A Tin Traveler's Guide to Warlocks and Weathervanes

by WhiteRabbit626

In this next installment, history repeats itself, and the dark history of the Gales - and how the second daughter, Lavender, became Queen at all - is revealed to DG and readers alike. Mischief and murder are abound, and DG and Cain are joined by characters from "Pitstop", bringing readers closer to the answer of the riddle told of two princesses, an emerald, and a throne.

12. Chapter 12

The crows continued to shadow the royal convoy long after they'd left Rush Margins behind a dusty curve in the road. So too did they continue to circle when Wyatt paused at the old rancher's homestead to inform the old man of their findings in the town. Unsurprisingly, the weathered old man had spat on the ground and shook his head as he muttered unkind words about the mayor under his breath, but when he returned his sight to the Tin Man, he'd smiled and jutted his hand out.

As Wyatt took his hand and shook it firmly, the old man proclaimed dryly, "Welp, young man, I'm obliged to ya, and if we have any more problems – outta that mayor or anyone else, I'll be sure to let ya know."

"Thanks, Mister Finely," Wyatt answered kindly as he dropped his hand, "that puts my mind at ease."

Although Wyatt had smiled warmly, DG took note of that same uneasiness from earlier still keeping his blue eyes a cloudy grey and away from hers. She hoped he'd explain sooner rather than later, and half expected him to sidle up to her and Raw when their party left the old rancher at the side of the dirt road, but instead, he'd given them a cursory tilt of his hat before he'd turned his horse towards the front of the convoy and galloped ahead to catch up with the scout. DG bit her lower lip as she stared ahead, watching the Tin Man's fedora growing smaller in the distance, and wondering if perhaps he might reappear once they returned to the brick route, where they'd turn to the east on their long march toward the city of Center Munch.

"Tin Man worried, DG. Loves Princess. Nothing to worry about," Raw had rumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, I know Raw. I just wish I knew what those rats were about. There's something about them that he doesn't want to tell me about, and I don't care much for the way he talked to me either. The Tin Man has some explaining to do." DG had grumbled back, her husky voice barely audible over the sound of men chatting and horse hooves clopping at their forward and rear flanks.

Raw glanced at his friend, noting how her sharp eyes remained trained doggedly on the horizon ahead, certainly trying to catch a glimpse of the Tin Man. He knew, of course, that she hadn't needed his second sight to gather such insights about Cain – even he had seen Wyatt's demeanor change the instant those rats had been slapped down on the flagstones. Cain had certainly been just as shocked as everyone else by what he'd seen, but there was recognition too, and confusion by what the vermin meant, but the sudden coolness in his eyes and the way he spoke to DG had unnerved even Raw. For although Wyatt Cain was stoic on most days, he was rarely so cold to his friends, and certainly never DG, who'd always been able to melt his defenses with so little effort. For whatever reason though, the Tin Man wasn't talking to either of them, and Raw only wished he had the ability to read him – or at least his heart – to give the princess some solace about his sudden emotional distance. Raw growled under his breath, hating this change in Cain, and the continued dampening of his abilities. He felt as if he was groping in the dark, and between this and the continued presence of the dark birds overhead, he felt as he had so often during the reign of the Sorceress; it was as if he was being hunted. In their search for the Emerald, the stalwart Tin Man and DG had done much to ease his insecurity, but now, with Wyatt so distant, he felt that sense security melting away and, in its place, a steady, growing anxiety. He could not help but wonder who was behind both the soaked rats and the dark birds, and he counted their steps eagerly, longing to be away from this cursed country.

This dark mood clouded their collective thoughts like the winged carrion still shadowing them like a cloud from the suns. Even though the birds quickly scattered when the brick route came into view, neither Wyatt's clouded mind nor DG's growing anger showed any signs of abating, adding to Raw's general uneasiness. Raw quickly shifted his quiet study from DG to the crows overhead, who cawed and cackled at them tauntingly as they picked up speed and overtook them, departing in a loud flurry as they left them behind. Simultaneously with their departure, the dampening nature of Ozma's enchantments lifted, and Raw sensed insolent words behind those naughty cackles. Being the kind viewer he was, however, he only growled low and glared at the birds; being more thankful for their departure than willing to darken DG's thoughts any further by translating their crude language. Then their cawing changed its tone, and Raw's alarm suddenly grew exponentially.

