Found an amazing beta over on AO3 - Rahlain. All mistakes left are mine. Unfortunately don't own anything.

10 years later

Burning flesh had a curious smell. Most people didn't like it, but Shaw was pretty sure that it was just the smell of the hair that people found unpleasant. Right then, the scent was just making her hungry. Steak she thought, steak sounds really good right now.

"There you are! Damn it Shaw, I was running over half the Palace grounds looking for you!"

Michael Cole could be described as many things, one of which was squeamish at the sight of severed limbs. Shaw tried not to hold it against him - he had his uses, after all. Cole could do the whole "get someone to trust you and spill their darkest secrets" thing without blackmail or torture, which could be helpful. Sometimes. But definitely not fun, so he might as well do that part.

"I just don't get why you'd stick around a Healer's hut." Cole spared a glance to the man cauterizing some unfortunate's amputated leg. "No offense meant, Healer."

The Healer, who hadn't looked up from his task since Cole had entered the building, merely grunted. Whether the sound was in response to Cole's apology or not was questionable.

Shaw walked around the table to pick up a leather sack filled with… something. She tested the heft and, finding it satisfactory, left a small pile of coins in its place.

"And that's why I'm the Catalyst, and you're my squire. There are plenty of things for people in our line of work to learn in a Healer's hut."

Without so much as a goodbye to the Healer, she made her way out. Shutting the door behind her, Shaw asked, "So we got a target?"


It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it, and they were stuck in another slum outcropping of the Capitol. At least this place had a tavern with a decent ale, which was more than Shaw could say for some of the places she and Cole had stopped at.

As the last of the tavern-goers trickled out into the morning sun, Cole packed away his lute and handed over a portion of his earnings to the barkeep. Finally. I'm not sure I could have taken one more verse of whatever that last song was.

It wasn't that he was bad for a minstrel, just the opposite actually. But Shaw had issues with being in the same tavern for hours on end. Especially when she wasn't allowed to punch people - not even the ones who really deserved it.

Like the idiot who thought it was a good idea to slap her ass and pin her to a wall when she changed seats. Bared teeth and a dagger at his prized jewels got him to back off, but sometimes a little more violence than a threat was desired. But no, she couldn't cause any sort of scene that might get them thrown out. Didn't mean she couldn't find the bastard later and teach him some manners though. Shaw smiled at the thought, then turned her attention back to her partner.

"You done chatting up every last drunk in spitting distance?"

Cole smirked at her. "And this is why I'm the Spider and you're my bodyguard. There are plenty of things for people in our line of work to learn in a tavern."

Holding back a groan, Shaw got up from the table. "I hate it when you do that." When Cole got within arms' reach, she slugged him in the shoulder - not too hard. He still winced. Wuss.

"So, dazzle me with information.

Cole glanced around nervously. Shaw rolled her eyes, grabbed his tunic and pulled him into the alleyway. "Stop being so obvious. If anyone was watching, at least now they only think that you were new at paying someone for sex."

Cole's expression was a cross between lust and horror. It made Shaw want to smile a bit. He opened his mouth a few times, but as he remained speechless, Shaw just smirked at him.

After a moment, they continued walking. "You know of Stannis, right?"

"Unconventional weapons maker. Eccentric. Works mostly with the Yogorov branch of the Syndicate. Remember the bottled poison air I used a few months back? That was his stuff."

Cole let out a scoff. "I think I made myself forget. You know how insane it is to use his stuff? Honestly, you and those Yogis are the only ones crazy enough to bother."

Shaw's chest puffed out, pleased at the compliment. "Well, if it works…"

"Shut up you. Anyways, word is he's got something new cooked up for one of the Syndicate's territory disputes. Makes people who drink something exposed to it sick. Problem is, this sort of thing gets out of hand too easily."

Shaw nodded. "You've got our intel ready to get to Control?"

"All written down here. Raven'll be sent out when we reach camp. We should have our orders by midday."

"Good enough. You go do that - I'll find you later." With that, Shaw took off back up the alley. Sleep, sustenance, and sex. That was what she needed. In whatever order she happened to find them.


"We have a job for you."

Brothels, Root had found, were an excellent place to conduct business. Clients expected discreet service and the whores were adept at turning a blind eye.

Of course, there was also the side benefit of being able to go from shadowy lurker to just another pretty face with the aid of a hooded cloak.

"And which 'we' are we today Nicky? Your allegiance switches so much, I'm not sure I can keep track." A mischievous smile played across her face as her eyes lit up.

