7. Final touches

And if there are people to come onto you,

then someone might come after you…

(Nautilus Pompilius – Bound by the single chain).

He was a ghost in this dream. Or something pretty similar, at least, since he was hovering over his own dead body, lying on the marble slays and thrown around like some rubbish even by weak gusts of wind.

He still couldn't hide from that glare.

A pair of fierce yellow eyes with bright red pupils always met him whenever he turned back, only to disappear that very moment.

There also was the voice.

"What now?"

He couldn't answer it.

Never could.

"How many years have you wasted already? Shouldn't you just admit your defeat?"

It was seeping inside his mind word by word, causing him agonizing pain.

"You can't change a thing."

Run. He had to run.

Where to? Didn't matter.

The wind carries him across the bleak ruin. The once opulent chambers. Hallways, teeming with rusty suits of armor and their decomposed owners. Breaches in the walls and heaps of wreckage, hiding carcasses of huge siege engines, the likes of which won't ever see the light again... he leaves it all behind.

He flies through centuries worth of dust, cobwebs, old bones, steel and stone, broken stained glass. But that's not enough to escape the glare and the voice.

"You don't know what you are dealing with. Even I can't help you."

Then leave! Leave and stop haunting me!

"But you can. You are the only one who can, in fact. But first you will have to stop hiding from the truth."

Get out!

"No one can run away forever. Do you recall what you did?"

I didn't do anything!

The ruins slowly blur and disappear, as if they've never existed. Thick white mist is everywhere. He can hear thunder rumble in the distance.

"If you don't want to go mad, you'll have to remember. And accept it."

I can't remember. I really can't.

"Maybe it's because you don't want to?"

Faces start appearing from the fog, one by one. Dozens of faces, all belonging to the people he…

What?

What?

If only he could-

They all were deathly still at first. But then someone opened their eyes and saw him.

They start screaming.

One more face comes awake. And then another one, and another one…

He can't make out the words, but most of them seem to accuse him of something.

Business as usual.

Now he can hear a true chorus of voices, all belonging to people he knew, all familiar… since that accursed year.

In those ten days he-

"The first squad is butchered! We need-"

"Here they are, the Tower forces. Finally-"

"Goodness gracious, this town belongs to-"

"I am Virius, the eleventh Overseer! This is the end of the line for you! No more!"

"You pitiful fools! Our Master is awake-"

"Remember, remember, remember, remember."

"Why?"

"What have you done?"

"I've been waiting for you?"

"All that, for me?"

"Why?"

"You didn't have that right!"

"You are guilty."

"Guilty as sin."

"Remember."

"Remember, Renier."

"Admit it, Renier."

"Die, Renier!"

There are sounds of something crackling and crashing. Then comes quiet screeching.

"God damn it! Renier, what's going on? Are you even alive?"

Whisper easily tears the dinky door of his room off its hinges. She barges inside, quickly turning the light on, only to freeze right after crossing the threshold.

Renier Gardeston was sitting on his bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His right hand was twitching silently, but the spear of glass that was extending out of his index finger, its tip stuck in the far wall, didn't seem to be disappearing.

"What happened?" She was ready to make a dash for him, but then Renier turned to her.

"Don't get any closer!" His usually placid face was twisted with terror. "It… it will kill you-"

She knew what to do. Wasn't her first rodeo, after all.

She sat down next to him and started talking slowly and quietly, trying not to provoke.

Not Renier, the thing that was protecting him.

"Don't push yourself. Just relax and make it go away. Slowly."

"I can't," He slapped her hand away, breathing heavily. "Go away. Please."

Arguing with Renier was pointless at times like this. Having made a few steps backwards, Whisper leaned against a wall.

"You are taking your meds, aren't you?"

Renier huffs like a dog. The glassy stinger slowly shortened, becoming smaller and smaller. His face glistens with drops of sweat.

"Those that were supposed to make the dreams go away… I ran out of them last week," He breathes the words out when the spear is finally gone. "Forgot to buy them. Maybe you shouldn't have brought me along-"

"Enough of that song and dance about you being dangerous and whatnot. I'm sick of it."

"But I am dangerous. What if it didn't happen in this dump of a hotel? What if there was someone, behind that wall? What if… what if it was you?"

She doesn't answer this question.

"What time is it?"

"Half past five in the morning."

"Now that's convenient. I forgot to set an alarm yesterday, you know," Renier chuckled sadly."Do you understand it now? The reason I left Arlette?"

Whisper tries to mask her surprise – Renier never raised that topic in her presence, ever since-

"It… didn't work out," He turned, looking at her as if she was translucent. "She spent three years waiting for me to come back and got… this."

Renier always kept his eyes half-closed to hide that thousand-yard stare of his that hardly ever went away. Renier didn't smile; he'd said once that he couldn't do it properly anymore, as if his face muscles stopped obeying him properly. She knew he had a hard time learning to speak from scratch, too…

"When did you see each other last time?" Whisper asked, deciding to take a gamble.

"Half a year ago. She told everything would be fine… nothing could be fine, damn it!" Renier didn't have a habit of giving his emotions free reign, and even when it did happen, his face remained as hard to read as always.