"Stupid walkers," they cawed in the distance, "our master is much older and wiser than you. You worry too much about stupid rats, you should be worried about him. You'll see," their voices squawked and cackled as they disappeared on the horizon, which slowly rose as it incorporated more and more pine and oak and less of the scrubby grassland of before.

Raw's eyes remained focused on the phantom image of those birds, wondering about the master they'd taunted them with, the hairs on the backs of his hands standing on end for the warning they'd issued as they'd left. Surely, he'd have to tell DG and Cain about it sooner rather than later; for of all the snitches of detail he'd picked up from those birds before they'd departed, that final message had been more of a promise than a threat, but he struggled with when and how he'd speak with them, for they had both become so suddenly distant and despondent. Even now that they were back on the brick route, and their watchful escort was gone, the Tin Man remained no more than a distant speck on the brick route ahead of them, making their actual scout superfluous with his insistence on continuing his self-appointed task, while DG grew more and more silent – her blue eyes clouded and faraway as she stared out at the changing landscape. Raw considered with ever-growing alarm that whatever the true message of the rats, they'd had another, maybe more sinister mission: They'd effectively dismantled the combined strength of the Cains by separating them with distraction and distrust.

Raw held in a whimper as he considered the mounting possibilities, with every troubling likelihood and nuance heightening his overall anxiety. The rats had been an intentional plant by Zero; the sniveling mayor had confirmed that, but to what end? Did Zero intend to breed mistrust between Cain and DG? If so, why? Obviously, Wyatt and DG Cain were a formidable force when together and had already been compared to the likes of the Original Slipper and Nick Chopper – separated, and they'd already proven to be vulnerable, but after the near-misses they'd endured in their fights with first the Sorceress, then the mysterious Gnome King, Roquat; separating them would no longer be such an easy task. Zero would need to plant a seed so deep that it could hardly be rooted out, but what and why? Raw tried his best to shake the thoughts from his head. At one time, such ruminating would have been a common-place occurrence for him, but he'd made such progress in healing in the past few annuals, that he hated to go back to the cowering viewer he'd once been. No, he decided with a firm huff, he would not succumb to the same doubt that was currently plaguing his friends. Instead, he would be vigilant and watchful; ready to protect his clan from whatever came next.

The trouble was, although they continued to put distance between their party and the dampening field that kept Raw from being able to sense oncoming danger, he was no closer to determining who this master was that the crows had teased them about. Nor was he any closer to being able to warn Wyatt or DG of his looming presence. They barely saw Wyatt most of the day, in fact, for as they ambled along the brick path, curving northward on its meandering path to Center Munch, he remained at the head of the pack while DG and Raw sauntered in the center of the double line of horses. It wasn't until the towering trees of the Eastern Guild shadowed their path from the slowly dropping suns in the west that they did finally see the Tin Man, looking positively congenial as he sat upon a boulder by the bend in the road and waiting for the party to catch up. His face was positively glowing, and even from a distance, his laugh punctuated the air with such levity that it was hard for any to remain even the slightest bit somber. He'd also apparently had enough time to withdrawal his canteen from his saddle bag and swigged generously from it as they drew near; his horse harumphing pleasantly as he chewed on the long, sweet grass that grew nearby. This sight by itself was hardly concerning, for it was a frequent occurrence that Wyatt would get far enough ahead to have to wait on them, but what was odd – apart from his suddenly changed spirits – was the addition of a weathered old man sitting next to him, chatting up the Tin Man like they were old friends.