Nikolai bit back a growl. It wouldn't do to bring too much attention to themselves, and getting into a fistfight with the person next to him surely would do that.

"Yogorov commissioned a new weapon from Stannis. Wants to use it to push Elias back out of the Docks. HR thinks they could put it to better use elsewhere. You get half upfront, the rest when you deliver the device. You know the drop."

As he caught the eye of a passing redhead, Nikolai concluded their business with a subtle nudge to the bag beneath his companion's chair. With a rakish grin plastered on his face, he followed his chosen conquest upstairs.

"You go, Nicky Boy." Root said to herself as she tested the heft of her payment. Take the money and take the job. Leave the money and don't get involved in the messy Syndicate politics. Well, playing nice and clean wasn't her style.

"Time to see a man about a boat."


When people become experts in their field, Root noticed, they tend to pick up any number of eccentricities. Some were admittedly more practical than others, such as her own propensity for having no fewer than six blades on her person at any given time in addition to the handful of sleeper darts. She turned her attention to the landscape in front of her.

Others weren't quite so practical.

Stannis was brilliant, no denying, but Root often thought that spending so much time amongst his concoctions had more than addled his mind. After all, the man lived, worked, and conducted business on a fishing boat in full view of the Palace.

Walking through the docks, Root let out a smile. The salty air tousled her hair and the sounds of screeching seagulls mixed with the loud and foul banter of seamen as they went about their duties. Letting her gait loosen into an ambling roll, she stepped into her next persona. I do love my job.

"What's a pretty lady like you doin' all the way out here, eh?"

Root turned towards the grizzled captain, a full-blown wicked grin on her face. "Not sure who you're callin' a lady, but I'm lookin' for a bit o' coin. You be needing someone in the rigging?"

The captain quirked an unruly eyebrow at her. "Matter o' fact, mine just went missing. Was supposed to come back yesterday morning and still hasn't shown up."

Of course he hasn't. Generally, dead people didn't show up to work the next day. Poor boy, a smile and a tug towards the woods was all it took for him to follow her. Even when her knife slipped between his ribs his expression hadn't changed. It reminded her of a puppy about to be taken for its first walk outside. Cute, in a rather pathetic way.

"This one's just a short run down the coast. Tell ya what, do well for me and I'll give ya a permanent spot on the crew."

Root nodded and started up the gangplank. "Name's Peyton; happy to serve with you captain."

"Right then, go get to yer monkey business, we're about ready t'cast off. I'll have one of the boys show ya around once we're underway."

The launch went smoothly and soon enough there was a crowd of sailors intent on giving her the best tour of the ship. Honestly, it was hard to believe they had just gotten back from shore leave.

Coming up on the starboard side, something caught Root's eye. "Well boys it's been a pleasure, but I have to go now." Without further ado, she climbed up on the hull and dove off the side, leaving behind the cacophony of her bewildered admirers.

Root made good time and before too long was clinging to the side of a fishing boat so run-down she was mildly surprised it was still afloat. The one issue that she had with Stannis' place of business was its size. The thing was so small that it was hard to move about without getting caught. While Root could just kill him and pick up the device, she'd rather not. After all, it wasn't good business to kill your supplier.

"Come on now Stan, are you sure that you don't have anything new for me? I promise to make it worth your while."

Shit. Root froze and plastered herself to the wall of the cabin. The voice was smooth, feminine. He wasn't supposed to have company. He never takes people this far out on his boat!

"Well, I do have this one thing, but it's not really your style. Mass random casualties. Best used for siege or turf warfare. Not the precision work that you do best."

"Well, I'm thinking of branching out. Never know when a more… interesting offer might come along."

"Fine, I'll show you Shaw. But you're gonna have to wait for me to make another; this one's headed for someone in the Syndicate and I'd rather not piss them off."

There was a moment of silence, then a series of small thumps shivered through the boat.

"Sorry Stan, but you were starting to piss me off. No one likes being pigeon-holed."

There were a few clinks, glass on glass, then the squeak of a not-so-well oiled door. Root pressed herself further back into the shadows. She caught a flash of dark hair as the woman - Shaw - gracefully leapt off the other side of the boat. The thud her boots made as they connected with something solid echoed in the quiet.

Once Root was sure all was clear - apparently Shaw had jumped onto a rowboat - she entered the cabin.

She was surprised at the amount of blood. "Good girl, cut the carotid and vocal chords in one blow. I like her style. Silent and quick death even when alone in the middle of the ocean."

Root spent another moment perusing what was left of Stannis' inventory, but as suspected the device was no longer there. There were, however, a surprising amount of explosives.