"How can anything be fine, when I almost cleaved her in two just by trying to hug her?" Renier spat out, turning himself towards the window. "I'm sorry for the outburst. I need to work on my self-control."

"You mean, to go completely off your rocker? You weren't like that when we found you, you know. You've got only yourself to blame for your present state, and nobody else."

He slowly turned, facing her once more.

"And I'm not trying to offend you here. Come on… there's only so few of us left. Owl is an old man, Eric isn't as badass as he used to be… my body's starting to give, too. It's mostly those damn meds that keep me going. Time and work kill us. And you get yourself even more grief, for some reason."

"That's because I'm dangerous."

"Once more with that song and dance, huh? "I'm dangerous, there is no trusting me, no being around me, no, no, no…" Why don't you forbid yourself to breath? Everything else seems to already be on the list, anyway."

"What can I possibly do?"

"Let it go, for starters. All of it," Paying no mind to Renier's gestures of protest, she steps forward and shakes him, grabbing his shoulders. "Because if you don't, you might mess up for real. You got me?"

"Yes. I'll… try."

"Please do. Otherwise, I'm gonna motivate you in ways you won't forget anytime soon," Her usual playful tone that fooled so many into letting her threats go past them, returned. "After all, I'm in charge until Owl comes back. And I won't take any more of that nonsense. You haven't let us down yet."

"There is a first time for everything."

"Enough, I said! Damn it, is there anything I could do to make you stop remembering that bloody expedition?"

"I can't actually remember it, you know that full well. And I am to blame for how it went down, there's no doubt about that. I often find myself thinking that I was the reason… the reason they are-"

"Stop taking the piss," Whisper cut him off. "When the brass put you under hypnosis, you did say they had been killed. But nothing to indicate that you were the one who did everyone in."

"The thing is, I suspect there's been something done to me, that no hypnosis would be enough to fix my mind," Renier sighed. "I heard it this time, too. The words. The names. Virius, the eleventh Overseer. That man-"

"We haven't found any mentions of him," Whisper muttered. "He's definitely not with the Association."

"So how… I mean, I remember-" Glassman clutched his head. "There was fighting-"

"Stop torturing your brain. It needs some rest. The same goes for you."

"This is enough resting for today. Thank you. For stopping by."

"You are welcome. One more hour, and then we are moving out – gotta try and follow the trail." Whisper started walking toward the door. "Oh, one more thing…"

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor and let this go. At least until this job is done. And then I'll ask Katt to visit his friends from the Assembly and put in a word for you."

"How long have we been asking?"

"This time, they'll give you the permission. After all, I'll ask them myself, too. Your wish will come true and-"

"I shall return. Return there."

"So, what do we have here?"

The old projector was clearly struggling and making weird sounds, but the lights were off, and so the images on the room's wall were perfectly visible.

"Name's Riar Epnord. Of course, it's not the real one – it used to belong to his sire. Bout this nasty customer took both his name and his life from him."

"How old is he?" Eric drawled.

"He's a nobody by the standards the Dead Apostles operate under," Whisper responded. "He was turned in the nineties of the nineteenth century. Then managed to restore his intelligence at the end of the First World War – by that point there was enough corpses for that, clearly. In the thirties he was working for a bunch of alchemists in the States. That's where he gained notoriety and became known as Epnord the Rotten."

"What's that about?"

"He's pathologically traitorous. If things go downhill during a job, he snitches on his accomplices and bails out. He told us everything we needed to know about his creator and all his friends, all that to get us to spare him. The Church stooped to working with this walking pile of garbage to infiltrate the vampire communities and get some intel. But then he backstabbed us. Inevitably. Afterwards he started working as a mercenary, but never lost the habit of rolling on his employers to everyone who was willing to pay, sometimes even selling them out to each other."

"I'm surprised no one has taken care of him yet."

"He's worked for the Tower the last few years. According to our sources, anyway. Here's where the interesting part starts: he'd gone AWOL right before Hollow attacked his family, and he didn't go quietly. To clarify, he busted one of the old London facilities where the bodies of everyone who got sealed were dumped. There was quite an explosion – I've been told the whole place is a wasteland now," Whisper chuckled. "It's likely he took something from there."

"Someone, to be precise," Renier said, staring at the image produced by the projector: a frowning red-eyed face, a dirty coat, a hat that was threatening to fall of Epnord's head at any moment…

"And tried to make sure the magi wouldn't figure out who it was. Of course, the explosion didn't exactly vaporize the corpses, so it must have been quite a mess."

"What about the bits we found in that forest retreat?" Torch stroked his chin. "Or are those burnt chunks of meat not identified yet?"

"Got it in one. Which is why finding Riar is the only way to learn whose corpse it is and why Blach needs it. Thankfully, he hasn't managed to crawl that far away."

"Not that far? Someone's got a talent for understatement," Eric grumbled. "Why do you even think he's still in Aachen?"

"Because of the report we received in the morning. He's all out of juice, so he's gone on a binge."

"How many victims?"

