Hazahnahkah missed Ysan dearly, but the youngest of Bankanzaku’s children very much reminded him of the woman’s earliest years. Many were quick to quiet anger, withholding grudges against seating and doorframes when they stubbed their toe or nicked their elbow. Later they’d kick them in secret.

  December 11th’s patience didn’t seem tested by this. Hazahnahkah wondered how such a disciplined leader could turn to this life of robbery. He welcomed January 6th and the eldest of his siblings back from a “venture”. They were soaked in blood. March 8th, October 1st, and June 33rd were quickest to run to them, pushing their cheeks up against the now dry scarlet, not knowing—or perhaps not caring—what it was.

  Perhaps December 11th was angry at June 33rd. He only hugged the other two, but that was when he gave a curt nod of respect to the eldest. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?” June 33rd asked.

  “To learn how me and January 6th do things.”

  Awe lit the boy’s paused face like dawnlight. December 11th took Hazahnahkah out with them this time, which was the first hour in many that he had actually left The Tower. The children followed him filled with wonder, little had Hazahnahkah expected that December 11th and January 6th were going to teach them how to kill.

  “I’m going to teach you how to kill,” the man said smoothly.

  “Yay!” the children shouted, although June 33rd only smirked to himself, trying not to show too much excitement.

  October 1st gave a brittle warcry. “Killing people is a good thing as long as you’re having fun!”

  “And as you know,” the man continued. “Killing is a way of getting what you want.”

  June 33rd interjected, eager to prove himself. “Because it’s not about fear or force, it’s about control.”

  “June 33rd has it.” December 11th grinned, whipping out a knife in reverse grip and flipping it deftly forward. “March 8th, remember that time you fed a lobster chocolate and it died?”

  March 8th suddenly welled up with tears. She sniffed a bit. “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t scream at it, didn’t chase it. You just gave it something sweet. And it died. You need intent when you do something, anything remotely related to anyone outside The Tower. Even lobsters. It’s very easy to kill even things that live forever.”

  “Lobsters live forever?” October 1st asked, who had somehow already managed to write a page worth of notes already.

  December 11th lifted Hazahnahkah. “Many things do. There was a woman I lent this sword to. She was supposed to live forever, but now she might not—all because she lived her life without intent.”

  Hazahnahkah was unsettled. Did the man mean Ysan? Was that first part true? It was very difficult to recall what had happened prior to being swept down into The River towards the girl’s arms. When December 11th first shot Ysan in The Tower, it did not seem like he knew her, but that interaction was rather odd and not entirely clear. It happened so quickly. December 11th did not seem like someone who lingered on the past, he quickly reviewed basic combat training with the children before leaping skillfully down a steep slope and into a chasm. Everyone else followed clumsily, with the exception of January 6th who beat them to it. She spun the chamber of a revolver and clicked it into the barrel.

  “In ten days time we’ll be committing to a full raid. December 11th and I agreed this is a good opportunity for you three to prove yourselves. We want you to join it.”

  “A raid?” June 33rd asked. “That’s ridiculous. Call us for real work. Like an assassination or an invasion.”

  “It’s more important than that. It’s… a kidnapping.”

  “Kids… committing a kidnapping?” Hazahnahkah couldn’t believe his ears. Oh, right. He didn’t have any. That didn’t make this any better.

  “Who?” June 33rd asked.

  “As you know, this sword is very powerful. We’ll be kidnapping two people—The Sword’s Sister and its maker.”

  Hazahnahkah gleamed at this. The wind stilled. Everyone froze, looking at the sword. Hazahnahkah wasn’t sure if this was some strange plan to manipulate him, but he had never once assumed, nor had any hint of, ever having a sibling of any kind. Or were they perhaps thinking of his maker? If such was the case, why would his maker be a child? No, something else was happening here.

  “It will be difficult. The Sword’s Sister is after all the one that made this very chasm.”

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  March 8th then looked suddenly disgruntled. “How can we kidnap them then?”

  “You’ll be their friends,” December 11th squatted low to her. “Friends who are willing to kill them or someone else if they disobey. Remember?”

  The girl then closed her eyes, reciting what the man had said earlier. “Killing is a way of getting what you want.”

  December 11th stood as if appeased by this answer, brushing dirt from his knees.

  “And no one wants to disappoint a friend who can kill.”

  Everyone fell quiet at that, but the man continued anyway.

  “People want to be seen. See the side of them they want you to. You’ll be surprised how quick they show their back.”

  “But that’s if we can kill them,” June 33rd grunted, casting his arms to the chasm’s great walls. “I’m good but I’m not this good. December 11th, I don’t think I can accept this! I’ll end up dead!”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I want your respect. Not your pity. Don’t give me impossible jobs and expect me not to die, or get everyone else killed with me—”

  “I’m giving you the sword.”

