The walk to the town square took us through Hagit’s “old district”. The buildings here were made entirely of banyan – of actual trees, still rooted in the ground, which seemed to have melded together as they grew. A thick canopy of dry needles formed the buildings’ roofs.

  A placard set into one of the buildings told us that this peculiar architecture was traditional to Zone Two, the result of the area having been settled mostly by Druids and Geomancers back in the pre-Unification days. The whole district had burned down some time ago (presumably related to the aforementioned dry needles), so none of the buildings we saw here were original. The town of Hagit had apparently rebuilt them all, going to considerable efforts to maintain the district’s original character, fire hazards and all.

  The longer we spent in Hagit, the more I got the impression that the little town really punched above its weight, economically speaking. Tatzel said this was because Hagit was the closest Zone Two settlement to the Queen’s Threshold, so a lot of adventurers passed through with loot from their first Dungeon still burning holes in their pockets. Hagit’s location made it a likely place for adventurers to upgrade their starter gear, which also explained why a bunch of smithing businesses were headquartered here.

  The town’s wealth showed itself in a variety of ways. Its streets were free of litter and well-maintained, with unbroken cobblestones laid out in artful, precise patterns. There was more technology here than I’d seen in Zone One: the streetlights were fitted with eternally glowing orbs with mechanized shutters instead of lanterns, and most of the tram crossings were outfitted with some kind of hulking arcane automaton – made of metal, man-shaped, but about ten feet tall – which came to life as the tram approached, and manually lowered the pedestrian safety gate.

  –

  “Helloooooooo Hagit! Welcome, one and all! Are we excited this afternoon?” The magically-amplified voice of the debate’s emcee, a thin man with a wispy goatee, rang out across the Hagit town square.

  The crowd let out a few unenthusiastic whoops. “Is that all you’ve got? I don’t think our candidates can hear you! Let’s make! Some! Noooooooise!”

  The emcee’s demand was met with a slightly less tepid series of cheers and whistles from the audience. Beside me, even Aeshma let out a half-hearted “Let’s fucking go”. But her attention was really on scanning the perimeter of the square for the food-cart with the shortest line, rather than the main debate stage.

  “Yeah, that’s more like it!” the emcee said as he energetically paced around the stage. “Now let’s hear it for the candidates! First up, we have the man with all the plans… the cunning, the devious… Tiiiiiiiiilk!”

  The name elicited polite applause from most of the gathered crowd – except for a pair of folks a few rows ahead of us, apparently big Tilk fans, who went absolutely nuts. At a gesture from the emcee, Tilk strode confidently onto the stage. He was a stout, heavyset man sporting a menacing, cartoonish mustache. All in all, he looked like the kind of guy who would tie a damsel to a set of train tracks. Once he reached his podium, Tilk adjusted his denim top-hat and gave the audience a polite parade wave.

  "Coming onstage next: she’s ready to hack, slash, and blast her way through the debate, all the way to the mayoral office! Let’s give it up for Hagit’s very own… Sloammmmmmmm!” The emcee pointed excitedly at a stern-faced, grey-haired woman dressed in a simple but well-kept gambeson. Her arrival at the podium was met with scattered applause – which was all but drowned out by a series of boos and hisses from a row or two ahead of where the three of us were standing.

  “Last, but certainly not least, this dashing fella will stop at nothing to save! Those! Orphans! Let’s hear it for Misteeeeeer Menlyyyyy!”

  Menly certainly looked the part of a small-town mayor, dressed as he was in a businessy, professional-looking sweater and cleanly pressed pants. His hair was coiffed into a slight pompodour which, while impressive, did not quite conceal his receding hairline. He took his place on stage, suppressing a flicker of irritation as the emcee’s PA turned off with a shrill squawk.

  There was more polite applause; and again, the pair of Tilk fans ahead of us went ballistic with dramatic gagging noises and pained groans. Who were these guys, and why were they so passionate about the mayoral race? I craned my neck to get a better view, but all I could see was the perfectly uninteresting back of their heads… until, during a particularly loud boo, one of the hooligans turned to the side. In profile, his head was perfectly uninteresting, too, except for the fact that he was wearing a monocle.

  With the candidates in their places, the emcee bowed and scurried off the stage, ceding the floor to a more standard panel of moderators, who blandly announced the first debate topic: orphan safety in the smithing business, and how changes in Hagit regulatory code might impact the local economy.