"A few dozens. And that's only the last couple of days, not counting the ones we haven't found yet, obviously," Whisper's voice teemed with unfeigned fury. "That filth sure is taking time to stuff himself."

"Huh. Looks like Koss got him good. We are doing this today, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are: time is of the essence and the city part block where we've found most of the corpses is already surrounded. If we don't turn it place upside down, he'll slip away tonight. And it doesn't look like the wimps in charge of the perimeter can stop him, now that he's sucked so many people dry."

"I sure can, though," Eric sported a predatory grin. "Just let me take aim and get outta my way."

"Easy there," Renier warned him quietly. "Your old wounds might reopen if you huff and puff like that."

"What about your own, glass boy? By the way, how does it feel when that weird shit of yours grows all over them?"

"Beats talking with you. You don't seem like yourself today. Everything alright?"

"Nah. Some bastard woke me up with his screaming. And he was only two rooms away!"

"If that's the case, I apologize," Renier was utterly calm. "Next time I won't stay on the same floor as you. I trust there is no further reason to discuss this matter."

"Sure," Torch sighed. "Ok, back to business. Where do we start looking for him?"

Riar made sure to completely cover the windows with drapes, but that wasn't enough on its own; he also pushed a huge oak wardrobe to block the biggest one and propped a mattress against the one next to him. He didn't mind sleeping on the floor – there was a time when he'd had to be content with lying in dank trenches and enjoying the company of half-eaten corpses. before having to get used to hiding in the sewers several years later.

Epnord has been lying low and licking his wounds for the last few days. His work brought him to hellholes of all kinds, and this one, which he barely managed to reach, didn't seem so bad in comparison. Still, Riar understood that only the first days at a new place were easy. Then (maybe in a week, if he was lucky) the fun came to an end, and frustration along with disappointment arrived in its stead, getting more intense night after night as finding food grew increasingly harder. Searching back alleys and cursing everything under the sun after failing to find anyone edible was pretty close to becoming his new routine. It was inevitable, really: a little bit of messing around was enough to get everyone off the streets during nighttime. What happened to all the homeless, lost children, hell, even stray cats and dogs? He had no idea. The only thing he knew was that they weren't around any longer and this knowledge did precious little to improve his mood, letting dull bitterness take hold where only slight disappointment used to be. After a while moving became the only choice, and so he packed, muttering curses all the way, and moved on, only for the cycle to repeat itself.

The last night was different, though: Riar got lucky when he decided to check out a small all day shop close to a gas station on the outskirts of the city. The automatic doors let him through without incident, but the shop's insides failed to impress Epnord: the only people inside were a young saleswoman and an even younger colleague of hers who was engrossed in fiddling with his cell phone, dialing some number again and again. Still, by that point Riar has already managed to recover and was doing this for the fun of it, so it was enough. On his way to the sales counter he picked up a bottle of mineral water, chocolate bar and a map of the city.

"We got no spare change," The woman groaned, fixing her dull stare on a bill Epnord was holding.

"No need for that," The vampire grinned.

Epnord leapt over the counter in a single bound. He quickly landed a blow on the saleswoman's face and then pulled forcefully at her arm, breaking it with an audible crunch.

The pimple-faced guy screamed even louder than she did and started running towards the exit. Epnord made sure nothing came out of it by throwing a short knife that buried itself between his shoulder blades. He got back to the girl, thinking how lucky he was to hit a place with those wonderful automatic doors that prevented any sounds from getting out.

Having drained her and thrown the twitching body on the freshly cleaned floor, Epnord slowly walked over to the boy who has already lost his voice by that point.

"You shoulda been an opera singer," He chuckled while lifting the dying man from the floor. "You absolutely should try it in your next life."

Riar opened the closest fridge and tore out all the shelves, paying no mind to the sound of cans and bottles hitting the floor. Then he started stuffing the bodies inside – meals alwas put him in a fitting mood for little pranks like that. Epnord wolfed down the chocolate bar and then tried some mineral water. Its taste didn't feel welcome after all the blood, so he just threw the bottle away. After the vampire was done with that, he picked up the phone. Sadly, a long and ugly crack was running along he display was cracked now, but it didn't stop him from dialing a familiar number, even though he struggled somewhat: his claws popped out on their own, and they didn't exactly help.

"Who's that?" Having heard Blach's irritatingly shrill voice, Riar decided to stay silent for a little bit before telling him the news.

"You're alright? Honest to God, I didn't expect to hear from you," Albert mumbled. "Where are you?"

"Aachen. Near the-"

"I have an idea. Here's the thing: we can't afford waiting for you, the clock is ticking. Can you get there by yourself?"

"Not unless you tell me where "there" is."

"Listen closely, I won't repeat myself. Fras called yesterday. She did us the last favor. Put the final touches, one could say."

"Can you stop beating around the bush?" Riar growled.

"Now we know where to find Noreen Silverstein."

"Wasn't the lord enough?" Epnord chuckled. "You told us you got everything you needed out of him, didn't you?"

"Zacharias sealed the map in his daughter's mind."

"Huh?"

"Hypnosis. He made her learn it by heart: every line, every dash, every dot… and then, of course, he completely blocked that part of her memory so he could use it at a later day, if the need arose."

