After everything that happened in the Lake District, our party returns to Middlemarch feeling not at all refreshed, unfortunately. The bags under Merlin’s eyes have total hemispherical reflectance below 1.5% in the visible spectrum. Ursa misses her video upload for the week and gets a few tweets from entitled fans as a result. Nora doesn’t actually speak to another human (or humanoid) being for the next eight days.
When they eventually go back to work at the Institute, sanctions lifted, there’s quite a bit to catch up on. Except for Ursa, of course, who is currently unemployed.
‘I thought,’ says Merlin, fiddling with the lid of his cold brew bottle, ‘That I knew who our digital intruder was. But now I’m not so sure that they themselves are the problem.’
Penelope is floating by a monitor, reviewing user accounts. There’s no keyboard or mouse, but that doesn’t seem to bother her. ‘You seemed like you were uh, zeroing in on someone last time we spoke about our little security flaw?’
‘Yes, I thought I was.’ Merlin’s reply is probably a bit too quick. ‘But I’ve been thinking about the nature of the real issue; maybe it isn’t the person but the worm itself. The, uh, computer worm that’s burrowing in. Generic term, not a specific worm.’
Penelope deletes an entry. ‘I know what a worm is, Merlin.’
Merlin tries not to overthink everything Nora told him and the others about the Morris Worm. He sips his coffee. ‘I was thinking we could construct something in a virtual space. Like a firebreak around the servers themselves. Or a moat.’
‘I’ve tried that. It slowed our intruder down one time, but afterwards they’d learned how to bypass it.’
‘Yes, but what if we were to use another of the labyrinth bones?’
The list of user accounts doesn’t move for a few seconds. ‘…You’d need to run it by the director,’ says Penelope. She sounds like she’s already thinking through implementation. ‘An endless, virtual labyrinth… we’d need to set up a quarantine location, something better than a simple conjurewall, uh…’
Merlin leaves her to her musings, and goes to press the lift button for the top floor.
⁂
Director Brynner is already in a meeting though, and unaware of the ascending Gnome.
He leans back in his chair, fixing Ursa with cerulean light. He’d rescheduled two other meetings to see her at the time she’d requested, but the agenda isn’t quite the one he’d hoped for. ‘Could you clarify again exactly what you’re proposing, please?’
Ursa takes a breath. Her leg is threatening to start bouncing, and she finds herself assaulted by a memory of the time she first attempted to explain what a “Video Content Producer” does to her Mama and Tata.
‘I want to continue working with the Caliber Institute, but after everything that happened with the Summer Court and Alkahest, I don’t think I can work for the Institute. So I would like to offer my services on a Consultancy basis. I’ll still act as a field agent; I’ll still be just as useful, but I can’t allow myself to end up in another situation where what the Institute needs to do and what’s actually right are at odds.’
In the corridor outside, Merlin has alighted from the lift and is strolling past the conference room on his way to the Director’s office.
‘Carpenter, we can’t have consultants. The closest thing we have to a consultant is Stiletto Benevolent, a man we sacked and decided didn’t necessitate use of Modify Memory. And the reason we don’t have consultants is exactly the lack of accountability you’re referring to.’
Brynner tilts his head upwards, observing the tasteful lighting as he speaks. ‘The Caliber Institute cannot function if those in its employ are free to disregard any policies, orders, or consequences they find distasteful. We’d fall apart. Rules are, usually at least, established for a reason. You can’t just tell me you want the same role as before but with none of the responsibility. It’s like that Brexit debacle from a few years back.’
Ursa finds herself inspecting the lights as well. ‘Alright then. Thank you for seeing me,’ she says, and stands up.
Brynner blinks at her acquiescence. ‘Hm,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d push harder on that.’
‘What?’
There comes a sudden stillness of the air, as if Brynner’s office is an undisturbed mausoleum, or a disused airlock. Outside, the clouds above pause in their dilatory crossing of the sky. On the verdant top floor of Open Sky Capital, a hummingbird’s wingbeats slow down and halt entirely, just to really drive the point home.
Director Brynner rises from his desk in frozen time. Ursa, in turn, sits back down.
