For the most part, the city of Urk was just like any other city, except in one regard. Urk had a well above average density of per-capita mira—
Oh, yes, I suppose I shouldn’t use the word either. You never know. Let’s just call them phenomena. She’s not the phenomenon eater, and it may have just enough of that scientific aftertaste to make it unpalatable to her. She’s a bit of a picky eater.
Every dawn broke to a city revering the new day. It was a phenomenon that another new day had come, apparently. You might expect that after a few hundred thousand lined up in a perfect, unbroken row that some things could be expected. But certain minds and certain belief systems weren’t predisposed to noticing the natural patterns of the world as usual cause and effect, unless that cause was divine and that effect was mi—phenomenal.
The day unfolded from there. Just enough coffee left over? A phenomenon. Got the kids ready for school just in the nick of time? Phenomenal. Found your keys after losing them the night before? Thank Eu, it’s a phenomenon!
(And losing your keys in Urk was generally quite hard to do, as the average key ring had twelve and three-quarters keys dangling from a hefty, oversized key ring reinforced to stave off any thieving fingers.)
It’s not that phenomena occurred more frequently in Urk per se. There were many other events that patterned the day like pockmarks, blemishes on the skin of misfortune.
Woke with a crick in your neck? Penance for yesterday’s lower-than-average donation at the chapel. Stepped in something slimy? A lesson from the Almighty to watch your footing. Laid off at work? The One God Eu has other plans for you—better plans.
And so it had been quite a lot of memos and taken several extensive campaigns to get the city’s inhabitants to temporarily change their vernacular in both speech and thought—what with Lam being so nearby, circling the city like a lion waiting for its prey to show a moment of weakness. It was no wonder the church was so adamant that Capsoul remove her from the map as expeditiously as possible.
So the phenomena density had dropped off of late, but only in name, and the inhabitants were quite sick of it. It felt ungrateful to let an instance of arriving at the doughnut shop during a lull in the line go uncelebrated. After all, what else could be the reason for such an occurrence if not a divine smile from above?
Two of Urk’s residents—neither overly pious, nor entirely devoid of belief, but rather having the sort that’s mostly just been reduced to tradition rather than any strong feelings—thanked the most recent phenomena in their respective lives as they independently set a course for the same basement door, consulting slips of paper with the handwritten address. But though it felt like a lucky break, they were united in their wavering worries:
What, exactly, was the sort of job one had to do for seven hundred helixes?
Root answered the hostel’s basement door to both knocks.
Anjeanette, she knew now. Saly she knew by name but not by face. He was a man of quiet temperament punctuated by fits of fidgeting, grey-haired and round-faced, like he’d been caught in the middle of trying on different ages to see what fit him best and ended up purchasing the set for a deal. Root waved them both to the table, which they’d cleared of anything incriminating for the time being, replacing the plans with a pitcher of water beaded with dripping condensation and a tray of Orphalia and her second husband’s finest.
“Thanks for coming,” said Azriah. “Now, hopefully you didn’t walk over here in vain, but we’d still like to leave you with the option to duck out with only an evening stroll and a ma’amoul to show for it.”
“It’s a big risk,” agreed Vit. “But it’s a job we think you’ll both be interested in. We have the details laid out, but we can’t guarantee anything. Except that if all goes to plan, you’ll each get seven hundred helixes.”
“Now, hold on,” said Saly. “You kids seem smart enough, but… you know a hundred is two zeroes, right? Not—well, no zeroes?”
“Yes,” said Azriah. “Seven hundred helixes.”
“Eight thousand and four hundred mantles? One million, fifty-eight thousand, four hundred radulas?” said Saly.
“You can break it for whatever change you want,” said Root. “It’s all the same.”
“Nineteen million… fifty-one thousand… two hundred shells,” said Vit, waving a finger in the air as they tallied.
“Twenty million, one hundred and nine thousand, six hundred shells,” corrected Saly. “And you know that’s enough to buy a house? A nice house. Even in the city.”
“Or an office space,” said Azriah with a nod. “That’s what we’re offering. But before we get into the details, you’re either in or you’re out.”
Neither of the two moved. Anjeanette appeared to be looking around the room for hiding places, but that seemed more to be out of habit than anything.
Saly licked his lips nervously. “I’ll help with whatever you have in mind. For my business and my family, you know.”
Anjeanette nodded.
“All right,” said Azriah. “Root?”
