The city of Rigmar was a town caught in limbo. Before the Witch had come to power, it had been transitioning from a settlement town to a more sophisticated small city. After Queen Orianah's capture, the influx of funds had ceased. Rigmar was left hanging. Since it was southwest of Central City and very little consequence where the Witch was concerned, Rigmar was left to the wolves. The a lot of the good people were driven out and were replaced with criminals escaping the law.

Buildings, half finished, that had been intended for museums and libraries were converted to cat houses and shady dealers. Even as he looked on, Cain's trained eyes spotted Vapor dealers making sales right on the street. He had to fight down the cop-response and focus on the task at hand.

It was to this dump that the letter left at Heavens Gate had led them. Cain felt himself growing warier as they moved down the sidewalk. He didn't like this. It was feeling more and more like a trap.

And whatever was eating him was getting worse. He swallowed the coughing fit that threatened to erupt. The ride down from Heavens Gate had done nothing for his head. Consciously, he tried to bring his dulling senses back to life. Sharp eyes, sharp ears, he ordered himself, but he felt like he was walking around in a fog.

Azkadellia, wearing Cain's hat and Glitch's coat, looked around. "By the gods."

"Welcome to the Armpit of the West." Glitch said quietly as a large, greasy man walked past them. He lingered, leering unpleasantly at Azkadellia. Cain pulled back the tail of his duster to reveal the revolver on his hip. The man got the message, but made extravagant kissing noises at her before he moved along.

With a tired sigh, Cain pulled her closer, standing the collar up a little straighter to cover the dark hair that fell down her back beneath the coat. He drew the hat down a little further over her eyes. "I was hoping to pass you off as a man."

"Yeah, good luck." Glitch snorted. "With those-"

Azkadellia turned wide eyes on him. "With those what?"

Glitch was turning an interesting shade of red. "It's just . . .uh. . .you know. You-you have quite a pleasing figure. I mean, others, might find it pleasing." She quirked an eyebrow at his rambling. "Not that I don't find it pleasing . . ."

Who knew? The headcase wasn't numb from the neck down. Cain attempted to save him. "Glitch-"

"Well, this would be a whole lot easier if you were built more like your sister, Highness!" He blurted out.

Azkadellia was biting her lip now in an attempt to not laugh. Cain shook his head. "Drop the 'Highness' stuff."

He headed off down the sidewalk as Azkadellia said, "I'm telling DG you said that."

"Oh, please don't."

They moved to the cab stand where dilapidated vehicles of varying colors sat waiting for customers. Cain chose one of the less seedier individuals to get directions from. The club in which they were supposed to meet their contact would be easy enough to find. It was four blocks up and one over. The cabby assured Cain he wasn't going to be able to miss it.

Making sure that Azkadellia and Glitch were behind him, Cain started up the avenue. He had just looked up at a street sign and back when it happened.

Things slowed as he noticed the couple passing him. The man was a peacock, dressed in a suit, undoubtedly one of the high-rollers of the city. The woman wore a dark cloak, the hood pulled up, shading her face. But as she passed, she looked directly at him. He would know her anywhere. The blonde wavy hair, those beautiful blue eyes, the curve of the cheek he had touched so many times.

Adora

Disregarding everything else, he grabbed her arm. The mission, the fact that he knew his wife was dead; none of it mattered. She squawked in alarm as she was pulled from her escort who spun in shock as well. Her hood fell back. It was the face of a stranger that looked back at him. She looked nothing like his wife, brown eyes and dark hair.

She smiled seductively. "One customer at a time, big boy."

Cain held up his hands, feeling shaky. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"That's too bad." She looked him up and down once more before slowly returning to the other man who haughtily readjusted his jacket and led her off.

He watched them go, doubting his sanity. It wasn't as though he had thought he had seen his wife. He had been sure. Positive. It was bad enough he was seeing her every night in his dreams. Now he was seeing her when he was awake.

"What was that all about?" Azkadellia asked, looking concerned.

"Nothing," he replied, trying to make himself believe it. "Just a mistake."

"I know you blow a fuse when DG asks, but are you okay?" Glitch asked quietly. "You look kind of sick."

"Just tired." He wasn't going to admit how bad he felt. "Let's get going. The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner we can all sleep better."

As a Tin Man, he had come to a lot of places like this on raids. The Phanfasm was the picture of a sleazy establishment. It was dark and smoky. The wild flashing lights did little for his headache as the pulse of the music pounded against his eardrums. In the middle of the floor, he could see a mass of bodies gyrating to the tempo with barely any light between them. Lecherous old men ran their hands over the bodies of young women as if inspecting the merchandise. He made a mental note to pool his resources and rein in Rigmar if he survived all this.