‘Look, Ursa,’ says the Director. ‘You were so good at playing your own game last time we had a meeting. Please, recognise when other people are doing the same?’
‘…Hello?’ says Ursa, looking at the frozen city outside and unable to think of much else to respond with.
‘You recently had a brush with Neutrality, did you not? In the lakes? I did receive a report from the site manager there, though I suspect it lacked a few key details,’ says Brynner. His tone is casual, but Ursa can see a trickle of what must be condensation running down the brass blankness of his face. On someone with skin and the ability to sweat, she’d have taken it as a painfully obvious sign of exertion.
‘It’s an incredibly difficult line to walk. Cosmic Neutrality, I mean,’ continues Brynner. ‘The Alignments are always watching. Or, not really watching, but reacting. “Watching” implies consciousness. There are very few places warded from their observations, and my office is not one of them. I’m humanity’s signatory of the Inside Accords, Ursa. And the Caliber Institute is an extension of my embodiment of that role. Hence the name.
‘If I were to express my feelings that having a “consultant” – as you put it – with fewer restrictions would be an incredibly useful tool in the Institute’s arsenal? The other alignments would absolutely react to that. We’d lose our Neutrality before you can say “knife”.’
Ursa nods. She understands where he’s going with this. ‘Won’t they react to this?’
‘We’re a little ways outside, erm, time right now. I’m going to sit back down and it’ll end. I actually can’t do it for very long anymore, not without my, ah, “full power” as it were. But I keep that to one side, so, yes.’
The air comes rushing back into regular motion. The clouds begin to move again, though it’s a bit hard to tell. The Open Sky Capital hummingbird flits onwards, passing the shoulder of the company’s CEO and earning a half-hearted swipe in its direction.
Ursa has jumped back to her feet. ‘Director, I will not take no for an answer!’ she shouts.
⁂
This confuses Merlin somewhat, as he waits just outside the door. Ursa’s voice sounded like a record skipping for just a moment. He isn’t trying to listen as he waits, but he does hear occasional snippets of discussion nonetheless.
‘…I mean, I’ll still be doing, like, hazardous work so that means hazard pay, right?’
‘…You wouldn’t have the same protections as a full employee; Morta would be unable to give you a prophecised end, for example.’
It seems to be going smoothly. Good.
Ursa waves at Merlin when she eventually emerges with a new contract and a start date in the following week. He gives her a thumbs up, and pokes his head around Brynner’s door.
‘Um, good afternoon, Director. Do you have a minute?’
Brynner gestures for him to come and have a seat, so Merlin closes the door behind him and explains a bit about his labyrinth trap proposal. The Director’s desk phone is a rotary one, but despite his Luddite tendencies – or possibly because of them and Merlin’s use of analogy – he seems quite keen on the idea.
‘The only thing, sir, is that I’d really like to get some outside expertise on dangerous artifacts like the bones. Is there anyone that might be able to offer any insights?’
‘You don’t have to call me “sir”, Williams. And other than Emva in R&D and Cimimi in the treasury, I’m not sure who else I’d suggest, internally. Externally, though? If you want information on dangerous magic I’d suggest setting up a meeting with Laniakea. Or at least one of those “Zoomer” calls.’
Merlin makes a quiet sort of choking sound. ‘I’ll ask about it,’ he says.
⁂
A day passes. It’s Saturday, late afternoon, just on the cusp of evening. Nora is visiting her sister, this time, at her semi-detached house complete with garden that’s only nine-and-a-half miles from the city centre. They’re drinking good red wine.
Nora herself has been up since 04:37AM, as she was attacked in her bed by two mid-sized wolves. Morris apologised profusely, but still she hadn’t gotten back to sleep afterwards. It was one of those days, apparently.
Ella laughs emphatically at some remark, having had quite a bit more wine than Nora. She wags her finger, having apparently remembered something.
‘Oh! Yes! Happy as I am to hear about you visiting a family barbecue, I have news! My start date at Open Sky got moved forward!’
The bottle of wine sits empty on the table between them, Ella sitting with her feet up on the sofa beside her. Nora still has her shoes on. ‘Oh really?’ she says, keeping her tone measured.