From a drawer, Root withdrew the king’s brick and placed him facing the others at the table. She began pulling out and unrolling their maps and plans.
“A tour guide and an accountant, I’m told,” said the king.
Saly quirked an eyebrow. “What is this? Is it magic?”
“He’s a spirit,” said Vit.
“Fascinating. What’s your name?” asked Saly—a little louder, as if brick ears didn’t work quite as well as standard flesh and blood.
“Brock,” said the king, who’d suggested keeping at least one detail from their recruits. The Unsightly King had a certain reputation in Urk. Root had come up with the alias.
“Brock the brick,” said Anjeanette, amused.
“Brock will lead us through what this job entails,” said Azriah, waving for the king to take the floor.
“Yes. Thank you. I overheard some confusion about the payout; you heard correctly that the sum is seven hundred helixes. We’ve recruited the two of you for a heist.”
“A heist?” squeaked Saly. “Like—like vaults and the like?”
“He actually said we don’t need an acrobat,” said Vit.
“A bank, then, must be. Seven hundred. Each.”
“Bigger,” said the king. “We will be robbing the Eternal Palace. The full sum of money, plus the Halo of the Unsightly King.”
“How in the worlds—”
“A great question,” said the king.
“That’s why you wanted to tour,” said Anjeanette. “And see the Hall of Relics. The catering kitchen was an odd pick, though.”
“We’re enacting our plan during the Evening of Generosity. That still gives us several days to round out our team and make sure everyone knows their duties.” He turned to Anjeanette—which really just involved moving the carved features of his face slightly to the side. “The tour guide—you’ll lead tours during the event. You’ll bring our agents where they need to go without garnering suspicion, and lead tours for others as well to keep up the ruse.” He turned to Saly. “Our accountant—”
“And financial planner,” muttered Saly.
“—will be handling the heist of money while the others work the plan to steal the halo. A tour will get you into the financial offices. There, you’ll do some accounting in our favor. A dozen, dozen and a half checks in different amounts, all balanced in their ledgers.”
“That’s easy,” said Saly with a wave of his hand. “But unless you’ve got blank checks already signed by someone in the upper ranks of the Children, you’ll never cash them.”
“It will be taken care of,” said the king. “We’ll also need someone in the palace guard detail. The Children will be sure they have eyes everywhere, so we make sure some of those eyes are working for us. We’ll get Azriah here on as a guard for the evening. We’ll need someone in catering, too. Vit has volunteered.”
Vit waved. “I used to be a bartender.”
“And now you’re robbing churches,” said Saly.
“It’s a long story. Two and a half books at least.”
“There are other duties,” continued the king. “Things for Root to cover—she’ll enter as a guest, as will you, accountant.”
“And financial planner.”
“We’ll need three more recruits—people to manage the intricacies of the halo’s security. The lock, the skip snare—these are no minor hurdles. For starters, we’ll need someone to get close to the Grand Priest. And for that, we’ll need a barber.”
Cruncher dusted off the neck of the customer in his chair. Rather, he dusted off the neck-like region. The spirit in question had plenty of hair—now very nicely trimmed, if Cruncher did say so himself—but no real head or neck to speak of. The hair covered the top of his form, and where the rest of his bits were located was none of his business. His business was hair.
The customer paid, and Cruncher did some hasty tidying—but not too much. A human-guy waited in the armchair by the door, and Cruncher waved him over.
“What’s your name, son?” asked Cruncher as the human-guy took a seat. Cruncher fastened the cape around his neck.
“Azriah,” said the human-guy, untying a bandana from his head and taking his hair out of the ponytail that bound it. “And you?”
“Everyone calls me Cruncher. What can I do for ya, Azriah? A shave? Maybe something with all-a this?” He waved to Azriah’s curly mane of hair.
“Bit on the cheeks and the neck, mostly. And just tidying up the ends.”
“You got it, boss.”
Cruncher set to work and launched into a mindless anecdote about his neighbor’s chickens.
“And those things don’t have any survival instincts, I tell ya!” he said for the third time that day. “Runnin’ out into the street. Watched one get kicked by an ox the other day. Right in the head, it got him. And then the gate guards—‘cause they’re always doing the rounds in their big battalions, you know how it is, like living under martial law out here—they come up and start yellin’, askin’ who was letting their chickens out in the street. Well, I wasn’t going to say a word, of course…”
“Mm,” said Azriah. “Actually, I’m just passing through. But I did notice a lot of guards out here. Why is that?”