Cain felt a pull on the back of his coat as Azkadellia latched onto him, afraid of getting lost in the crowd. His mind floated back to the last meeting he had had in a bar. What happened there was not happening again . . . no matter how well it turned out.

He watched her take in everything. It was easy to forget that she had lived a sheltered, lonely life. Things like this were going to put her on sensory overload. This was all very new to her. "Those women are dancing in cages."

Cain looked up. "Yeah, local custom. Glitch, what were the instructions again?"

"Middle bar, third stool in. Make sure the second seat is empty."

Cain made sure Azkadellia was between him and Glitch before pushing his way between the sweaty bodies. Two long bars ran along the walls of the bar. To get to the bar located centrally, they were going to have to cross the dance floor.

Azkadellia was still clinging to Cain as he moved among the dancers, lost in the music. He felt her tug, pulling him to a stop. He turned around and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Glitch had been cornered by a scantily-clad busty blonde. "Nice hat. Wanna dance?"

Before Cain could step in, Azkadellia rode to the rescue. "He's with me."

With that, she grabbed a hold of Glitch and pushed him away from the blonde, heading for the bar. Cain watched her steer Glitch past him and turned back around to see the woman sizing him up like a piece of meat. He made himself scarce.

Azkadellia was standing next to Glitch, who had a protective arm around her, from where he sat on the barstool. They had left the third stool open for Cain. There was no one in the second.

Cain whispered to Glitch. "How is the contact going to know us?"

"Order an Ozian Sunset."

"A what?"

"Just do it."

Cain flagged down the bartender and placed the order, noting the snicker the man gave him as he moved to the ice chest.

Despite her earlier display of courage saving Glitch, Azkadellia still looked nervous. "People come here voluntarily?"

"Believe it or not." Glitch replied.

"I've never been anywhere like this. I thought the Realm of the Unwanted was where criminals went."

"These aren't all criminals." Cain explained. "Most of them are just people trying to get by the only way they know how. Rigmar is like a "Sin City". Any pleasure fulfilled for the right price."

The bartender set a glass in front of Cain. The Tin Man had to look twice. The Ozian Sunset was a decidedly un-manly frozen drink comprised of pink and orange striations. It was topped with fruit and an umbrella. "This is part of the meeting code?"

"No," Glitch answered, picking off the cherry. "I just wanted to see if you would order one."

"Would you stop fooling around?" He said angrily.

"Eh," Azkadellia was making a face. She had just taken a sip. "What is in that?"

Cain snatched the drink back. Given her sheltered life, Azkadellia was undoubtedly a lightweight when it came to alcohol. The last thing he needed was a half-sauced, magic-wielding princess on his hands.

As he turned back, he realized that someone was now seated on the other side of him. She was a slight woman with long, shiny black hair and almond-shaped eyes. She didn't look at him as he said. "Sorry, miss, that seat is taken."

She took a sip from the glass of amber liquid before her. "You are a Tin Man, are you not?"

Suspicion crept into his voice. "Depends on who's askin'."

"I understand and appreciate your skepticism, but you have nothing to fear from me." She still did not look at him. "I know who sent the letter that brought you here."

"Do you?" Cain studied the bottles of liquor that lined the shelves behind the bar. "And why should I believe you?"

"I am a friend. It is up to you whether you believe that or not."

Further conversation was interrupted when Glitch was suddenly knocked from his bar stool and replaced by Azkadellia's greasy admirer from the street. "Hello, lovely. Fancy meeting you here."

He grabbed her arm and Cain saw anger flash in Azkadellia's eyes. If she used magic to defend herself, it would be like renting a billboard to announce their arrival in Rigmar.

Before he could settle the matter quietly, Glitch was back. He grabbed the man's arm and gave it an odd twist. The man screamed in pain and made to grab Glitch with the other hand. Of course, the nimble man ducked neatly and took his opponent to the floor with a blow to the knee.

Cain felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and ducked just as a second attacker sailed a massive fist over his head. Whether this guy was back-up for Azkadellia's boyfriend or looking for a fight, Cain didn't know. He didn't really care, either, as he brought a fist up under the man's ribs, doubling him over for a beauty of a hook to the jaw.

Cain looked up just in time to see Azkadellia bring a bottle of Quaddling Whiskey down on her admirer's head. Not bad for her first bar fight.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders but before he could break the hold, the hands were gone. He turned just in time to see their contact rendering the man unconscious with the heel of her hand. "We have to go."

He couldn't agree more. The club was descending into chaos. Tables were overturned, glasses were breaking, and everyone seemed to be getting in on the act.

Cain grabbed Azkadellia and pulled her to him. "Glitch, c'mon!"

Glitch handled his next opponent before vaulting over the bar and running down behind it. Cain and Azkadellia followed the woman and darted out the door at the rear of the bar, spilling out into a dark alley.

