"Stars!"

Blood splashed from the wound, dotting the tiles. Mario fell to his knees, his companions rushing to keep him from landing on his face. The guards leveled their spears at them, unsure of what they were supposed to do. Perth hobbled from his chair towards the door.

"Wait and watch! Keep your word," Mario said through gritted teeth.

He held up his trembling arm, stained with streaks of red. But the blood had slowed. Impossible. Perth was mesmerized. He reached out and held his hand, intently examining the cut. It was no trick. The wound was deep enough to open the radial artery, but the blood was thick, sluggish. It was absolutely impossible. He should be dying, but he was merely shaken, pale but smiling fiercely.

"How can this be true?"

"Here, let me show you something."

Mario tore open the front of his shirt with his uninjured hand. He pointed at a thin white scar, just to the right of his heart.

"A Ku'pah knife made that scar. I recovered from that wound in a week."

"What are you?"

"Who I say. Mario of Brooklyn, New York."

"What do you want?"

"To discover why we are here and why I am this way."

Perth nodded, understanding. Understanding. He glowered at them.

"You already tricked me once. Performers. Humph! But if I find out that this is some sort of ruse, I will be most displeased."

He slowly stood up and chopped a hand at the guards.

"Take them to an apartment and keep them there."

The soldiers let T'ao and Luigi help Mario up, then hemmed them.

"Wait a moment," Glowse squeaked. "We have a room already, in the Old Quarter."

"Tell one of the men your address and they will fetch your possessions. You are from here on guests of the royal palace, until I decide quite what to do with you."

Perth watched them go, then stood thinking, alone in the chamber. Yes. They would be guests for now. He would ferret out the truth one way or another and divine the uses of these brothers and their friends. If they were of aid to the kingdom, good. If not… it wasn't the first time someone had disappeared from the palace.

...

There was a creaking on the stairs outside the door, the heavy footsteps of at least… four, yes, four men, back from the palace. Most excellent.

"Swing low…" Glopes hissed.

"Shaddup."

They had crept in through the window, waited patiently for several hours. The time to strike was at hand. Glopes strained to hear the sound of a key turning in a lock.

Instead, the door shuddered from a heavy blow. The assassins stared at each other wide-eyed, not sure of what to do.

"What-"

"Stick to the plan. The forgot the key is all."

The door slammed open, a silhouette filled the frame. The man next to the door swung up with his axe, ignoring Glope's advice. It saved the soldier's life. The dull axe blade struck his steel cuirass, denting it and knocking him off his feet. The home invaders gaped at the palace soldiers. The soldiers were just as dumbfounded, but training carried them through confusion. The room was supposed to be empty. It was not. They simply amended the problem.

The second soldier stepped over his fallen comrade and swung a mailed fist into the axeman's chin, laying him flat across the floorboards. The others piled in behind him, swords drawn. There were four of them and six intruders, most of them veterans of the long wars as well. But they were expecting unarmed men, not steel-clad warriors, and the fight was over almost as soon as it started. One of them dashed for the opened window, shimmying down the wall and dashing away into the night. Two of them tried to fight, rushing forward with knives. One of them fell, pierced through the neck, the other surrendering with a slashed arm. Glopes tried to crawl out the window, but his old injuries slowed him down. They grabbed him and pulled him away from the window, and that was that.

...

"What's taking so long?"

"Don't bother asking. The Palace does what it wants, when it wants. That's the way of things."

The four of them were waiting in one of the many apartments of the palace, a room meant to house the servants of visiting dignitaries. It was heads above their own residence, floored in the ubiquitous tiles, with a real bed, a washbasin, a table, two chairs, and pot of dead flowers. It was practically luxurious. They had even been fed, from a tray of sandwiches that a maid had delivered to them in silence.

But the hours dragged on. They were deep within the palace now, far away from any window, but it must surely be late night. Luigi paced anxiously, peeking out the door from time to time. Still the soldiers waited, tirelessly watching. Mario sat on the bed, rubbing the bandages over his cut wrist. T'ao and Glowse sat at the table playing Concentration over and over again. T'ao dealt the cards deftly, shuffling through the deck, laying them out precisely. Glowse flipped them over. Drat. Flowers and Stars. No Leaves, Chests or Coins. Rubbish. He had cleared the board twice now, but that was an hour ago and now he was doing worse and worse…

The door slammed open. Soldiers rushed in, sending Luigi scurrying for the other side of the room. They were armed and angry. They pushed a ragged figure to the floor, a spear leveled at his back. Sir Perth stalked into the room.

"Who," he said icily, "Is this?"

He jabbed a finger at the prostrate man. One of the soldiers ripped off his robes, revealing him to the hostages.

"Glopes!"

He looked at them all miserably.

"This is a mistake. I'm not Glopes, I'm just a poor beggar, I don't even know these people."

A spear butt knocked him flat. Perth stepped over his body, care(fully)lessly planting his cane in the small of his back.

"The soldiers sent to your apartment discovered this man and five others in ambush. One of them fled, another is dead, and the rest are in custody. Now, seeing that you clearly know this cretin, explain to me exactly what you know about this incident. Your lives depend on it."

They stammered at first, then came together to form a coherent narrative. They told him about Glopes and his cousins, their attempt on the brother's lives in the forest, his disappearance in the rout from Rodan's Domain. Mario told of his encounter with Glopes the week before, how he must have followed him and planned this attack.

"They were going to kill us. Glopes, you are a piece of shit," Mario growled. He was still weak, but he felt he could get up long enough to deal with him once and for all.

"That's your story anyways. A grudge. Revenge. But we don't really know who you are, do we?"

Perth circled them as he talked, whispering menacingly in their ears. It would have been comically theatrical if there weren't armed guards all around them, ready to strike the moment Perth wished.

"It is most peculiar. We don't know exactly where you are from, save this likely fictitious Brook-Land. You have the unnatural power to survive a mortal injury, something that only powerful Ku'pah sorcery can accomplish. You have no spores. There are armed men in your residence. Do you see how I might not believe you?"

He turned to the soldiers.

"Take them to the cells. I want them locked up, individually. It is going to be a long night."