"You know what?"

"Yes, Riar?"

"You magi are amazing. Even I am not that rotten, and I've been a literal living corpse for slightly more than a hundred years."

One could hear Albert laugh heartily.

"I know all the signals, so I can easily get to the map. However, we will need to get to Noreen first."

"Where is she?"

"According to Fras, the Tower knows something. They definitely managed to discover whose body we have, so now they are doing their best to tie the loose ends. Silverstein's daughter is in Dunkirk now – they placed her with a mundane family. The Tower's agents are coming to extract her and bring her to London. Then? She will either be killed or hidden so thoroughly that we will have no chance."

"What's the plan?"

"Fras told us the details: they are leaving by sea in a couple of days. Their vessel of choice will be an old ship – they hope to draw less attention that way. Obviously, the three of us have to greet them on board."

"Albert… aren't you forgetting something?"

"Ah, yes, the running water. What of it? You aren't going to swim in the ocean, are you now? Everything will be okay as long as you don't jump the ship."

"There's also the sun. You know, that great ball of fire in the sky."

"Damn. Why can't you keep it all simple?" Blach sighed. "Fine, we'll think of something. For now, just get a car and drive over here. Call us once your road trip is over. Call me once you are there. You got it?"

"Sure. I'll try to make it in time."

"Great. If the plan doesn't fall apart, I'll be able to connect the Sphere to the true centre pretty soon."

"What happens then?"

"The Association will bow. And then it will be crushed."

Now Epnord was lying on the floor, staring at the filthy ceiling and thinking on the Blach's words. Sure, it might be too early to bail out, but that moment kept drawing closer. That uppity Trio bitch (Black Wing take her!) gave him good money, end everything that came next was on Blach. Riar was still alive only because he never failed to drop out of the race if the situation called for it. The Hollow quest wasn't about to become the exception: Albert was welcome to try and stick his head into the hungry maw of the London tiger, if he were so inclined. Riar, however, wasn't going to have any of it.

Tonight's the night. Getting out of the city would be easy as pie. The last night he made sure to borrow a car from that gas station a couple minutes after his little feast. Its driver's beheaded corpse found its way into the trunk, and then got thrown down a manhole. The vehicle was parked outside the house. Sadly, by now it looked worse for wear: Epnord was a pretty bad driver. He hasn't even passed a driver's exam, promising himself he would eventually get to it year after year. Still, he had time. Hell, maybe once this stupid job is done with…

Of course, he was contacted by a middle man. If he'd known that the young psycho in a white suit was backed by the Trio, he would rather have given up drinking than agreed to be a part of this mess. But who could have thought this damn bunch still was around after having been seemingly slaughtered by the Church? Nobody, that's who. Definitely not him, at any rate. And that cocky half-blood… how deep is the hole Blach and that snarky broad dug him out of? No, these conditions were absolutely abysmal. How was he expected to work like that?!

Epnord's thoughts kept growing darker and no amount of attempts to change the subject of his musings helped to cheer him up. The intense frustration came every morning and only let him go in the evening. It kept haunting him ever since the day he-

Damn it all! He wanted to spring up, start pacing, even running across the rooms, break furniture and dishes. He couldn't remember when he'd seen sunlight for the last time...

I should have visited that school nearby in the evening. I definitely would have found cleaner blood there.

Come on, Riar, hold in there, bud. Five or six more hours, and you are free to go outside-

Epnord's train of thought crashed at the sound of police sirens that managed to get through the windows and every last improvised barrier; Apostle scrambled to his feet.

Maybe this had nothing to do with him.

Maybe it was his imagination at work.

But Riar Epnord has managed to stay alive for so long only because he didn't have a habit of leaving things up to luck…

"What about all the cops? Won't they-"

"They were ordered not to interfere," Whisper chuckled. "They are here to watch the windows, not to ask questions."

They had enough people to encircle the building twice, which was the plan. Sadly, this time they couldn't rely on knights – there weren't that many orders whose gear wouldn't make them stick out like a sore thumb, and the ones that fit the bill couldn't dispatch people in time. But they were important enough to make the few Church agents that were assigned to the local police force use all the available resources and bring here everyone they could.

Officers had clear orders: they were not supposed to enter the building. That was the job of those two weirdoes; another one was covering them from the roof. The whole thing seemed pretty suspicious. Who were those people? Why in the hell didn't they have any decent weapons? Was there any point in bringing that pale guy with a bandaged arm?

Too many questions and no promise of answers. Not that knowing those would do all the policemen and a few SWAT teams that were currently stationed around the building any good.

Old and dirty floorboards creaked with every step. Not that trying to be stealthy made any sense at that point: there was no way Apostle wasn't awake now. He had to be aware of the situation.

He had to understand there was no escape.

"So, he gotta make a choice between staying here or trying to make it outside and getting incinerated by the sun. Say, what would you do in such a situation?"

"I'd leap outside," Renier answered curtly. "If I were a vampire, that would be less painful than meeting you."

"You got the right idea! Finally someone un-"

Whisper suddenly fell silent, readying a few Black Key hilts. She slowly raised a hand.

