“Come on!” shouted Azriah. He was already up, Orne Tyn unsheathed in his hand. He didn’t wait before hurrying down the stands.
It was slow going. Root hadn’t realized before just how many elbows were in the stands. Now she was very aware, as all of them seemed to be honing in on her stomach and ribcage and face. Most of the elbows surged down off the raised wedge of benches where they were corralled like a pen of livestock. It seemed the spectators didn’t appreciate a flipped script.
Root stood and suddenly regretted the strength of that lemonade as she caught herself on the shoulder of a nearby spirit. Together, she and Vit hurried after Azriah. Behind them, drowning amidst the screams, came the protests of Beel.
“Towards the big hungry monster? You want to go towards—” Somehow, despite the noise, Root still managed to catch the sound of Beel gulping. “This other way is… a long way down. Oh…”
Vit threw a string of web at the tower across the track and used it to zip line over the crowd and down to the ground, arriving at the base of the stands at the same time as Azriah. Root wasn’t so lucky.
“Move! Get out of my way,” she said, pushing past frills and getting hit in the gut with designer handbags swinging about in fright. “I’m trying to protect your stupid sequined asses.”
By the time Root made it to the ground, half the crowd had dispersed, their panicked shouts now echoing off somewhere beyond the concession building. Azriah and Vit stood between the remainder of the crowd and the monstrous spirit now licking its chops at the side of the racetrack. It wasn’t advancing on the spectators, but Root had seen how fast it could move. No doubt it could gulp down a dozen people in half that many seconds, and with them no less than a quarter million radulas in pocket change and twice that value in fashion mistakes.
Root joined the others in their slow advance. “That thing is really fucking big,” she said, pooling smoke in her palms but not committing to anything yet. “Not to sound like Beel, but maybe the people running the other way have the right idea…?”
“They do,” said Azriah. “And someone has to make sure this thing doesn’t catch up to them.” He looked around. “Where is Beel? His rings would be useful here.”
“If you’re looking, I’d start by checking underneath things and in small corners.”
“Hm.”
Root sized up the spirit again. It was even more ferocious-looking up close. Huge and hairy, it had a face like a lioness with four long and sharply-pointed cat’s ears—a second, smaller pair poking out just below the first. It hunched over the other horses and jockeys dead on the track, fur bristling, thick hind legs looking ready to pounce. The pattern on the lithe forelimbs gave the impression that the spirit bathed them with soap made from blood. And perhaps it did—Root had heard stranger hygiene routines.
But the mouth—nothing caught Root’s attention like that mouth. The primary mouth, that was, as they now knew to be wary of the tail as well, a second hidden maw. The spirit’s jaw split its face all the way down to the middle of its thick neck, ending at sharp tusks which, from their positions on either side, gave the appearance of odd mandibles in the approximated anatomy of a child’s drawing. At the center of the spirit’s mouth hung two incisors—not as pointy, but still worryingly sharp in their own way, like two chisels each bigger than Root’s hand. Between the incisors and tusks were fangs, as if the spirit didn’t have enough teeth already.
It watched them with those yellow-orange eyes, still faintly glowing. The rectangular pupils contracted slowly. It inhaled a sharp, steady breath through a nose wet with sweat and beads of blood.
“Something I can help you with?” asked the spirit. Her voice was a silky purr, almost calming. Root paused. She seemed nice enough…
“You have a nice voice,” said Vit, clearly thinking the same thing. “Maybe… well, seeing as this is, you know, not the most honest life… have you considered a career in oration?”
The spirit inhaled another deep breath, walking closer to the announcer’s tower as she did. Was she sniffing something out?
“Do you consider it ‘dishonest’ when you stop in at a tea parlor for a bite?” asked the spirit.
Vit scratched their head. “Well… hm…”
“I think you chased everyone out of the concession stand,” said Root, pointing. “And if you missed anyone, I’m sure they could be persuaded to join the fleeing mob. The lemonade is pretty good, actually.”
The spirit inhaled again. She closed her eyes and flicked one ear. Another deep breath rattled in her chest like a purr. Maybe she just had asthma.
A whud! came from above and Root looked up to see a gangly spirit clambering out of a trapdoor in the floor of the announcer’s tower, then down a steep staircase. The huge spirit’s eyes widened and she stalked towards him.
“Hey!” said Azriah. He raised Orne Tyn and maneuvered himself between the spirit and the announcer. Root finally let the smoke in her hands take the shape of her sword.
“And what are you?” asked the spirit, looking at Azriah now as if she hadn’t parsed him from the group previously. She looked at him curiously.
“We can’t let you harm anyone else here today.”
The spirit drew in another two deep breaths as the announcer sprinted away. “I’m only after the last of my crumbs. He fed me, but I won’t bother him.”
Azriah paused. “I—”
ffFFtung! An arrow struck the stilt of the tower beside Azriah and the spirit. It crackled with something—a magenta flicker snapping around the steel arrowhead. The spirit spared it the briefest glance before turning her gaze back towards the distant fleeing announcer.