‘I’m starting this Monday! Honestly I’m a bit nervous, especially since I’m going straight to working directly for the CEO at a company I’ve barely even heard of before they poached me, ha. But pressure makes diamonds, as Dad used to say.’
Nora scoffs at the mention of their Father, despite her concerns.
Ella swirls the wine around in her glass, watching the legs run down into the rest of the liquid. ‘Got to be there at 09:30 on the dot for my “initiation”, according to the email. I think they meant to put “induction” and had a bit of a brain fart.’
The glass in Nora’s hand is more than half full. ‘Can I take a look?’ she asks, politely.
Ella, quite drunk, frowns in bemusement but passes over a tablet with the email on it. It does, indeed, say “initiation”. Nora taps the attached contract, and finding nothing immediately suspect, flashes on her Eldritch Sight.
Swirling arcane fine print is threaded all around the regular text, luminous green to her occult-occularis. It’s similar in many ways to her own contract at the Caliber Institute, with one somewhat alarming additional clause.
“Employee shall be inducted into the Outside world. Open Sky Capital is not responsible for Employee’s response to this new knowledge, and Employee consents to immediate termination if they take on the Mantle of the Auditor.”
With perhaps a bit more care than necessary, considering Ella’s current state of inebriation, Nora emails a copy of the contract to herself.
She makes her excuses and makes for the door, stopping only to ask Ella – quite earnestly, to a point that her sister would be worried had she been sober – to let her know how it goes on Monday.
⁂
Ursa has just finished filming a Get Ready With Me video and preparing for a night out at the same time, and found that she doesn’t actually need to leave for another hour.
Her brain won’t let her do anything else, because there’s an appointment later in the day. She scrolls through BlinkedIn for a few minutes before a thought pops into her head.
‘Hey, Mama!’ she says brightly, having spent the last twenty minutes with her thumb hovering over the call button. ‘I was actually wondering if I could speak to, uh, Kojak? I just wanted to ask a couple things.’
There’s dead air on the phone for a moment, and Ursa remembers to hold it a bit away from her ear so it doesn’t get all smudgy.
‘…Solya, he and I are the same person. He doesn’t know anything I don’t,’ says Sarolt. Presumably the pause was her stepping somewhere private.
‘Yeah, but he has his own… outlook, right? Like me with, uh, well…’ Ursa trails off. Her Mama has met Abadallion at least a hundred times, but still she struggles to articulate the difference between a Changeling mask and a persona when it’s her own mother she’s talking to.
Another pause. ‘Ah. Okay, but we’re midway through making dinner and I don’t trust your father not to make it too spicy.’
There’s a rustling, then another voice on the phone.
‘What is it you want to know?’ asks Kojak.
‘Well, firstly I wanted to say thank you for being, um, discrete in the report you sent to Brynner. But following on from that, I have a question about the whole, you know, imprisoned Angel business. About Myst.’
Kojak’s reply takes long enough that Ursa wonders if there’s a signal issue.
‘What exactly is it you’re looking to find out?’
Ursa’s front teeth worry at her bottom lip. At least she hasn’t put on any lipstick yet.
‘I just… I wanted to know how you know for certain that she was really responsible for, um, you know. The,’ and here she whispered, ‘Assassinations. We couldn’t get any confirmation out of her at the time, and I know she was pretty quick to try and kill us, but there’s just this nagging feeling I’m getting that—’
‘Orsolya, I’d rather not go into detail.’
‘—there’s more to it than that, I mean, what if she’s been framed? And what if whoever actually did it is still a threat? Yeah, she’s admitted it, you said, but—’
‘Orsolya—’
‘—what if that was a false confession and she—’
‘She was still covered in their… remains when we apprehended her.’
‘—only stayed in her cell because… oh.’
Kojak’s voice is not unkind. ‘Yes. It was a bit of a mess all round.’
‘…Did she say anything at the time?’
‘Only that she was acting in the interest of Life, which for an Angel is like saying “I woke up on Earth today”. Now if that’s everything, Sarolt is going to wrest the jar of chilli powder from your Father’s grip.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Kojak. Bye, Mama.’