"You hear that?"

"Of course," Renier quickly got to removing the bandages from his right arm.

The creaking of floorboards stopped being the only sound that posed a challenge to the reign of dead silence that was permeating the building: now there were also the sound of stomping feet and some clatter that called to mind an image of a working sewing machine.

"How many?" Renier's voice changed; the familiar glassy threads started crawling along his arm.

"A shit ton. They are reacting to our smell." Whisper made a few steps ahead. "So, who's dealing with them and who gets the main course?"

"I'm going up," Renier's voice was hard to make out because of the opaque glassy crust, but it was clear there wasn't any place for arguing. "He's mine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need it."

"Fine," She didn't even turn to face him. "Just make sure he isn't reduced to a stain on the floor when you are done with him."

Now stomping was accompanied by mumbling of some sort and beastly growling. And in a few moments everyone who disappeared during the last few nights emerged from the other end of the hallway. Renier was already on the decrepit stairway when he heard the first body hit the floor.

He wasn't worried whatsoever: Whisper was capable of fending for herself. This barely qualified as a warm-up for her.

He reached the last floor. Renier entered the hallway and then turned in the direction of a loud click, ending up face to face with two bloodied forms sporting tattered police uniforms. Both were drooling, their mouths wide open. One had completely red eyes, the other just looked confused. Both still had their service guns, but only one of them remembered the right way to hold it: his fellow ghoul was twiddling his pistol and mumbling something.

A tall man in a dirty coat appeared from round the corner and stopped in his tracks, having noticed him.

"You woke me up, you shitstains," The Apostle growled. "And anyway, I hate it when my privacy is invaded."

Renier didn't answer him. He just slowly raised his hand, showing his huge glass claws.

"Mess him up," Riar drawled lazily, flicking his fingers.

The second undead finally got a handle of his weapons, so the two guns started shooting almost at the same time. Yet all the bullets either ricocheted from the glassy armor or simply fell, not even leaving a scratch on it.

Renier was slowly advancing.

"Huh. Well, I knew this wouldn't be enough," Epnord muttered. "Go fetch!"

Both living corpses threw their useless pistols aside and leapt forward. One of them even managed to raise his twitching arm in an attempt to land a blow, but the heavy glass gauntlet swept it off its feet, bisecting it, to boot. The other tried to grab Renier, but it ran straight into his brilliant claws which pierced its spine, coming out on the other side; Renier lifted the body above the floor, paying no mind to the sounds it made, mumbling and gargling with blood.

After much fishing inside his pockets and cursing, Riar finally managed to produce aan old grenade which has clearly seen better times.

"Well, how about that?"

His throw was quickly followed by a loud bang. A triumphant smile started finding its way to his face, but his expression froze when the smoke slowly cleared.

His two undead – the last ones! – were blown to bits. And yet… the damn glass monster didn't even seem to notice the explosion!

"What are you?" Riar snapped.

"I would like to know that myself," The answer rang out from somewhere under the surface of the slowly advancing glass coffin. "Sadly, I know little about the way this weapon works-"

Okay, enough of that. No more wasting time around those Church goons.

Time to go.

Sure, the sun was up, but if he covered his head with the coat and ran fast enough...

He could make it. He had to.

Riar tore away, drawing on every last bit of life force he absorbed during his stay in the city; he was so fast that he might as well have turned into a blurry cloud, effortlessly speeding past the hulking monstrosity…

"I don't think so."

A pang of sharp pain that pierced Riar's shoulder made him stop. Or maybe it was a glass spear that was stuck there now, its tip having gone through his flesh like a hot knife through butter? Epnord was staring at it dazedly right until he was yanked back, being thrown onto the floor, and pulled backwards.

Oh, he tried to break free. After all, he must've been strong enough to do it, he knew that much. This wasn't supposed to be hard.

And yet… if that were the case, why was he struggling so much to escape the glass pike that might as well have been a big butterfly needle?

The spear was gradually shortening, bringing Epnord ever closer to the glassy abomination. He stopped trying to escape and carefully fished his trusty revolver, praying to every god he knew and hoping he hadn't forgotten to load it with shells the night before.

The glass monster was too close. Now it was preparing for a strike, raising the other hand…

"Die already!" Riar shrieked, pointing the gun at the bastard.

The revolver roared once, then twice more. Riar was shooting point blank, he just couldn't miss.

And he didn't. Every bullet hit his enemy right in the face. Or, rather, the place where its face were supposed to be: now it was covered with layers of foggy, glass-like substance.

"This won't help," Glassman said dully. "My apologies."

Riar heard a strange sound which resembled chiming of dosens – no, undreds of small bells. Then a wave of milky white light rolled along the spear that was still stuck in him. Then… the agony came.

Epnord started screaming and thrashing, his legs flailing uselessly on the floor. The redness disappeared from his eyes, replaced by the same white light. Riar twitched a couple times and finally stopped moving. When it happened, Renier let the spear shrink, allowing the Apostle to fall flat onto the floor.

"Renier? Is he-" Whisper's bloodied form stepped into the hallway. "Ah. I see now. Is he alive?"