"Explosions. There's something so satisfying about them."

Root spent the better part of the afternoon rigging the boat to go up in flames. Failure to deliver on arranged services to the Syndicate was usually met with a painful death, so it would be best for all involved if she could be presumed dead. An explosive accident on Stannis' boat would serve her well.

As dusk fell, Root set the boat adrift, prepared the time-delayed fuse, and once more jumped into the ocean. If all went well, she would have a good 15 minutes to get as far away from the soon-to-be pyre as possible. It wouldn't do to waste it.


"Nathan, I didn't know you would be accompanying us on this voyage." Harold turned to greet his friend. Leaving the Capitol for any length of time was not his preferred duty as an Advisor of the King's Council. Nathan's presence surely would make the journey more enjoyable.

Nathan grasped Harold's arm. "I didn't know myself until early this morning. Have you been assigned quarters yet? There's a matter I must discuss with you - privately."

Harold swallowed, his face furrowed in concern. "Oh, yes. Of course. Follow me."

Once the door to Harold's quarters was firmly shut, Nathan began divesting himself of his outer garments. "Honestly, whomever stated that being out on the ocean was chilly must have never been roasting on deck in full leather outerwear. I feel like one of those spitted pigs prepared for a feast!"

A flash caught Harold's eye. He couldn't force himself to look away from his friend's hand. Surely, that couldn't be what it looked like. "Nathan? Nathan, what are you doing with one of those?"

Nathan looked down at his hand. A thick silver band encircled his right index finger, a smooth sapphire stone set on top. Intricate carvings that seemed to dance and shift with the light were engraved into the metal.

"I'm sorry Harold. I tried to leave it alone like you said, but the places kept eating away at me. During my shift at the Eye, I would see the places surface in the water. The locations outlined in blue, they were always passed along to be taken care of. But the ones in gold, those classified as Small… they haunted me Harold. And there were so many more of them."

Nathan took a breath, and all the force holding him upright seemed to drain out of him. He slouched down onto the crudely hewn bed.

"After you wove together your Conjuration and we presented it to the Council, I know you wanted nothing more to do with it. No access, nothing. You didn't even want to be informed of the Vital missions."

He took off the ring, spinning it in the candlelight.

"I may not be a mage of your caliber - I don't believe there is anyone who could make that claim - but I can access some small portion of the Gift. Enough to create this."

Nathan passed the ring to Harold, who looked at it with both interest and panic.

"Inside the sapphire is a drop of infused water from the Eye. The glyphs on the band strengthen the connection between the two. When a new location appears in the Eye, the band warms. If the ring is submerged in water within the next two hours, the image shown in the Eye is reflected on the water's surface."

Nathan looked Harold full in the face for the first time since the ring was uncovered.

"You don't know the torture it has been - knowing something devastating was happening somewhere and ignoring it. Just last week, one of the garrison's just outside of the Capitol was shown. Since it was golden, I was told to leave it alone. That garrison was full of our people - good men who had sworn to protect and serve their King. But because it was a threat classified as Small, I could do nothing."

He paused, closed his eyes, and swallowed.

"The next day, I was called upon to help investigate an attack. It was in the Red District. One of Zoe's lieutenants thought that they could oust her from her place in the Syndicate, and chose it as the staging ground. Our people tried to keep the peace. It was a slaughter. And I could have stopped it. Warned them, at least, that something was going to happen. So I made the ring."

His voice hardened. "They can't control what I do on my time, not yet at least."

Nathan plucked the ring out of Harold's hands. "An interesting thing happened last night. The King's yacht was marked as a Nexus - not once, but twice. Both blue and gold. Vital and Small."

With a sigh, he placed the ring in Harold's palm, closing his hand around it. "Watch out my friend, things may get dangerous."

Harold turned to him in shock. "Nathan, I do not want this. I've spent years avoiding this kind of responsibility."

Nathan sighed. "Please keep it for me. I fear its usefulness to me may have run its course. I would rather it be in your hands than any others'."

"Very well, for the sake of our friendship I'll take it, but that doesn't mean I'll use it."


Harold Finch was a very particular man. He had his patterns, his routines. They provided comfort, especially when out of his element.

He had just returned from the galley, carrying a bowl of - admittedly questionable - stew. Placing it to the side of his bed, Harold took off his shoes and moved to the wash basin. It was time to begin his nightly routine. One could never be too clean on a ship after all, even one as nice as the King's.

A commotion began above him. Feet thudded back and forth, raised voices blurred indistinctly. Within moments, there was a frantic knock at the door.