  A knot tied up the boy’s voice. He choked. “What?”

  “Temporarily—and I’ll be with you—and you’ll have the Ramble.”

  At that last word, June 33rd could not suppress his awe. He gasped, hands to his mouth. The other two were also shaken. They looked around, suddenly weary.

  “But is it okay for me to use it—?” The boy scrambled up the chasm fast, kicking up dust and sticks. He turned to The Tower. “And so far from the Foundry?”

  “That’s why I brought you here.”

  Several holes opened up in the boy as December 11th impaled him several times. The air popped with each blow, and the riddles in the boy closed quite as fast. He gasped. December 11th threw Hazahnahkah his way and the duel had begun. This didn’t make any sense to the sword, was December 11th so willing to hurt the rest of their siblings just to train June 33rd? This thought didn’t make sense now. March 8th and October 1st looked fine.

  “You’ve gotten better,” December 11th said.

  June 33rd smiled. “I volunteer the most.”

  “It takes life to give life. Let’s see if you can take.”

  They clashed several more times. Despite June 33rd’s tender age he was faster than even the best guard of The Fawn Cities. In addition to their instantly regenerating wounds, it was no wonder December 11th had fought Hazahnahkah and lived. What the sword did not understand was October 1st and March 8th. They weren’t injured at all. So did they need to voluntarily accept the injury to share the damage with June 33rd? It wasn’t entirely clear. Sometimes they did seem affected. June 33rd had a leg swept from him, he caught himself but was kicked in the back—when he went flying forward, so did October 1st. A bruise appeared on March 8th’s arm.

  “You just broke your knife hand,” December 11th said. “What happened to fighting conservatively?”

  “I knew I wouldn’t win the trade. It was better than you taking my life.”

  “Stop assuming I’ll regenerate. A normal person won’t. What you Grand Orphanspawn must understand about the outside world is that people don’t usually share injuries with others—nor do they have heritage with abilities as enduring as ours.”

  Grand Orphanspawn? Hazahnahkah had assumed these were the children of Bankanzaku. He never imagined his children, who hated their father so much, would have children of their own.

  “They don’t have a Ramble,” October 1st said, pushing up his monocle.

  “Some do,” September 6th replied. “Many more dangerous than ours. That’s why we need The Sword’s Sister on our side. Bankanzaku’s Ramble would be no match for it.”

  “The Ramble is our way of interacting with the world,” December 11th continued. “One day you’ll develop your own—but for now you’ll use the sword’s—for now you’ll use September 6th’s.”

  “The sword has a Ramble?” March 8th asked. “I thought only living things can train a Ramble.”

  “This sword is one of the Five Rapscallions. And she is living. Of course she has a Ramble.” October 1st scowled, as if his sister should have known that. “It’s Ramble is known as The Three Confessions.”

  It was annoying they kept getting Hazahnahkah’s gender wrong, but there was something far more concerning. They knew the names of his powers incorrectly, but just close enough to assume that they knew him more intimately than strangers probably should. Hazahnahkah thought he had come up with the name for his talents. He had never spoken to anyone else about his Three Terrors. How did this young boy he’d never met know that there were three of them? No, perhaps the sword had forgotten—long ago—someone had made him. But this all made little sense to Hazahnahkah. He had never heard of a “Rapscallion” before. Or of a “Ramble”. He had never thought of his Three Terrors as anything other than abilities he had been forged with.

  December 11th drew in close and swung. June 33rd was knocked to the side. He went sliding with only one foot on the chasm floor. He breathed, lifting his arm for his older brother to pause. He didn’t. December 11th grew more aggressive until June 33rd forced distance between them through a series of ballet foxtrots. They changed stances, closer to the dirt, boots wider apart.

  “Our power to share things is September’s?” June 33rd looked to his older sister, eyes wide. “I thought they were—”

  “Our father’s?” September 6th asked. “No, Bankanzaku’s is far more selfish and cowardly than mine—than ours. We sacrifice ourselves for each other, and the farther we are the greater the cost. But there is no cost too great for family found.”

  “There is no cost too great for family found,” the three children repeated.

  At this, June 33rd managed a feint, then a pinpoint thrust straight through December 11th’s heart. He stumbled, gagged, then leapt several feet back.

  “And this was my favorite coat too,” he said.

  And that was how they ended their evening, unceremoniously.

  But Hazahnahkah had difficulty sleeping that night, thinking more than he ever had in his life. About whatever Rambles were. About Ysan. About this “sister” of his.