"Yeah," A patch of Renier's armor became see-through for a moment, making his face visible. "He'll come to in a few hours, but he won't be able to heal his wounds for a while – three days at the minimum."

"You sure?"

"Yes. You do remember Apostles are affected the most by that, right?"

"I'd like to know, why," Whisper sighed, taking her walkie-talkie off the belt. "Eric, we are done here, so tell te guys outside they can relax and… huh?"

"What's going on?" Renier asked warily.

"You will like this," Bloodstains on Whisper's face made her smile more than a little scary. "The Owl is back. He's already here."

Riar Epnord regretted opening his eyes immediately: right in front of him was a face, twisted in a hardly describable grimace, fuelled by a mix of anger and annoyance. He instantly recognized that mug: after all, Albert had quite a few photographs of the bastard which he used to show his "henchmen".

The faces of everyone else who was standing around him also instilled a great deal of fear.

"We meet each other, at last." Ascol said wearily, staring right into the Apostle's eyes. "Would you mind me smoking?"

"I'd fix you a light myself if my hands were free," Epnord smiled wryly. "Can't we just talk?"

"Is there anything we could talk about?" The executor asked, surprise clearly visible on his face as he put a cigarette between his teeth. "What could you possibly know?"

"Oh, I know a lot, I-"

"You are only allowed to waste your breath because we are waiting for the police to leave," Whisper interjected. "When it happens, we'll finally be able to throw you outside and watch you burn under the sun."

"Wait! Why are you-"

"Enough of that. Prepare him for the execution," Ascol tirned his back to Epnord, making it clear the conversation was over.

"Stop!" Riar shouted. "I know where Blach is! I know everything! He told me!"

"Everything? Yeah, sure," Ascol chuckled. "Okay, you got five minutes. If you don't manage to make it interesting… well, at least sun tanning has been fashionable for a while now."

"Alright! Alright!" Epnord whined. "I'll tell you everything! Blach… he told me to steal a corpse from a Tower facility! The corpse of that one lord who died a dozen years ago, or thereabouts. He-"

"If he's singing like that now, can you imagine what would've happened if we'd left him in the sun for a moment?" Whisper burst laughing. "I bet he'd talk us to death!"

"Blach needed the corpse for some diagrams, or something!" Riar was barely keeping it together, stumbling over his words. "With necromancy, probably, I don't have a clue!"

"Diagrams?"

"An old project of that dunce from the Tower that got him killed! Blowing up the British Isles to high hell, or something! Oh, I remember now! Connecting! Connecting to the ley lines. He bored us half to death with all the talking about the… "true center", I think!"

"We need to record him and slow the tape down," Eric muttered.

"So, the Hollow's going to visit the Clock Tower?" Ascol asked, letting puffs of smoke out.

"No, no! Not yet. He needs the precise map. That lord sealed it in his child! He and Freri are off to France. They must already be on the move! The lord's daughter will leave Dunkirk on a liner. That's how she'll be brought to the Tower, and Blach… Blach-"

Epnord inhaled sharply and continued rambling.

"He'll board the ship, find the girl and learn whatever it is he needs. And then e'll connect the Sphere to something and… kill everyone! That's it! That's all I know!"

"Three and a half minutes," Ascol drawled, looking at his watch. "Well, you may rest. For another minute or so. Then we'll watch you burn."

"Go fuck yourself! I've told you everything I know, I swear! What else could you need, you cads? You know where to find him, so go catch him! Him, not me! I don't know anything else, you hear me?!"

"What do you think, Katt?" Whisper asked. "Should we burn him now? Or maybe I could cut his hands off, first?"

"I think he knows much more than that," Ascol mused, stubbing out the cigarette on Epnord's shoulder. "But it will do, for now. Eric, contact the knights – we need a transport. They can deal with him in a more relaxed atmosphere."

Riar was going to say something, but Eric already put a black bag on his head.

"Stand up, you refuse. And no tricks!"

The hunched Apostle was dragged out of the room. In a minute there were only three people left there: Ascol, Glassman and Koss, who was leaning on the far wall.

"Renier, here's the deal: I need to know which ship he was talking about. Destination, departure time, all the jazz," The executor said, taking another cigarette from his pack. "My headache is too nasty for me to try and talk to Julian right now, so this is on you. Will you manage it?"

"Sure."

"That's a relief. Now we gotta get ready: if that scum told us the truth, we might have to save the Association once again. Just like the last time, in the seventies."

"I think I could squeeze some more info out of him, Father Katt," The alchemist voiced his piece. "If you let me."

"I'd rather know your opinion on what we've just heard. Is… is the Sphere really capable of that?"

"A great question!" Koss chuckled. "Our brass thinks this is far from its limit, provided one knows what they're doing. Of course, we still need to process the fresh data, but-"

"Get it done as fast as you can," Ascol faced Renier once again. "We'll need a decent plan of attack by tonight. We must find the Hollow before he's done his thing. You may go now; don't let me keep you."

