A voice, thin and breathy, travels the circumference of the circle. The words hiss slightly as they loop the gallery, but are nonetheless clear. This is not the first time Stricklend has chosen the Whispering Gallery as the venue for a meeting. The trick of construction and acoustics means that a person standing here may speak his thoughts softly, and they will be heard on the far side, and indeed all around the narrow walkway. Stricklend himself is unimpressed by such parlor games. A point in favor concerning the location, however, is that the lack of comfort considerably curtails verbosity and keeps the meetings short.

“Let all present declare themselves in turn,” the speaker instructs.

To Stricklend’s immediate left the sequence is started with the first response of “I serve,” then from the next point on, until it comes full circle and he, in turn, declares his presence, anonymously, but with the statement “I serve,” as is required of them. Tradition also dictates that the Sentinel who called the meeting be the first to speak.

“I have summoned you here in order to further the most important aim, the singularly most pressing need for all Sentinels,” he tells them.

“As always, we are happy to answer the call,” comes the somewhat sycophantic response from the far side of the gallery. There are similar murmurs of assent and agreement.

“The time has come for action,” Stricklend says.

“It might help,” says Loxton with ill-concealed rancor, “if you were to tell us precisely what it is you are so concerned about. Now that you have us all assembled, and duty bound to hear you out, spare us all the rheumatism that will set in from these damp stones if we linger too long in this faintly ridiculous building.”

“You, sir, know full well why I have convened this meeting!” Stricklend’s voice is gaining strength and volume and already beginning to give the lie to the name Whispering Gallery. From somewhere farther around the wall he is shushed but pays no heed. “As all here will recall, it was your idea to have the heir to the Lazarus leadership challenged at the inauguration. A plan which succeeded only in consolidating the girl’s position.” There are murmurings of assent. “Time is passing and we are no further forward. We must act.”

“And what would you have us do?” asks another member of the elite from the shadows.

“I suggest there are but three options left to us in order to obtain the Elixir.”

At this there is a collective gasp. To name the prize, to speak of it at all, let alone in a public place, feels shocking even to the most seasoned member of the group.