like this without having slit a few throats, politically speaking, and the Peiling Society had the most vicious internal struggles of the three societies by far.

It was the lack of funding. The tinkers always got gold for new guns and the Watch needed interpreters by the cartful, so those were paid for without much whining. The Peiling specialties, though, were often too abstract to impress treasury committees. Where pay shrank, squabbles grew.

“None here argue that Stheno’s Peak catastrophically failed its duty of vigilance,” Fenhua He said. “We must, however, ascertain whether the Thirteenth Brigade acted as an accelerant for the Three Risings.”

They probably had, Wen grimly thought, not that he’d ever admit it. You never admitted fault to superior officers, unless you were an idiot. Besides, even if his career could be squashed by anyone in this room with an hour of half-hearted effort, he had an advantage of his own. They were all high rankers from different covenants, which meant they’d get along about as well as a sack full of wet cats. The old Akelarre witch cleared her throat, as if to prove him right.

“Your insistence on viewing the incident as a misfortune is narrow-minded, Fenhua,” Captain Falade said. “Watchmen were at the forefront of defeating the rampant god, very visibly so. I expect our influence over Asphodel will rise to a height it has not known over a century, and many nearby islands to flock to us for protection once more.”

“You’re only saying that because all of Tratheke saw your young guildswoman smite a god tall as a mountain,” Brigadier Laghari groused.

Isoke Falade smiled very, very smugly.

“As expected of a pupil of Totec the Feathered.”

Wen met Professor He’s eyes and they shared a look of commiseration at the vanity on display. It helped to remember that no matter how wealthy, well-connected or personally powerful the Navigators could become they were still constantly pouring metaphysical poison into their very soul that would one day drive them irremediably mad.

Couldn’t buy their way out of that, the Akelarre.

“It has been good for our reputation in that part of the Trebian,” Brigadier Laghari conceded.

“I am not looking to force blame where it need not be,” Professor He said, raising her hands, “but it would be negligent not address the reality that the Thirteenth’s indiscretion might well have spooked the cult of the Newborn into striking early. Despite Captain Ren’s clear attempt at pretending the operation was all planned, it is clear that her brigade’s focus was… scattered.”

Wen Duan straightened. All right, then. Time to take a few lashes for the pests.

“Song Ren was dealt a shit hand and you all know it,” he bluntly said. “Not only did she have a brigadier constantly hitting her up for favors she could not refuse, those same favors entangling her with local politics in very public and inconvenient ways. Meanwhile her cabal was under attack by fellow watchmen while on an active contract, and I invite you to consider that the very terms of the contract she took on were flawed – her brigade was hired to unmask the cult of the Golden Ram and there was no such thing.”

He folded his arms behind his back.

“Adding to that how the Thirteenth was sent on tis test before it had time to get properly taught and I think it grossly unfair to characterize the quality of Song Ren’s service as anything other than excellent.”

“Bold words, captain,” Professor Fenhua said.

Their face was ice cold. Ah, another enemy made. He’d have to add the name to the list. Mandisa would enjoy having something new to throw darts at.

“You may quote me on them, sir,” he replied just as coldly.

A rough laugh came from the left.

“Ren did just fine,” Brigadier Laghari dismissed. “She led her cabal through its baptism by fire and got us useful dirt on a Tianxi ambassador to boot. As far as the Academy is concerned she’s made the cut.”

Wen’s brow rose. Someone must have really liked the dirt Song dug up on Ambassador Guo then, because this firm of a statement from the girl’s own covenant was an open challenge for anyone to disagree – to insist Song should fail would be attempting to meddle with the Academy’s own assessment as one of theirs, and the Stripes could always be relied on to have a fucking fit when that happened.

“She has also passed her loyalty test a year ahead of schedule,” Lord Asher said, breaking his silence at last. “The Krypteia is equally satisfied with her performance.”

Wen eyed him warily. Laghari might be the one he least wanted to cross in this room, but that one was a close second. The name Lord Asher Modai currently bore was not his first, or even his tenth, but the historian had dug as far back as he could – which was the very signing of the Iscariot Accords. It was entirely possible that Asher was one of the turncoats who’d betrayed Hell for the Watch, forcing the Iscariot Accords on the kind.

“See, even the Masks are pleased with our girl,” Laghari smiled. “Our recommendations stay loyal. Would that we could say the same of your old friend Osian Tredegar.”

Ouch, Wen thought with appreciation. The Peiling scholar looked like they’d been slapped, and not gently either. Open palm, with your back put into it.

“Captain Osian Tredegar is not the subject of this meeting,” Professor He harshly replied.

A shame, that. Despite Song’s little last minute trick Wen was firmly of the opinion that Osian Tredegar should be put up against a wall and shot. The man had tried to smuggle an infernal forge to the Lefthand House, even if it’d not ended up that way. It irked him that the tinker would mostly be getting away with it.

“If we might stay on subject,” Captain Falade said. “We called Captain Wen here for a reason, I’ll remind you.”

Half-blind eyes turned to him.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I would have your assessment of Maryam Khaimov, captain.”

“I am not qualified to comment on the changes to her ability to signify,” he neutrally replied. “As far her time on Asphodel is otherwise concerned, I am satisfied with her performance.”