The executor waited until the door shut close after the alchemist left the room and took a small iron spider out of his pocket. Tracing intricate patterns that were covering the figurine with his fingers, he quickly found a small, almost invisible lever and flicked it.

"Just? Is this thing even working?" Ascol mouthed, thinking he must've been looking like quite a fool.

"It sure is," The figurine screeched. "Sadly, this apparatus won't be able to function for much longer, so I hope you found out something."

"I sure did. Hope you'll help me make some sense of it."

A black car, recently washed clean by a heavy downpour, was speeding along the city streets, only barely managing to stop in time whenever the red lights went on. Its interior was dominated by gloom while being so stuffy that Just von Weitl even had to undo a few top buttons of his shirt. He laid back on his seat and was quickly alternating between keeping his eyes shut and opening them as wide as possible.

"That old ass," The German muttered wearily, closing a small iron jewel-box. Jutte, do you think he's actually sure he needs to "turns the transmitter on" to make it work?"

"I don't know, Master Just. Maybe he's too tired to pay attention to details," The doll answered, paying close attention to the road.

"Which will prove to be his undoing as that's where the devil is," The young magus laughed weakly, tension clear in his voice. "Jutte, could you drive faster?"

"We are in the city, Master Just. There are speed limits in place."

"Then open a window, at least. It's almost impossible to breathe here."

"You will catch a cold."

"I have a place where I could wait it out."

"Is the rush worth it?"

"It sure is, if we go by what I've just heard," The magus got to rubbing the frozen fingers on his left hand, covered by old acid burns one could make out only if paying attention. "We have to leave for the Tomb today if we want to make it."

"Make it?"

"Well, you have heard the conversation, have you not? The Tower's agents will bring the person Bach's after to London. Blach himself will try to intercept them, and that's when Father Katt and his people will make their move."

"What part are we going to play?"

"Albert Blach put a grave affront upon the Wandering Tomb. Father Katt deluded himself into thinking he can order us around. And both seem to mistakenly assume their insolence will not cost them. We are going to severely disappoint them, Jutte."

"So, you do want to interfere?"

"Certainly. Day after day, things keep becoming more interesting, Jutte," A weak smile crept across the mage's sickly pale face. "It's like someone went and put blue, green, yellow and God only knows what pieces on a chessboard, right in the middle of a game. It's time to place ours, or we might miss the end-game."

"You want to use our-"

"Yes. The Blach's artifact is extremely valuable for all of us. There's the Clock Tower on one side and Church along with Atlas on the other, but they forgot who this trinket had been stolen from. If the ball lands on zero, both red and black lose. The establishment will get everything. We will get everything."

"Which is why-"

"Which is why we are going to the Sea of Astray, Jutte. An army is worthless without a commander, and that's the only place where I could find one. I need the Tomb. I need the de Lasair sisters…"

The rain was drumming on the windows, breaking his concentration, but in the end Koss managed to establish a connection.

He was sitting on the bed in his hotel room, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and pressing the glowing crystal to his face, his legs securely tucked.

…are you sure?

"Yes," Koss whispered. "Everything is just as you predicted. Now we have a fuller set of data: the cruise liner is called "Atlantis", it will depart in three or four days-"

Thank our informant. It's how we learned that direct attacks were ineffective before the Church did, too.

"Do you know something else you haven't deigned to tell me yet?"

Only that the Tower did greenlight the operation. This is our chance, Koss. We must not squanderit.

"What about my instructions?"

They stay the same. You are to board the ship, then sabotage it when you are far enough from the shore. You probably won't suffice on your own, so use "Sekhmet". Together you will be able to separate Albert Blach and the Sphere. When it happens – bring both to us.

"What should I do with the Father Katt's group and passengers?"

We care little for them. Their presence doesn't change your directives.

"And no one will be the wiser?"

Yes, Koss. Goodluck. Remember, failure is not an option.

"I serve… the wisdom of Atlas," The alchemist rasped, throwing the stone on the bed and falling next to it.

He lay like that for five minutes or so and slowly started stood up: he had to take a shower. Also, another dose.

Noreen Monerger woke up early even though today was supposed to be a free day. The drizzle outside still hasn't stopped: it has been raining throughout the night. She quickly washed her face and went to the kitchen, lured by the smell of fresh coffee and toasts: apparently, she wasn't the earliest bird of the day.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Her mother asked, twiddling a tea spoon she was holding. "It's only eight in the morning."

"I-"

A doorbell rang out. Then once, twice more…

"Who could it be this early?" Sarah Monerger muttered in surprise, slowly standing up. "Wait here."

The sound didn't seem to die down: apparently, the last time around the surprise visitor wasn't planning on letting the button go.

"I'm coming!"

Having approached the door, shelooked into the peephole and asked:

"Who's the-"

Noreen stepped into the hallway only to immediately notice something was off: her mother stood still for half a minute, her mouth open, and then shrunk away from the door, grabbed the keys from a shelf nearby and returned to open it.

"Mum, who's that?"

There was no answer. Sarah quickly got the first door open and then inserted the key into the keyhole of the second one…

This was when Noreen saw her face: pale, utterly expressionless, her eyes rolled…

"Mama, what-"

The second door opened.