The two had been in mid-conversation when the party came into view and had been sharing a laugh about some private joke when Wyatt stopped to raise his hat to the sky, beckoning them forward as if inviting them to a party. When they came near enough that raised voices were no longer needed, the Tin Man hopped down from the boulder and announced brightly, "We'll camp over there tonight, Captain, you can draw a picket-line up between some of those trees for the horses and get a couple of small campfires going for dinner. Our guest is probably hungry."

Wyatt had casually tilted his head back in a gesture to the small copse of golden leaved aspen-like trees standing like lonely giants on the hillside that gently rose behind him, ignoring the look of surprise from the men who would have ordinarily been commanded to scout the location out before such a decision was made. There was something cavalier in the General's tone and his overly friendly manner with the old stranger that was foreign even to them, but it was not their place to question him, and a few glanced back at Raw and DG before they saluted their general and went about their task; their expressions almost pleading and alarmed in the brief moment that their eyes met with the Princess'. The flicker of communication was gone in an instant, and the young captain at the head of the pack murmured a "Yes sir," as he and the other soldiers led their horses past Cain and up the hill, leaving DG and Raw alone with Wyatt and his newcomer.

Raw and DG had both been covertly sizing the man up while Wyatt was otherwise occupied with giving orders, using the large flanks of their steeds to hide any sign of suspicion or distrust while they peered at the oddly congenial fellow. The old man's skin was dark and rich like the deepest shades of autumn and wrinkled like he'd seen a generation of those seasons already, while his eyes twinkled like a giddy child, being offered his favorite sweet. He had sat quietly enough on his wide, stone seat while Wyatt gave orders to the men, leaning into the long stick he held between him and the ground like an eavesdropper and displaying a smile that outshone the suns with their brilliance. The old man was really quite beautiful in the way that his dazzling smile and sparkling eyes seemed to create their own light, and neither DG nor Raw could help but to gaze at him, a small part of them feeling as if they would like to be nearer to the man, but this itself was also an unnerving prospect. Although it would be hard to argue that the old man looked harmless, both Raw and DG knew that looks could be deceiving. There was no telling what lay behind the voluminous old cloak that seemed to swallow the man's entire body, and the way his weathered hands grasped his cane – the muscles in his exposed limb being anything but old looking in their assured ability to manipulate the hard oak – belied a person much more capable than he was letting on. By themselves, these qualities would not have been enough to raise alarms, but the way in which the old man had so quickly enamored the Tin Man did.

Since she'd last laid eyes on her husband, DG noted that the troubled expression written in his eyes had completely vanished. In its place, delight sparkled as if he had not a single care in the world, and Wyatt had even removed his hat. Anyone even remotely familiar with the Tin Man knew that his hat was a signature part of his uniform, which he rarely removed out of doors, and certainly not while he was in a professional frame of mind. Many might have thought this was just a preference and would not have known that his hat acted as a sort of emotional shield from the world-at-large. The fact that he'd almost completely discarded said protection now was alarmingly sudden, given the events of the morning, and only intensified the suspicions of his cohorts. Equally concerning to them; Wyatt had seemed almost reluctant to even take two steps away from his place by the old man and had sighed like a disappointed kid when he arose from the boulder to give orders. Having completed that chore, and successfully set his soldiers onto other tasks, he'd seemed almost physically relieved when the old man had arisen to stand with him and resumed chatting jovially in a hushed rumble while they both awaited Raw and DG's arrival. Wyatt's manner was, in many ways, reminiscent of those seedy fans of the Mystic Man, who'd hung onto his cloak hems to get even the slightest whiff of the Sorceress' vapors, only to deflate in relieved extasy when they'd finally achieved their desire. Neither DG nor Raw had ever seen Cain so animated with someone so unknown to them, and they both wondered at the strange power the old man seemed to have over their otherwise stoic Tin Man. It was for this reason that they were both visibly uncertain when their horses were led away, leaving them exposed and unable to avoid any further distance without seeming impolite, but DG offered her best smile despite her discomfort, and beckoned Raw to follow her as they stepped into the pair's space.