"Hurry, this way," the woman said. "We must get out of sight."

For now, they didn't have a lot of other options.

The small apartment was oddly furnished. It seemed their hostess had made and attempt at making it cozy, but somehow, got cut short. There were curtains on the windows and old, but mostly matching chairs in the living room. The gray carpet beneath their feet was thin, but clean.

But on every available surface, the coffee table, the end tables, even the kitchen table when Azkadellia ventured a look, was covered with junk. Little half- assembled gadgets littered the apartment. Beakers containing liquids of all colors boiled on the stove and the entire apartment hung heavy with an acrid stench, as if something had just been burning.

But the most remarkable thing was the large, black crow that sat on a perch in the corner of the room. Its black eyes studied first Ambrose and then Azkadellia, keenly observing as they took in the rooms.

"What a strange place." Azkadellia said as she stood in the center and looked around.

Ambrose had picked up a small device from the coffee table and was examining it. "Wonder how long Cain will be."

"I shouldn't think too long."

The Tin Man and the dark-haired woman had seen them safely to the apartment and left again immediately to make sure no one was following them.

Azkadellia was about to ask Ambrose what he was tinkering with when a blood-curdling scream made them both jump. Standing in the doorway from the bedroom was a small, fragile-looking old man wearing a nightshirt over his trousers. Shocks of feathery white hair stood over his ears and his bald head glinted in the dim light. There was a crazed expression in his blue eyes as he pointed at Ambrose. "You!"

Immediately, Ambrose dropped what he was examining back to the coffee table. "I'm sorry. . .I didn't realize. . ."

The little man scurried across the room more quickly than Azkadellia would have thought possible. Ambrose stood very still, shifting nervously from foot to foot, as the old man eyed him up.

And then he put his hands in Ambrose's left pants pocket.

Startled, he looked to Azkadellia. "Friendly, isn't he?"

Muttering, the old man dove into the other pocket. Azkadellia approached slowly and quietly. "Sir? Sir, what are you looking for?"

He turned on her sharply. "The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits."

Azkadellia stepped back, startled. Ambrose smiled as the man continued through his pockets. "There's a logic there I can't argue with."

"Ah-hah!" The old man came up, shaking his fist at Ambrose. "I knew it when you walked in. The boy's unbalanced, I said!"

Azkadellia couldn't suppress the snicker. Ambrose gave her a dirty look. "Sir, I am not unbalanced."

"Of course you are! With all this in one pocket." He opened his gnarled hand. All the coins from Ambrose's pocket were in it. "How can you walk?"

"Hey! That's mine."

"Just don't know what young men are thinking these days." The old man muttered to himself before yelling at Ambrose. "Do you want to ruin your hips? How will you dance with your lady-friend?"

The color rose in Ambrose's cheeks as the sound of wood on wood called Azkadellia's attention to a set of drawers beside her. The section of wall swung out, taking the chest with it. Cain entered through the hidden door with the woman behind him. "We're safe."

The Tin Man was about to say something else, but got a strange look on his face instead. Azkadellia turned to see the old man with his hands in Ambrose's pockets again.

"Three platinums, one sheckle to the left pocket. Two platinums and one sheckle to the right. I know it's not even, but your head's not on straight, anyway." He held up a golden Sovereign. "Well, this won't balance at all. I'll have to hold on to it."

"Hey!"

The woman moved in before Ambrose could protest too violently. "Father, give the man his money."

At her touch, he relinquished the coin which Ambrose prudently stuck in his inner jacket pocket.

Azkadellia turned to the woman. "He's your father?"

"Yes, Your Highness." The woman bowed low.

Azkadellia took a step back, instinctively looking to Cain. "She knows who I am."

"It's okay, Princess," he assured her. "This is Connalee LaRue and her father-"

"Doctor Terrence LaRue." Ambrose finished, looking in shock the little old man who was still examining his balance critically.

"You know him?" Azkadellia asked.

"He's the foremost authority on the uses of Moritanium." Ambrose's eyes held sympathy. "Or at least, he was. I thought he was dead."

"I also believed he was dead." Connalee spoke. "By a miracle, he came back to me."

Azkadellia felt it necessary to get back to the matters at hand. She turned to Connalee. "You sent the letters to the Resistance?"

Slowly, the woman shook her head.

"But you know who did?" Ambrose prompted.

"Of course." Connalee motioned to her father.

"Oh no." Ambrose groaned.

The old man was now muttering numbers to himself as he darted around the room. Azkadellia felt her heart sinking. "How could he write the letters?"

"I should explain." Connalee said.

Cain was studying her. "Yes, you should."