Khaimov had apparently nearly blown up her own soul meddling with forces beyond her understanding, but that was more or less to be expected of any Navigator with too much free time. The nature of their trade tended to weed out the overly reckless, so it was a self-correcting problem.

“She’s sown a soul onto hers somehow,” Brigadier Laghari flatly said. “She’s basically possessed by a ghost, Duan. This cannot be called anything than a concern.”

“Captain Wen is wise,” Captain Falade mildly said, “to refrain from commenting on matters he does not understand.”

Brigadier Laghari turned a dark look at the old woman at the implied chiding for her lacking that same wisdom.

“Contingent on her being observed by Captain Yue, the Krypteia has no issue passing her,” Lord Asher said.

Observed. Wen only knew Yue by reputation, but word on her was she’d use a scalpel instead of a knife when eating venison, if the table let her. He would need to have a word with her about how much a student could be examined without it interfering with their classes.

“She’s come out of this smelling of roses,” Professor He acknowledged. “It would be foolish to waste that.”

And like that Khaimov was in the clear. Now only the problem children remained.

“Which brings us to Angharad Tredegar,” Brigadier Laghari said. “Captain Wen?”

“While she has stained her record by failing to report infiltration by the Lefthand House,” Wen carefully said, “it should be remembered she ultimately did not break regulations and it is not a breach of the Iscariot Accords to surrender an infernal forge to the custody of Hell.”

And now finally Lord Asher stirred from his quiet, stare piercing behind his spectacles.

“That is when there is an understanding that forge will end up inside the walls of Pandemonium, captain,” Lord Asher bit out. “But that’s not what the girl did, is it? She handed that forge to the Office of Opposition in the middle of Asphodel and there is no telling where it will end up.”

Wen kept his expression bland. He was keeping to the exact text of the Accords, so he was not technically in the wrong. That must be particularly galling to the devil who had held one of the pens drafting them.

“It must also be acknowledged she was instrumental to the success of the investigation,” Wen pressed on. “Without Angharad Tredegar, the cult of the Newborn’s plot might have taken us entirely by surprise.”

He did not state out loud that this was true while there had also been multiple Masks and Mask students in the capital, but it was heard nonetheless.

“She is too valuable an asset to waste over minor faults,” Captain Falade said. “Her combat record-”

“Is of limited value if it is not attached to a loyal disposition,” Lord Asher flatly said.

He really was quite miffed about the forge, Wen thought. Unusual, coming from a devil who had a reputation for a slow temper and long games. Something about the Office of Opposition’s presence on Asphodel was sticking in his craw.

“She sided with the Watch when the steel came out,” Professor He said. “And she will remember this debacle, when the Lefthand House truly does approach her. Teaching that lesson is the very point of your little tests, Asher.”

A groan from the left.

“Nobody’s saying we toss her out,” Brigadier Laghari said, “but Asher’s right a slap on the wrist isn’t enough for what she cost us. Like it or not, she flirted with treason and gave away a notable asset. That can’t be waved away as youthful enthusiasm.”

Wen studied them, saw how the Akelarre and the Peiling traded a look, and like that he knew they had played out this entire conversation between them before ever calling him into the room. Not on Osian Tredegar’s behalf this time, he thought, for the man had rightfully been disgraced and association with him would be costly. This was about the younger Tredegar herself, he mused. Something about her had stirred Fenhua He’s interest.

“It would be reasonable to apply Officer Hage’s recommendations on the matter,” Captain Falade conceded. “Five years of probation under a suspended writ of execution.”

Meaning that for the next five years, if Angharad Tredegar’s commanding officer ever suspected her of committing treason they could summarily detain or execute her. Wen cleared his throat.

“By precedent that authority would extend not only to her brigade captain but also to overall field command,” he said. “Knowing this, I request you amend that to such field commanders requiring my consent to enforce the writ.”

“And why is that, captain?” Brigadier Laghari frowned.

“Because those kids have enemies like a stray has fleas,” Wen frankly replied. “And it’s already been proven that there are some within the Watch who will break our laws to get at them.”

None of them reacted. How many had known, he wondered, about the Ivory Library? At least two, Asher and whoever had leaked the report about Abrascal in the first place.

“A fair concern,” Professor He said, not bothering to hide how pleased she was.

“Agreed,” Captain Falade said.

“It would be depriving field commanders of authority that might be necessary to rein in your riotous students,” Brigadier Laghari said. “I disagree.”

Two for, one again. Eyes went to Asher, then, who would decide the matter.

“Captain Wen has the Krypteia’s confidence over matters of internal discipline,” the old devil thinly smiled. “We will, however, require that Angharad Tredegar waive her right to refuse interrogation under truth-telling contract for the next seven years.”

His jaw clenched. The Name-Eater had dug up his record, it was a given that her superior in the Masks would have as well. Captain Falade and Professor Het took the deal offered, assenting to close the matter, and Laghari found herself outnumbered. Thus Angharad Tredegar passed.

“Onto the last one, then,” Brigadier Laghari bit out. “Tristan Abrascal. Come, Asher, try and sell me on your little lunatic murdering another batch of watchmen.”

The devil only smiled, all lips and no teeth, then cocked an eyebrow at Wen. Fine, I’ll do your dirty work for you.

“Tristan Abrascal is a nosy pest,” Captain Wen said. “But despite my genuine concerns when I last stood before this committee, his brigade has proved a stabilizing influence.”