  Sloam was the first to speak. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now: the orphans are our future. And without proper oversight, Hagit’s blacksmithing industry is liable to mangle or even kill our future. That’s why I believe that both local and imported orphans should be required to go through proper safety training before they’re permitted to work with dangerous equipment.”

  Tilk guffawed from his podium. “I understand that as an adventurer, most of your problems could be solved by hacking and slashing, Sloam. But Hagit needs a mayor who can approach a sensitive topic like orphan rights with the delicacy it requires. If your regulations were instituted, perhaps some of the smaller foundries could be forced to bend the knee. But what of the major players? Companies like Dracornian Industries could easily relocate… and without them, Hagit’s economy would crumble.

  “Dracorn can moan and whinge all he wants,” Sloan growled. “If you think he’d uproot and leave behind all the expensive infrastructure and facilities he’s established here, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “Boo!” the monocled man ahead of us shouted. “Your policies don’t go far enough! You don’t care about the orphans!”

  Not far enough? Wasn’t this guy just cheering on the Vanderbilt type a few minutes back, who wanted no regulations?

  Menly cleared his throat. “I agree with the gentleman in the audience; Sloam’s policies don’t go far enough! She’s always talking about oversight and accountability, but never about putting the power into the hands of the orphans themselves. That’s why my comprehensive Orphan Safety Solution includes assisting the orphans in forming a cooperative Orphan Union–”

  “Yuck! You were born with a silver spoon up your butt!” the monocled heckler shouted.

  “Only Sloam knows what it’s like to work the forges!” the other heckler added. Whoever these two were, they were obviously trying to pit Sloam and Menly against one another.

  “Hey Aeshma-” I began, only to see the Succubus at the back of the line for some fantastical food cart off at the edge of the crowd.

  “Yo Tatzel,” I said, expertly switching gears, “These guys are up to something.”

  “Hmm? Oh, the two hecklers? Yes, they certainly seem to be,” Tatzel replied without shifting her gaze from the stage, where things were really starting to heat up. Sloam, now red in the face, was furiously slamming her hand against the top of her podium.

  “No one supports the orphan unionization push like I do!” Sloam shouted. “I am the foremost orphan union supporter in Hagit!”

  She cleared her throat and calmed herself down. “Having been an orphan myself, I speak from experience when I say that Menly’s proposal is totally inadequate. Without a dedicated oversight program…”

  “Queen’s beans, are they still talking about orphans?” said Aeshma, sidling back up to us with two plates of loaded nachos in her hands.

  “Yep. Oooh, is one of those for me?” I asked.

  “Yeah dude, they were buy-one-get-one,” she said, offering me one of the plates. I took it gratefully. Tatzel, still enraptured by the debate, reached out to take some chips from Aeshma’s serving. Aeshma pulled it away with an affronted look on her face. “Quit it, Tatz! You made us come to this stupid debate, you can get your own!”

  “Pah, fine! Then the two of you hush so I can listen.” Tatzel’s pupils flickered like a predator’s watching its prey as Tilk leaned heavily over his podium.

  “Good townspeople! It is clear that my two opponents, despite their irreconcilable differences, are alike in one, key way: they both seek to coddle the strong, independent orphans who made Hagit into the powerhouse it is today. Sloam and Menly’s policies will hamstring Hagit’s burgeoning economy, and all of our pocketbooks – yes, including the orphans’ – will suffer for it,” Tilk boomed. He paused, sweeping his eyes across the audience as though inviting them to ponder his words.

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  “These orphans need structure in their lives,” he continued more softly. “They need routine, which working the forges provides. Who are we to hamper their personal and professional growth?”

  As he finished his statement I gave Aeshma a little nudge and gestured to the hecklers ahead of us. “Hey, watch those two guys.”

  Sure enough, as soon as Tilk finished talking, the pair of hecklers went wild with applause and tearful cheers.

  “That’s suspicious, right?” I asked. “I think Tilk put plants in the audience. Like, to make it look like he has widespread support.”

  “Mmf- yeh, thas crazy man.” Aeshma said through a mouthful of chips. “Maybe he coula- coulda’ hired some better hype men if he’d sold that snazzy hat.” Neither Aeshma nor Tatzel seemed interested in the emerging situation, so I sighed and started downing my nachos. The flavor was a bit off – the jalapenos having been replaced with some different spicy plant, presumably native to the area – but it was similar enough to fill the snack-shaped hole in my heart.