She encouraged them to sit with a wave of her hand. Azkadellia and Ambrose took the couch as Cain positioned himself by the apartment door and leaned against the wall. Connalee sat on a patched armchair and watched as her father began reorganizing the nuts and bolts he had found on the end table.

"My father had been taken from his position at the Central University by Long Coats." She took a deep breath. "Almost a year ago, he arrived at my apartment in Central City in the middle of the night. He was as you see him now."

Azkadellia watched him reorganizing his gadgets. "I'm sorry."

"The fault is not yours, Highness." Connalee replied softly. "How he escaped, I do not know. I knew that his absence would be noted. I took what I could that evening and fled south.

"I am able to support my father and myself by providing security at the Phanfasm. One night, I arrived home from work to find my father attaching a note to Bren's leg and opening the window."

"I assume Bren is the crow." Ambrose spoke up.

"He is not our doorman." Connalee replied with a hint of sarcasm. She turned to look at the animal. "Yes. When my father was taken, Bren returned to me. Father was always very fond of the bird. He kept him with him constantly."

"But you let him send the letter." Cain said.

Connalee nodded. "It was very important to him. He begged me. I saw no harm."

"Did you look at what it said?" Cain asked.

"I did, but the letters looked like nonsense to me." Connalee sighed. "Bren went. Bren returned and I thought no more of it."

"How did you know to meet us at the bar?" Azkadellia asked.

"I did not know who I was meeting." The woman replied. "Before I left for work, Father beseeched me to bring back the person seated on the third stool at the middle bar."

"Kind of vague instructions, weren't they?"

"Mr. Grant, I had no intention on bringing anyone back to this house tonight." Connalee responded before she looked to Cain. "Until I recognized you, Mr. Cain."

"You didn't tell me how you knew who I was." Cain replied evenly.

"Before my father's abduction, I was a cadet at the Academy. You spoke to my class about your experiences in the Eastern Territories."

Azkadellia turned to look at Cain. He caught her eye and gave her a nod before asking. "Did you complete training?"

"No." Connalee looked to each of them. "Something important was in those letters. What is happening?"

The trio looked at each other before Cain spoke. "You know about the Sun Seater?"

"Yes." Connalee smiled at Azkadellia, "I am aware of the fall of the Witch."

"Well, there's a second machine. And somehow, your father knows something about it that he's been trying to tell the rest of us."

"Sir Knight!" Dr. LaRue yelled suddenly, running to Cain. "Sir Knight, you must stop the dragons. You must!"

"Settle down, sir." Cain gently guided the man to sit beside Azkadellia.

"All this time, I thought it was the ramblings of an old man driven crazy by torture at the hands of the Witch." Connalee said sadly.

Azkadellia studied him, noting the symptoms. "I don't think he's crazy. I think he's been Addled."

"Addled? What is that?" Ambrose asked.

"It's something the Witch employed during the building of the Sun Seater." Azkadellia explained. "She would use magic to block certain pathways in the brain. That way, if she needed to, she could simply lift the magic, get the information she needed using a Viewer, and then Addle them again so they would be easier prisoners to keep."

Ambrose looked confused. "Did I get in the wrong line or something? Why was half of my brain removed?"

"Because they needed it to run the Sun Seater, remember?" Cain put in.

"Well, that and the fact that the Witch learned from her mistake with you." Azkadellia was sympathetic as she explained. "All of the information to run the Sun Seater was stored in the brain, but there was no ability to manipulate the calculations or tweak the specifications. Other scientists had to be found to build on your plans after she took your brain."

"Lucky me." Ambrose said sulkily.

"Azkadellia," Cain spoke up suddenly. "You said you lifted this magic before."

She saw where this was going. "We've been over this. The Witch used my magic to apply and lift the enchantment. I didn't have anything to do with it."

"Okay, let me rephrase. You've seen this magic lifted before."

"It's not as easy as that."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Cain," Azkadellia sighed. "The Witch was always very careful to lift the Addle once every few weeks. If a brain remains Addled for more than a month, it can become damaged beyond repair. Dr. LaRue has been under the curse for almost a year. If I were to lift it now, there's a good possibility it could kill him."

"Please," Connalee interrupted, her eyes pleading at Azkadellia. "If you can help him . . ."

"Ms. LaRue, I'm not sure that I can."

"If there is a chance to restore him."

Azkadellia made sure Connalee caught every word of what she was about to say. "This is quite possibly going to kill him."

The woman's eyes were bright with tears, but her tone was strong. "He would rather die than continue like this."

A/N: Long weekend, thought I would post again.

Quote: The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits- Einstein

And for any Shelock Holmes fans out there, Dr. LaRue's 'coin distribution theory' is based loosely on "The Adventure of the Dying Detective". I was always amused by it. Thank you, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Cain, Glitch, and Az are in for a looooooooong night.