Ursa hangs up with a phantom taste of toffee at the back of her tongue.
⁂
The Morris Worm’s shifting faces all wear a look of sheepish rue. ‘Actually, there was someone looking into you online a few weeks ago. I didn’t think much of it. They couldn’t get through me. So maybe they found your sister instead?’
Nora’s glare remains fixed on the monitor. She’d rushed home and immediately asked Morris if there was anything that could be done about Ella’s contract, and how Laniakea had even found her.
‘…And yes, I just checked now and it was Open Sky doing the looking,’ continues the Morris Worm. ‘I’m sorry?’
In the dark of the little home office, Nora does not let out a sigh. Morris was only trying to keep her safe. ‘You don’t have to apologise,’ she says. ‘But you do have to help me think of a solution. I can’t just tell her to skip the interview without a good reason, and the only “good” reason – that Laniakea is a literal Dragon – puts her in the exact same danger we want to prevent.’
Morris chooses its words with surprising care. ‘It might be possible to create a charm that would help her to… acclimatise? Rather than… reacting poorly?’
‘You mean rather than becoming an Auditor and dying.’
‘…Yes. I’d suggest using my Wish function but that won’t be operational for another three weeks at least.’
‘Hmm. What would the charm involve?’
‘I’ll need some time to run some models. And you’ll have to deliver it in person.’
‘Okay, yeah. I’ll… bring her a muffin before she goes in. It’ll be weird but worth it. Are you sure there’s no way to, you know, keep her away from all the Outside stuff completely?’
‘Nothing I can think of right now, but I’ll keep looking. Oh, and I should probably remind you, your hangout with Ursa is in twenty-five minutes. Don’t drink too much!’
⁂
The hangout is in a Mexican place that Ursa has assured her is “Really nice. Authentic!” Nora finds her already at a table, and having already ordered a big margarita pitcher. She pours them both a glass as Nora sits down slowly, keeping her coat on.
‘You’re doing it again,’ observes Ursa.
‘Doing what?’
‘Checking the exits.’
‘Oh. Yeah, it can be…’ she catches herself swivelling her chair a little to get a better angle. ‘Difficult to switch off.’
Ursa hands her a brimming glass – a FESTLIGHET, as Merlin might have pointed out, were he present – with a little lime wedge on its rim. ‘That’s why I ordered these,’ she says.
Before too long they’re talking. Nora is making a real effort not to answer in monosyllables and Ursa takes the opportunity to learn more about her friend. When their food arrives, Ursa has learned that Nora has a sister, and is trying to guess her name.
‘Is it… Bellamy?’
Nora pauses with a corncob in her hands just to give Ursa a scathing look. ‘No.’
‘Dashiell?’
‘What? No.’
‘Okay, I should go for something common. Uh. Charlie?’
‘No.’
‘Sam?’
‘Pfft, as if I’d be related to someone named Sam.’
Ursa eats a taco al pastor. Another jug of margarita arrives.
‘I actually mentioned my sister because it’s kind of on my mind. She’s got a job interview on Monday. For Laniakea.’
Ursa inhales a chunk of pineapple.
‘What? Why? How?’ she asks, when she recovers.
Nora is at this point pouring herself another drink. She shouldn’t have mentioned anything. ‘You know, it’s complicated? I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
‘Nora, you can’t just—I mean, I want to help. If I can? You’re my friend!’
Nora finishes her glass and helps herself to another. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m not worried about it, I’m worried about you.’
‘Don’t worry about that either. Anyway this was nice, but it’s pretty late and I should be heading home.’
Ursa watches her sway a little bit. She’s a bit tipsy herself, but concern for one’s companions on a Girls Night tends to burn alcohol away quite rapidly. ‘I’ll ask for the bill. You’re, er, not planning on driving are you?’
‘I’ll walk.’
‘Do you live nearby?’
Nora fixes her with a natent gaze. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
‘…Yes, Nora, I would. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘Nobody knows where I live, Ursa. Not even the Institute. Not even my own Mum’n’Dad. Not even the post office.’