  I tried my best to ignore my suspicions about the hecklers and just enjoy the rest of the debate. The candidates carried on through a variety of topics, ranging from the mundane minutiae of school funding and residential redistricting, to the less-mundane details of Monster-encroachment countermeasures. All the while, the two hecklers continued hurling provocations at Henly and Sloam.

  “Oh yeah, I almost forgot!” said Aeshma, as the debate was winding down. “You’re never gonna believe who I saw in the food cart line, Roland. Remember that time when you were getting mugged in an alley? And I came to your rescue all heroic-like and totally saved your bacon?”

  I wasn’t sure I liked where this was heading. “Yeah, of course I remember. It was like two weeks ago.”

  “Yeah yeah, you know, that time I got there before they stole your jeans? Remember how there was that lady with the burn on her face? Greg’s friend? Kind of skinny, with half her face burnt off?

  “Yes? Did you just see her–?”

  “It was her! She was waiting in line for nachos too!” Aeshma said excitedly.

  If Grace was here, then Greg couldn’t be far away. Maybe it was petty of me, but I sure wouldn’t have minded running into him again. I’d like to see him try to mug me now that I was surrounded by a gaggle of powerful Monsters. I guess it was more like two normal Monsters plus one extremely powerful one. Nevertheless, they, mostly Aeshma, could totally kick Greg’s ass. And by extension, I could too.

  Tatzel’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. “Did you say Greg’s friend? Is this the same Greg whose party recently annihilated the Queen’s Threshold?”

  “Yep!” said Aeshma.

  “Maybe we should try to find him,” I said. “We could ask him about, uh…” My voice trailed off as I failed to think of a suitable excuse. Really, I just wanted Greg to see that I was hanging around with a cool, über-powerful crowd these days, and was no longer the kind of person he could mug in an alley.

  “Ask him about what, dude? You didn't finish… oh, I get it! You're still mad about losing your gold, and you're looking for a rumble!” Aeshma inhaled the rest of her plate. “Well I’m down. You wanna go now?”

  Tatzel looked between Aeshma and me a few times, her eyes wide. “You two are ridiculous! As I literally just said, this Greg and his party steamrolled the Queen’s Threshold. My predecessor, the Boss who was appointed before me?” She pointed to the ivory ring on her thumb. “This was carved from his fingerbone, because it was the biggest piece of him they could find. So let’s kindly not antagonize him or his party for no good reason.”

  Massaging my injured pride seemed like a perfectly good reason to me. “Well, Tatzel, if you recall, Aeshma also defeated a Boss of the Queen’s Threshold, and she did it singlehandedly. So by the, um, transitive property, Aeshma is at least as strong as Greg and Grace put together.”

  Tatzel shook her head, looking half confused and half irritated. “That’s not… no. I mean, it's possible she might be, but your math is wrong.”

  “Alright Tatz, what if we don’t rumble with them? We could just, like, get all up in their faces, brag about how Roland and I made it through the Threshold as a party of two and even kidnapped the Boss. Seeing you with us would really rankle them, I bet,” said Aeshma, as she wiped some excess nacho cheese from the corner of her mouth.

  “Absolutely not! You'll say nothing of the sort! I’m not your… your prop!” Tatzel hissed.

  “Fine, fine! We’ll just do some generic gloating. We won’t mention how we kidnapped you at all! ” Aeshma said. She clapped a hand on Tatzel’s shoulder and gestured for me to lead the way out of the now dissipating crowd. Tatzel let out a series of frustrated noises, but acquiesced and followed us to the edge of the town square.

  Between Grace’s prominent facial burns and Aeshma’s height giving her a good vantage point, I figured it would be easy for us to spot Grace filtering through the crowd. But after a few minutes, I was starting to wonder if Aeshma had really even seen her in the first place.

  Out of the corner of my eye, glint of a monocle drew my attention to the entrance of a nearby sidestreet. It was the heckler from earlier, standing with his compatriot – except now, both of them were clad in long, flowing black robes, over the pedestrian clothes I saw them in earlier.

  And they were chatting with none other than Grace herself. After a few seconds, the three of them turned and skulked deeper into the alley.