The unusual pair stopped their quiet chat as DG and Raw came within their periphery, and Wyatt beamed at DG, pecking her affectionately on the cheek as he reached forward to grasp her elbow and draw her closer. "Hey Darlin'," he greeted her in an overly informal manner, "I want you to meet Amos."

"Amos, huh?" DG replied in a husky voice, smiling in a somewhat forced manner as she stepped forward, nodding to the old man in recognition. "What brings you to such a remote part of the Brick Route?"

A burst of giddy laughter erupted from the Tin Man, and he grinned broadly as he answered for the old man, "That's funny, DG, because I asked the same thing when I came upon our friend. Amos, tell them what you told me."

When Wyatt turned to the old man, his old, amber eyes studied the Tin Man with brief, pleasant acquiescence before he sighed. "Well," he explained in a deep, slow timbre, "don't rightly know, to tell you the truth Miss - "

"Missus, actually. I'm Wyatt's wife, DG Cain-Gale," DG obliged the man, who seemed uncertain of how to address the princess.

The old man nodded in understanding before continuing his explanation, "Well, like I was saying, Missus Cain, didn't even know what to call this here yellow brick road until your husband trotted up. Mighty glad he did too, otherwise I might'a just sat on that there stone until another storm scooped me up and took me somewhere else. I think your husband called 'em travel storms?"

A look of recognition flashed across DG's face the moment travel storms were mentioned, and her blue eyes flickered onto Wyatt, who nodded almost proudly. "Yeah that's right, and I told Amos we'd take him with us to Center Munch, Darlin, help him and everyone else who's been displaced get back to their homes. Once we figure out where he came from, that is. You'll be able to, right Dorothy?"

DG could hardly say no to Wyatt's eager, pleading face, which in that moment was so reminiscent of their young daughter pleading for extra time before bed. His sparkling eyes, pleading so earnestly with her seemed to pry open her heart, and she felt a pang of remorse for having distrusted the old man. "Yes, of course we'll help Amos, Wyatt," she replied quickly, smiling reassuringly to the old man as she reached forward to pat him on the shoulder, "You could probably use something to eat first though, couldn't you Amos?"

Amos reached a weathered hand up to rest over DG's, and in doing so, he removed it from his own shoulder to grasp it within his own. In that moment, the rest of DG's concerns seemed to disintegrate while a rush of warmth flooded over her body, making her feel instantly relaxed and dazed. "You're too kind, beautiful child," Amos seemed to purr, "I'd be glad to take a meal with you."

DG was oddly relieved by this statement, feeling uncertain until he'd confirmed it, whether he'd be staying with them after all. The thought of not having Amos near seemed to make her chest constrict; and his affirmation caused the opposite, sending her and Wyatt both into such elation that they barely even registered anyone besides Amos standing amongst them as they began to set off up the hill towards camp.

Raw's alarm only grew as he watched the scene unfold. As a viewer and empath, Raw could hardly help feeling the thoughts and emotions of others within his general vicinity. From Amos, however, there was nothing. Though it is true that some people, like Cain, could build up a kind of ability to block their most internal thoughts from others like himself, this very act would leave an unmistakable residue on the person's psyche – like a signpost – telling him to stay out. Generally, Raw respected this kind of signal, and would have with Amos as well, except there was just nothing. No excitement, nor confusion. No subterfuge or hidden agenda. Nothing. Without the use of his gifts, Raw relied instead upon visual cues, and these gave him no end of worry. First, the man's clear effect on Cain, and then DG, who'd been equally suspicious until the man had touched her skin. Raw even thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the man's eyes the moment DG had said the word "Gale," except it was gone so quickly that he hardly had the time to register it. Apart from all of this, Amos had completely disregarded Raw, like he didn't exist. Given that he apparently had no knowledge of the brick route, nor of who DG was, it could only mean that he was an Othersider.

An Othersider would not know what Raw is, he grumbled to himself, adding with continued skepticism, he would think Raw strange. Ask many questions.