“Grii!” croaked Orne Tyn.
Root—as was sensible when projectiles were originating from a place and attacker unknown, so that one might ensure they were neither the target nor immediately in front of it—turned to scan the far side of the field. Just as she looked, a number of shapes broke through the brush, racing towards them.
There were ten of them by the looks of it—mostly spirits, but with a single human amongst them. Three rode atop a fourth, which was larger and bearlike and moving fast. The others kept stride, two in the air and the rest on foot. Root couldn’t tell which of them had fired the arrow, but it didn’t seem to matter, as “concealed carry” appeared to be a foreign concept to them all. “Carry,” however, was well understood.
One of the spirits atop the mount began shouting orders. The group fanned out, surrounding the field. The other riders dismounted gracefully and joined the perimeter as the one giving the orders rode straight up to Root and the others.
“Lam!” she shouted. “We have you surrounded. No sudden movements!”
The huge spirit still didn’t look bothered, but she did look vaguely annoyed. She sucked in another breath, pawing at the tower like a dog looking for scraps.
“Wally, fire!”
One of the airborne spirits drew back their bow and fired. The huge spirit batted the arrow away, seemingly only lightly stung by the snap of energy. She ducked down and crawled through the frame of the tower’s stand, still sniffing.
“She’s cornered,” said the newcomer spirit aloud. “Going in.” She swung down from her mount and hurried forward, drawing something from a pouch at her waist.
The huge spirit saw her coming and sighed. “I do believe I’ve got it all anyhow. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”
“There’s nowhere for you to ru—!”
With far more agility than Root would’ve expected while stuck between the tower’s stilts, the huge spirit wormed free and then lunged. At first, Root thought she was going for one of the spirits who had just arrived, but she cleared them easily, avoiding a wayward hack as the other spirit swung uselessly with an oversized axe. The huge spirit landed beyond their perimeter; another bound and she was a blur, sprinting off through the forest.
The spirit giving orders shouted in frustration. “Wally, Crout, track her!” she cried. “We won’t lose her again. The rest of you, check on the civilians.” One of the flying spirits and the bearlike one the woman had rode in on zipped away in pursuit of their target. The others dispersed.
The group’s leader turned and looked at Azriah for the first time, then Vit and Root. She cocked her head.
“You all kept her distracted. We appreciate your help.”
“Oh, uh, you’re welcome,” said Vit.
“And you are?” asked Azriah, sheathing Orne Tyn.
“Krete,” said the spirit woman. She put out a spindly hand towards Azriah. She was nearly twice his height and built like a pencil that had been gnawed at by a fidgety student until only the graphite remained. “Let me guess—bounty hunters?”
“Not currently,” said Azriah.
Krete looked around again. “Well you certainly weren’t here for the races.”
“The food, mostly,” said Azriah.
“And the booze,” added Root.
“Hm.”
“Are you bounty hunters?” asked Vit.
Krete shook her head. “No. Capsoul.” She tapped a badge on a chain around her neck displaying a trowel and brick symbol. “I’m the brickmason of this team.”
“What a relief.” It was Beel, waddling toward them with wary glances in every direction. “Did you get that one?”
“Unfortunately, no. Lam escaped, but our trackers are in pursuit. Rest assured, we will have her neutralized soon.”
“Capsoul?” asked Vit. “What is that?”
Krete straightened up a bit. “You’re not familiar with our guild?”
“Afraid not,” said Azriah.
“Tyrannical spirits. What do you do about that?”
“Kill them?” suggested Azriah with a shrug.
“And then?”
He paused. “Ah. Well… kill them again, I suppose.”
Krete nodded. “Over and over. Endlessly. Always returning, always wreaking more havoc. And the stronger they are, the harder it is to dispatch them, and the more damage they can do in the meantime.”
“So, what, you take them prisoner?” asked Vit. “With, like, really big chains or something?”
“Of a sort. But our methods are more secure. Slay the spirit, but instead of allowing the will to return to Yg Balta and reform, we force them to possess an item, which is then impounded in our facility and held under careful security.” She held up the item she’d taken from her pouch: a brick.
“You turn them into magic items,” said Root.
“Correct.”
“And this one—a magic brick.”
“The item’s form can grant certain capabilities. Best to limit them.”
“What did Lam do?” asked Vit. “I mean, aside from eat that horse and the rider. She seemed nice enough. And, you know, she made a good point about the food chain and all that…”
“Lam, the Miracle Eater,” said Krete. “A phagus spirit. Greater tier. She’s taken far more than a horse and jockey. This job was contracted. She’s been a thorn in the side of the church of Urk, the Children of Endkiu. They want her dealt with. She’s been eating all of their miracles.”
The four of them shared a look. Vit said, “And when you say ‘eating miracles’…?”
“You know—a child spared from an accident. An illness that clears up against the odds. A treasured heirloom spared from a house fire. If you declare—if you even think in such terms—Lam will come, if she’s near enough to sense it. She feeds on the energy of miracles.”