‘…why?’
Nora seems unprepared for this line of questioning. She simply leaves the building.
⁂
It’s 01:33 A.M. Merlin has stayed up working on the concepts for the virtual labyrinth. It’s all come to him naturally, like he’s merely transcribing a melody he’d heard earlier in the day. Penelope, who needs even less sleep than Merlin apparently does, will begin setup of the trap as soon as she receives the schematics he’s just finished. He drafts an email, attaches the file, and hits send without any additional text or description. She’ll know what to do. She was excited about it.
There’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps, not much space between. His flatmate Ben is out on the lash tonight, but if it were him at the door – having forgotten his key or something – it’d be less a knock and more an inebriated hammering.
Merlin hops down from his seat, giving up on theorising when there’s a simple solution present that offers a concrete answer: opening the door.
It’s his father.
‘Dad?’ asks Merlin. ‘What are you…?’
‘Heya, Sam. I was, ah, just in the neighborhood and I wanted to get your advice on something.’
‘At half one in the morning?’
‘Ah, yes, it’s important. Can you come with me to the depot? I can’t really explain until we get there.’
Merlin’s father is a bus mechanic. He doesn’t specify to Merlin that it’s the bus depot he’s referring to, because that would just be odd and unnecessary.
Merlin nods, and locks the door behind him. ‘Hold on, are we walking?’ he asks, when it becomes apparent that they are, indeed, walking.
His Dad nods this time.
‘But it’s forty minutes from here,’ says Merlin.
Another nod.
‘You didn’t even bring Tick.’
Tick is a mechanical dog his Dad built. Merlin doesn’t specify this because it would just be odd and unnecessary.
‘Hm? Oh, didn’t have time,’ says his Dad.
They continue to walk, slowly, in the direction of the bus depot. Both of them have short legs.
The depot is almost totally empty save for a number of sleeping buses. One, however, is some way away from the others, and its lights are on. The engine is running, ready to depart.
‘Dad, what’s going on?’ asks Merlin again.
His Dad approaches the bus. Its doors hiss open. He gets on. Merlin, lacking other options, follows. He idly notes as he does that it isn’t one of Middlemarch’s regular public transport buses, but instead a silver thing with tinted windows.
The man at the wheel is a twitchy sort, grinning at Merlin as he alights. Seated in various locations are a number of others, all regarding Merlin and his Dad with varying levels of glee.
Merlin realises they’re Demons. Half a second later, he realises the one closest to the back is Rembra, who’d tried to pin a bank robbery on him a few years back. She flashes him a peace sign.
His jaw begins to stiffen. ‘What is this?’
A Demon in a tailored grey suit and tie, grinning like a salesman, gestures towards Merlin’s father. ‘Alright, why don’t you explain?’ he says. Another demon, with long ginger hair and cat-eye glasses, rolls her eyes at him.
His father takes a breath. ‘Sam… these people have your mother.’
Merlin looks at the assembled Fiends. ‘How… dare you,’ he growls.
‘All we have to do is go with them for a job tonight and they’ll give her back, safe and sound. We even get a cut.’
‘How dare you,’ says Merlin again. He isn’t listening.
His hand comes up and his tattoos flash; arcing electricity crackles around his fingertips. One lightning bolt should be enough to put a hole through the ginger one’s chest and blow off Rembra’s fucking head for good measure. The big one at the back – she might not be a fiend, actually – clearly isn’t paying attention. Slow. The salesman is an unknown quantity, but if he summons a Shadowspawn he can keep the guy busy while he takes his Dad to a safe distance and blows up the bus behind him. Yes, there’s the driver, but—
His dad steps in between Merlin and the Demons. ‘Sam, please.’
Merlin looks into his Dad’s eyes. There’s real fear there, not for himself but for someone he loves. Merlin has never seen his father like this; usually his eyes have a gleam to them, as if he were seeing the world at a slightly higher resolution than everyone else. Or at least a twinkle, when he was being sarcastic.
His eyes are missing all of that now.
‘Alright,’ says Merlin. ‘Alright. What’s. The job.’
Roll History 