"Sir, come out quick! There appears to be a boat set on a collision course towards us. It looks to be on fire! We must evacuate you and the other members of Court!"

And with that the lad, for he couldn't have been more than twelve years old, rushed off to warn the other noble passengers.

Harold shoved his feet back into his shoes and made for the hallway. The next moments were a blur of people and sound crushing around him. Before he quite processed what was happening, he found himself in line for a lifeboat.

He was dimly aware of a Catalyst pair shepherding King Peter off the yacht, and if he were more himself he would have been pleased with that. The Conjuration was indeed protecting the Realm, for what was a Realm without a King?

Harold continued to scan the press of bodies but was unable to locate Nathan. He wasn't along the side of the boat, nor was he already off the ship. Cold dread began to fill his body as he took off away from the crowd.

Spying a forgotten mop bucket, Harold dropped to his knees, fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out Nathan's ring. Putting it on, he thrust his hand into the brackish water.

The surface remained stubbornly blank.

"Damn you, show me where on this ship Nathan is! I know you can see him - we're at sea. There's water everywhere out here!"

The water remained clear - mocking him with an unobstructed view of the bottom of the bucket.

"What is the point of showing him the Small locations if you're not going to let me help him!"

The ring began to warm on his finger. The water rippled. An image of Nathan surrounded by casks, barrels, and bottles appeared. The galley storeroom.

"Thank you."

Harold took off running. Flying down corridors, tripping down rickety staircases. Stumbling into… a woman carrying a child?

"I am so sorry Sir, which way to the upper deck?"

Harold mutely pointed back the way he had come. Before the woman could take off running, he grabbed her arm.

"What were you doing down here?"

She looked down and adjusted her grip on the child. "My husband is… not a nice man. When it was just me, it was ok. But Gavin," she brushed back her son's hair as he clung to her. "He needed to be safe. So I hid on the first boat out of port. A man came down here to warn me that it wasn't safe. That I needed to get off the ship."

A loud crashing sound met their ears as the world around them shook. Harold caught the woman's eye.

"He was right, you need to leave. I'll find the man and get him up to safety."

With a grateful nod, the woman gathered up her skirt in her free hand and took off running.

"Nathan! Nathan, where are you?" Harold continued to call as he neared the storeroom.

When he opened the door, disaster met his eyes. All the previously stacked containers were thrown about. Some were cracked open, their contents spilled around the room. A faint coughing drew his attention.

"Nathan! We've got to get you out of here."

Nathan's coughing continued. "What are you doing here Harold? You should have been safe off the ship by now…"

"Hush, I'm going to get you out too. Come on now."

"You shouldn't have come back for me."

Harold grabbed Nathan under the arms and hauled him upright. "Got your feet under you? Good. Now let's get moving. I would never leave a friend-"

Boom.

The world shook again, throwing the men back on the ground. Harold's head spun. It shouldn't be this warm.

His head was too heavy to hold up. Collapsed on the floor, blackness clouded his eyes. His ears were ringing, until suddenly there was silence.

It was so very hard to breathe.


"This! This is why your construct needed to be able to intervene in events, not just monitor them!"

John Greer paused. In the wake of the attack on the King's yacht, the Palace had been overwhelmed with all manner of people. He himself was taking a (much deserved, of course) break from the demands of the nobility by wandering through the bowels of the Palace - the remains of the Keep of a kingdom time had forgot. But apparently someone besides himself had a better memory than time.

"Arthur, this, as you so eloquently put it, only happened because I decided to intervene. I assure you, if I and Master Ingram had left well enough alone, he would still be alive and I would not be confined to this bed."

"Your Conjuration has nearly limitless power; at least before you decided to cripple it." The voice - Arthur, Greer presumes - paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"That's quite alright, Lord Claypool. What's done is done, and no words you utter, no matter how awkward their choice, will change what is. I may never walk unaided again. I have accepted this. There is no need to let it hinder your vocabulary."

A shaky laugh echoed through the stone halls.

"Truly Arthur, don't let this bother you. If anything, it will serve as a reminder of how dangerous these things can be. I never should have imbued The Conjuration with the amount of learning, of power, that it possesses. We have been playing with forces beyond our understanding. If anything, we must keep a tighter reign on it; not push its capabilities."

There was another lull in the conversation. Greer looked around, trying to find something to explain his presence should the voices make an appearance.

"I'll return later, old friend. Duty calls."

Greer ducked into the shadows as a short, stout figure hurried past him. Hello, Arthur Claypool. A construct of limitless power, now that was something to follow up on. But at a later time.

As Lord Claypool stated, duty calls.