There were three of them: they were wearing sharp suits, long black coats and leather gloves, one was holding a small briefcase. All three men were clean-shaved, brandishing obviously expensive watches and cuff-links, their shoes polished to the degree they made for decent reflective surfaces. Their pale faces were equally tense and they all were staring at Noreen (she could tell it even though one of them had his eyes hidden by heavy-rimmed glasses).

The tallest one made a step forward and grabbed Sarah by her face, saying a word or two Noreen couldn't quite make out. In a moment she fell onto the floor, seemingly unconscious.

The girl was going to scream, but the man in black was too fast to let her: she leapt forward and touched her face – he was much more gentle than the first time.

Noreen's world lost clarity. Her legs gave way and she started falling, but at the very last moment she was caught by the bespectacled man. His touch was the last thing she felt before darkness swallowed her.

The last man, meanwhile, locked the door and faced his comrades.

"Sir Blaise? Sir Cole?" He mouthed softly.

"Everything is in order," The man in glasses replied. "Sir Lynch, the woman is on you. You may insert whatever memories you like, but be quick about it. Sir Cole, I would like you to render me assistance."

Noreen's prone form was carefully brought to the sofa. The man in glasses sat down while his colleague opened the briefcase, producing a small sachet.

"Sir Cole, the syringe."

"Here it is."

"Now for the needle, Sir Cole."

"Here you go."

A fine needle of a disposable syringe slowly penetrated Noreen's neck. Sir Reinard Blaise was used to doing things by the book so he carefully swiped the spot with a cotton pellet he drenched in lab alcohol.

"Thank you kindly," Blaise put a pillow under the girl's head and faced his comrade – Sir Walter Cole put both the syringe and the piece of cotton in the sachet: he was going to burn it after leaving the apartment.

"When will the compound take effect?"

"Rather soon," Blaise took a handkerchief which was embroidered with his cipher and quickly pressed it to his mouth in an attempt to weather a coughing fit. "Apologies. I think we are going to have to babysit her here for three hours or so, then it is time to pack."

"Why not just remove all the dangerous bits of her memory and replace them with something else like we just did?" Cole asked.

"She had undergone this procedure before being placed with this family. A repeat performance might break her mind completely."

"Is this why we are taking her to London?"

"Yes. This, and the flawless plan our contact came up with. Have you already familiarized yourself with the latest data on Albert Blach?"

"Of course, Sir Blaise. But if you were so kind as to-"

"Of course," Blaise sighed. "Zacharias used his daughter as a living notebook, so he had a way to keep certain secrets of his. Those are exactly what Albert Blach is after."

"Are we really sure?"

"Yes. Our contact is leading Blach right to our hands. This mission will help us kill two birds with one stone, Sir Cole. First of all, we will bring Silverstein's daughter to London where her safety will be ensured-"

"You mean, where she will be marinated in formaldehyde?"

"Where her safety will be ensured," Blaise repeated a bit more forcefully. "She will also serve as a bait. In three days we-"

"I'm done," Sir Alexander Lynch proclaimed, entering the room. "What about you?"

"Just going over the game plan," Blaise replied. "What did you go with?"

"She's lived alone for a while now. Divorced, no kids. The cleanup crew is on the way, they'll have the apartment renovated by the evening."

"Nice one, Sir Lynch," Blaise had to bring the handkerchief to his lips once more as cough took him by surprise again. "I'm sorry, this cold is killing me."

"I've seen a pharmacy on the way. Should we get some cough drops there?" Lynch asked.

"An inhaler would work better," Cole said.

"Yes, of course. Maybe that's what I will do," Blaise diligently folded the handkerchief and put it back into his pocket. "Now, back to business. The data our contact shared with us was quite extensive. We can't deal with Blach's Bounded Field by attacking him directly, but we still got two options. The first one is to render him immobile and separate him from the object that powers the Field. The other is to arrange an… accident."

"Which is our plan," Cole chuckled.

"Indeed. You and Sir Lynch will board "Atlantis" along with Noreen. All the papers are in order, just decide which one of you is her father and who will play the part of her uncle. When we are far enough from the cost, you are to sabotage the vessel. Sir Cole, you will take care of the crew. Sir Lynch, the engines are your responsibility. Remember, you shouldn't even think of harming Albert Blach. Not even for a moment. Dedicate every bit of your attention to the ship. If you aren't sure you can ward off the dangerous thoughts, you will be offered to undergo a process of partial memory correction during the remaining three days."

"I am certain my capabilities will suffice," Colde shook his head.

"Same," Lynch nodded.

"Wonderful, gentlemen. Remember, all the lifeboats have already been tempered with, number sixteen being the sole exception. When the explosives are in place, you shall use it to escape the ship along with Noreen. We'll send a helicopter when the ship is confirmed to have completely sunken."

"What about the public perception?"

"It's taken care of. Even the content of newspaper articles about the incident are prepared. We only need to worry about our part."

"You can rely on us, Sir Blaise," Cole answered. "Everything will be perfect. And none shall be the wiser."

"Exactly," Blaise nodded. "And none shall be the wiser."