“Wonder what a miracle tastes like,” said Root.
Azriah looked at where Lady Beautiful wasn’t. “Well, that one probably tasted like horse.”
“I guess it makes sense why the church wants her gone,” said Root. “Can’t peddle your snake oil if she just eats the customer right after.”
“So it’s best to avoid the M-word at all costs,” said Krete with a nod.
“Masticate?” asked Beel.
“That’s not a bad word,” said Vit. “It’s normal and healthy.”
Krete sized them up again. “Well, as I said, we appreciate your help today. Not many people face down the Miracle Eater, much less keep her occupied. If you’re looking for work, Capsoul is always looking for recruits.”
“Thanks, we’ll keep it in mind,” said Azriah with a hollow politeness.
Krete nodded. “I’ve got to go regroup with my team and check on the civilians.”
“Of course,” said Root. Then, after Krete had moved off on her lanky, insect-like legs, she added: “Actually, I’m going to go give them a hand. I’ll check on the people staffing the betting counter. I hope they didn’t run off and leave my money behind.”
“Three,” said Ajis. He slammed his fist on the desk like a petulant baby. It was so unbecoming to act that way at his age.
Ophylla leaned her elbow on the arm of the other chair in Ajis’s office, watching him from beneath her raised brow and waiting for the tantrum to pass. Experience told her she’d be waiting a good long while. Maybe he’d wrap it up in the next hundred years or so.
“Three,” said Ajis again, louder this time. “How is it possible? How? They’re… they’re amateurs! A matter of months and they have three!”
“Yes, I think we’ve covered that point,” said Ophylla uninterestedly.
“It’s almost unprecedented—so rarely have even the greatest hunters in history managed to hold three at once. Even two! It shouldn’t be possible.”
“No, you’re right.” Ophylla straightened up. She didn’t like to say those words to Ajis, but it was true. “I thought I’d struck a good middle ground—competent enough to find the mirror, dumb enough to bring it back to me—or at least too humble to get involved.”
“And now look what you’ve done.”
“Don’t start with me.”
“It’s luck. Can’t be anything more,” said Ajis, more levelly now. It took all of Ophylla’s restraint to keep from patting him on the arm and applauding him for managing his big feelings. “Like you said, they knew nothing about these matters when you hired them, and there’s only so much they could’ve learned in so short a window. They were fine in a scuffle, I’ll give them that, but they’ve had no proper training, learned nothing, given it so little effort. Pure, dumb luck led them to that buffoon in Midden.”
“Your luck—your sources hadn’t indicated any interest in Midden. And now Wrond’s Prurience is on our map.”
Ajis grumbled something under his breath. Ophylla didn’t care to ask him to repeat it, nor did she think it would be any kinder the second time.
“Hardly any use having it on our map when we know it’s headed straight into his hands in Urk,” said Ajis. “Disgraceful. Holing up in the church’s properties, working with that Order of Seekers dweeb.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Of what?”
“That they’re taking the flute—and Affodell’s mirror, and the Ophidians—to the Children.”
“Oh, you think the Children let mote periapts come and go as they please, now? You think the church is making alliances that don’t end in bloodshed for everyone but them?”
“Whatever these four were doing with the Ooze in Midden, it wasn’t permanent. I don’t think the church at large even knows what happened. Since when does the Ooze send one guy to retrieve a mote periapt?”
“You don’t know how they think.”
“No, but I know our four walked out of Midden without their Ooze contact. And I believe they have the flute and left the Ooze with nothing.”
“Where are you getting this information?” Ajis leaned forward, ocher hands planted on the desk, knuckles going pale as he clenched a fist around his ring. Ophylla’s eyes danced over the gem for less than a second.
“I have my underlings and you have yours.”
“You are my underling, and your underlings are my underlings.”
Ophylla shrugged.
“Well?”
“I have a tail following the group.”
“And you know where they are?”
“Approximately.”
“This is unacceptable. This is my crew, and it’s only by my orders that members are stationed in the field. Nevertheless, we should be intercepting them to retrieve the mote periapts and book.”
“Oh, because that’s worked so well for you so far? You want to go see them again so they can slip away from you for a fourth time?”
“Do not speak to me in that tone, I am your superior!”
“We’re partners.”
“I want a report of all of your intel by the end of the day. You’re dismissed.”
Ophylla laughed. “You don’t dismiss me. Maybe I should dismiss you. You’re dismissed.”
“I am not dismissed, this is my office!”
“You could move to Kurg’s office.”
“Kurg’s office is an upside-down crate, and he only has that because Uvuh got tired of listening to him whimper!”
“Perhaps I’m tired of the noises you make.”
Ajis pounded the desk. “You’re dismissed!”
“You’re dismissed.”
The dismissals ping-ponged back and forth several more times until, by compounded outcome, neither of them had any business within a five-mile radius.
Ajis snarled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his talon-sharp hands. “The report. I want to know where they are and where they’re headed.”
“Sure. But you’re not going to like those answers.”