Still no clue why it had cut out. It hadn’t been one of Love Lost’s traps. It had affected the other guys. But that kind of interruption went hand in hand with someone having a trigger event. It was just that this was… major. It hadn’t been anyone in our group or our ongoing skirmish, and it had been both more distant and more profound.

Something more intense in quantity… or in quality. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it spooked me.

“Hey Moose,” I said.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Everything good?”

His attention moved to Swansong and Damsel, then to the mutant dogs.

“It’ll have to be.”

“Good. Sorry about, y’know, not jumping on board. What Bluestocking said about alliances was more or less why.”

“I’m just glad you came around,” I said.

“What am I walking into?” he asked.

“A vicious rivalry. A lunatic who’s butchering people, and we don’t know—well, we have hints about why. It’s convenient to eliminate the Navigators in a brutal way. It plays into the villains wanting to posture. But there’s more to it.”

“Sure,” Moose said.

I lowered my voice. “Prancer’s thing about Cradle injecting something into hands was pure, unmitigated bullshit. The mechanic thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be bullshit,” Moose said. “Old mechanic gets told one thing by Velvet, he does another, turns out she’s right, but he’s proud. He needs a way out, so he can do the right thing. Doesn’t mean the way out is wrong or a lie. It’s even better if it’s the truth.”

“Cradle’s thing isn’t anger. That’s Love Lost.”

“Could be,” Moose said, jaw square, gaze focused on the horizon, in the direction Paris and Contender were both limping off. “Tinkers are funny though, aren’t they?”

“Funny,” I said. “A lot of people are getting a pass.”

“Prance delivered what you asked for.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Chastity whistled. “We’re moving!”

Further up the road, Rachel was hanging off the side of the hunting hound. It had started pacing forward. The wolf ranged further ahead, checking the path.

We packed up what we could, and Swansong’s first aid ended with an unceremonious length of bandage pressed down over sutures. Everyone started following.

“He’s a smart guy. Admirable, even,” Moose said.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Just wait until he starts playing more to his strengths like this,” Moose said. “He’ll change your mind.”

“I dread the day.”

One of the Harbingers was waking up. That was good—being unconscious for longer than five or ten minutes was a really bad sign.

I flew to Swansong, noting that part of her costume was destroyed, and that meant her outer layers were damaged. I undid the straps for my breastplate, and pulled off the hooded top section. I picked off the shoulder and hood accessories.