Cruncher laughed—a deep, hearty laugh. “Oh, don’t even get me started, brother!” He shook his head. “You a pilgrim or something? Come here to see the sights?”
“Not exactly. You get a lot of pilgrims?”
“Oh, tons.”
“Big presence the Children have in Urk.”
“Heh.” Cruncher lifted his brow, pursed his lips. He tilted Azriah’s head to the side with one huge, amber-colored hand as he unfolded his razor.
“Been in Urk a while?” asked Azriah.
“I’ve been here almost longer than Urk!”
“Wow, that’s impressive. I imagine it’s changed quite a lot.”
“That’s for sure. And not always for the better, I tell you what.”
“Is that so?”
Cruncher sighed and shook his head.
Azriah continued. “It seems the church has really taken everything over. I heard it didn’t used to be quite so…”
“So under their thumb? Yea, you heard right.”
“Not religious, then?”
“Oh, I used to be. Sure used to be—and I guess you could say still am, ya know?” Cruncher clicked his tongue, leaned his head one way and then the other. “It’s a complicated thing, you know. The Children coming in and, well, rebranding what was already here…”
“How so?”
“Oh, well, y’see, I used to follow the old ways. Back before this ‘The One God Eu’ stuff. Used to be we had eight gods—Unan and Ninus and Matu and Lull and all them. Then the Children came in and said all those ones were actually parts of this Eu.”
“Hm. So, they shook up the beliefs quite a bit, then?”
“Sure, but that’s nothin’. I mean, I can still believe what I wanna believe, y’know? No big fancy chapel or their new book—‘The Book of How You Really Should Think And Feel, If We’re At All Honest’—is gonna change that.”
“Long title.”
“They mostly just call it the Book of Proper Thought. Or the Thought.” Cruncher scratched his head. “You really aren’t a pilgrim, eh?”
“Afraid not.”
“Oh, don’t be afraid. I’ll even give you a discount for it—ha!”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“No, really—I’ve been up-charging those tourists for years. So consider it on them.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Cruncher kept working, changing his angle to assess his work. “Nah, the real trouble is… well, no, I really can’t say.”
“Oh, please,” said Azriah. “Speak your mind. It’s fascinating, the things going on in the places you see when you’re traveling, you know?”
“Well…” started Cruncher. “It’s the way they’ve changed the city, you know—not the religion. All these walls. Everything inside—it’s all gotta be so polished, so perfect. Not only the streets and the buildings, but the people. If you’re not o’ them, out you get—out into the outskirts here, beyond the main wall. I tell you I’ve been here almost longer than Urk? Yea? Well, look at me—all the way out here now, a second-class citizen. I used to have a nice place in a nice neighborhood. Now I’m watchin’ my neighbor’s chickens kill ‘emselves in the road! That’s the real change, see. Don’t like the new order? Out you go.” Cruncher made another few cuts as worry creeped in. “Eh, I shouldn’t’ve said allat. Don’t make nothin’ of it.” There he was again, running his big mouth. He was going to get thrown out of the outskirts too, one of these days, and then where would he be?
“It’s not right,” said Azriah. “Treating people that way—especially the people who have been here longer than anyone.”
“Eh, well, not much us little guys can do about it. You seen the size of that palace, that cathedral? Ha. They’re not goin’ nowhere.”
“What if someone took the church down a peg?” asked Azriah. “Or a few pegs.”
“I’d say that person’s crazy. And also fightin’ a losing battle. Nothing’s getting rid of the Children. They’ve been here a long time too, now.”
“Nothing?” asked Azriah. Something in his voice caught Cruncher’s attention. Something made him pause. “What if there was something already in the works? A job. Would you want in?”
Cruncher considered it. “Putting my neck on the line like that… It’s a tall order. I’m no freedom fighter. I’m just a barber.”
Azriah shrugged. “Well, we can’t get rid of the church altogether—that’s more than one person can do with the snap of their fingers. But, you know. If you destabilize the church, it creates an opening for others to make strikes of their own. Death by a thousand cuts. And there’s a nice chunk of money in it, too.”
Cruncher looked down at the tools beside him—fine scissors in his meaty hand, the razor on his table. Death by a thousand cuts. Sure, he could do that. He was an expert at cuts.
“What do ya have in mind?”