  I knew those guys were up to something. My recent stint as a detective must have honed my sense for something being afoot.

  “Guys, over there!” I hissed. “Grace just followed those two weird hecklers into the alley!” I said, pointing towards the retreating figures. “They’ve even got cultist robes on now. I told you there was something fishy about them.”

  Aeshma squinted in the direction I was pointing. “I think those are Accountant robes, not Cultist robes. But yeah, I guess it’s a little weird that Grace is hanging out with some Accountants.”

  Cultist or Accountant, it didn’t matter to me. They were up to something shady, and I meant to find out what. We hustled down the alley as discreetly as we could – which, given that Tatzel was loudly complaining the whole time, was ‘not very’. Fortunately there were plenty of other people going down this sidestreet as well, and neither Grace nor the two Accountants seemed to notice us.

  The sidestreet quickly opened up into a small but crowded parking lot. It was similar to the ones I was used to from back home, complete with painted space demarcations, except that the spaces were for horses instead of cars. Grace and the Accountants were huddled together in the far corner.

  Aeshma, Tatzel, and I quickly ducked down behind a large metal trough full of oats. “Okay, Tatz, it’s your time to shine,” Aeshma said.

  Tatzel shot her an irritated glance. “What are you talking about?”

  “Get closer to them and listen in on what they’re saying! Roland and I can’t go, because Grace might recognize us. Go on, quickly, before they finish talking!”

  “I am not doing that,” Tatzel said flatly.

  I molded Jie into an ear trumpet and tried to eavesdrop on the conversation, but it was no use. I couldn’t understand anything Grace or the Accountants were saying through the din of people trying to back their horses out of the lot.

  “Give me that!” Tatzel hissed, swiping the Mimic out of my hands and placing him against her ear. She closed her eyes and focused for a moment before speaking again. “Five this time. We put in the two… something… gave us… gah!”

  She pulled Jie away from her ear and shoved him back into my hands. “It’s impossible. There’s too much ambient noise.”

  I could feel my opportunity to get revenge on Greg – or at least make him see how cool I was now – rapidly slipping through my fingers.

  I looked down at the earhorn in my hand, and a plan sprang, fully-formed, into my mind.

  —

  “You’ll remember not to move around too much after we throw you, right bud?”

  Jie chirruped happily in response; he didn’t seem to mind being disguised as trash. Over the last few minutes, I had painstakingly shaped him into a crumpled wad of newspaper. The only giveaway to his true Mimic nature was that the text printed on his surface was garbled gibberish. It looked convincing enough to hold up to a cursory inspection, though, and with any luck, no one would bother taking a closer look at an innocuous bit of paper on the ground.

  “Okay, just stick to the plan. Don’t transform until we retrieve you. We don’t want anyone to see you and make a fuss, alright little fella?”

  Jie responded with another chirp. I hoped he was smart enough for this to work.

  I tossed the little Mimic skyward, aiming him in the direction of Grace and the two Accountants. With the help of some favorable wind and a few subtle adjustments Jie made mid-flight, he landed just a few feet away from our targets.

  It was only another few minutes before Grace and the Accountants finished their conversation and dispersed, going their own separate ways. Once they were completely out of sight, Aeshma, Tatzel, and I poked out heads out from our makeshift hiding place and ran over to Jie.

  I scooped the crumpled newspaper off the ground. “Did you hear anything, Jie? Do you know what they’re up to?”

  There was a faint pop as Jie transformed into a small, glimmering trinket: a golden hexagon a little smaller than my palm, with nicely chamfered edges. Its face bore the symbol of a broken sword.

  “Ah, he must have gotten a close look at one of the Accountants’ badges,” Tatzel said, as she scrutinized Jie’s new form. “Apparently they’re affiliated with the Inter-Zone Money Mongers’ Alliance. Quite the powerful group.”

  “The Money Mongers don’t mess around,” said Aeshma with a sigh.

  I was surprised she knew anything about the merchant guilds. My expression must have said as much, because Aeshma continued with a vaguely insulted, “What, dude? It’s their slogan.”

  Lesser Automaton (Traffic and Crime Mass Production Unit)

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Item Level 8

  Usage tags: Autonomous (limited), Commanded, Magical, Mechanical

  Weapons: Fists

  Power source: Low-grade, resonated steel arcano-collider.

  Primary construction materials: Aluminum, High-carbon steel, Leather