I step out, avoiding the strangers’ glances, and make for the brass door in the wall. Yorl, Varia’s ochre-furred celeon associate, is surprisingly waiting for me outside it, wearing a polymath robe (still no tool belt, the poor thing) and a distinct expression of irritation. I watch his tail swish as I approach, the silver armor on the tip glinting in the sun. Varia essentially threatened him yesterday with his leverage—he wants to be a polymath. Yet he’s already wearing the robes of one. It takes the barest bit of psychoanalyzing to realize he believes himself far beyond worthy of being one; he just wants Varia to officiate it. He wants to be official in the eyes of the system, enough to do all this. But why?

Yorl’s green orbs narrow as I approach.

“Sleep well?” I tease.

“No,” he says, immediately turning in to the door and waving aside the guards with the muttered password, “The Laughing Daughter calls.” He says it like it means nothing, just business. “Out of the four gates, South Gate has the least traffic—the only thing south of Vetris is the Tollmount-Kilstead Mountains, and Helkyris beyond that. It’s a treacherous journey, so only the well-equipped trading caravans brave it. Which means the clank of heavily armored guards is hideous in the mornings.”

“Do you always give detailed explanations for free?” I chirp.

“Only to the people with persistent buffoonish looks attached to their faces.”

I wince as we walk along the brass-burnished innards of the wall, not out of pain, particularly, but out of surprise. I didn’t know someone with such an iron rod up his arse could fire back so well. He opens the door into the dark spiral staircase and starts down it without hesitation, his celeon eyes no doubt adjusting impeccably. I follow.

“And here I was, expecting you to be more brainy and less mouthy.” My voice echoes off unseeable stone walls.

“Your mistake.” He sniffs.

“Entirely,” I agree, and graciously flail my hands out in front of me. I catch his tail, and Yorl gives off a keening squawk ending in a snarl.

“Watch yourself!”

“Sorry!” I let go quickly and simper. “I just became so momentarily afraid of the dark!”

I hear a snort, and his paws start to click down the stairs again. I lag behind. It was so much easier going down these steps when Varia’s order commanded me to do so. I didn’t have to think or hesitate or readjust; my body simply did it all for me. The only benefit of being ordered, I suppose.

“A light would be nice,” I offer. “It’d keep me from tripping and potentially smashing my face in.”

“If you do, you’ll heal.” Yorl’s voice is emotionless. “There’s no need.”

I give a watery sniff. “You’re even more heartless than I am.”