This unmistakable logic seemed to refute any possibility that the man was an Othersider, further increasing Raw's doubt, and as he watched the man walk away with his friends, he wished he could pull Cain and DG away from him. It was a seemingly impossible prospect now, he thought with mounting frustration, given that Cain and DG were both under some kind of spell. Both were as strong willed as guild fighters, and whether or not they would be right to do so, Raw felt that he'd have a fight on his hands if he attempted any overt method of exposing the stranger. Raw trudged onward after them despite the negative turn of his thoughts, however, feeling instinctively that the worst thing he could do would be to leave either of them alone with him.

He not want witnesses, wants to keep them away from Raw. I not let him. Raw find a way, Raw thought, a sense of ever-growing courage and fortitude blossoming within his chest as he stormed up the hill to join his friends at the newly set campfire.

Had it been any other time, even Raw might have found that evening on the hill enchanting. As the suns drifted down past the horizon, the quality of light around them was soft and dreamy, being only heightened by the presence of tiny lightening bugs that floated on the air like little pale fairy lights. The heat of the day had also dissipated to such a point that it was pleasant, and what was left of the sweltering heat was gently swept away by a prevailing breeze that blew through the trees and whispered promises of pleasant dreams to the inhabitants of that little hamlet. Moods were equally pleasant and dreamy – the men had moved to their own little campfires and chatted in soft, happy voices over their meals, hardly noting the Tin Man's party when they settled in front of their own appointed crackling fire, their tents only steps away and guarding the periphery of the camp in a large, loose circle. It was truly idyllic, and although Raw was road-weary and eager for rest, the crow sitting quietly on a branch overhead warned him that all was not as it truly seemed. It was even possible that this was all, somehow, manufactured for their benefit, although Raw struggled to decern how that could be possible the foggier his brain became. It was for this reason that Raw sat somewhat apart and silent from the trio chatting amicably by the fire, pretending to meditate. In reality, Raw peered cautiously at them all through tiny slits, stubbornly maintaining his vigil despite a suddenly strong urge to sleep.

Raw noted that, ordinarily, the Tin Man and his princess would have sat down together, being close enough to touch, but far enough away for propriety's sake when outside the confines of their most trusted circle of friends and family. Tonight, however, the pair was split by Amos, and both sat with oddly rapt expressions aimed at the old man while they watched him eat. Neither had touched a morsel of food themselves, having left their mess trays untouched on the packed earth at their feet while they attended to the old man's cares. Amos, meanwhile, picked at his plate with a somewhat disappointed expression on his lined face, and he consumed just enough stew to appear polite, but not enough to be considered filling.

"Aren't you hungry, Amos?" DG asked worriedly, her brow furrowed, and her expression suddenly clouded.

Raw watched warily as the old man's eyes roved covertly around the camp, as if he were surveying them all, and he stopped suddenly when DG had spoken, turning somewhat to smile slyly at her when he reached out to pat her hand and answered. "Not quite like home, I'm afraid, Miss DG. I guess these old bones just need a bit of rest and their own bed."

He held DG's gaze as he deliberately stretched, and Raw observed that almost instantaneously, men around the camp as well as Cain and even himself began yawning and stretching almost as if on cue.

"I'm a little tired myself," Wyatt spoke through a yawn, nearly kicking his forgotten tray into the fire when he stretched his legs out.

DG seemed to be the only person unaffected by the sudden wave of fatigue that had swept through the camp, and she sat in a kind of dream-like state, her chin propped up on her free hand. "Good night, then, Wyatt," she replied without looking at Cain, who'd arisen and was already shuffling off to the tent behind them.

Wyatt didn't even provide a response, besides waving lazily over his shoulder, before he disappeared behind the flap of the tent, leaving them relatively alone. One by one, Raw noted other members of their party likewise stumbling off to their respective tents and bed rolls, mumbling sleepily to each other as if drugged. Knowing though, that the Tin Man would have never left DG alone with a stranger, Raw's anxious energy only increased, and kept him from being totally overcome. As his drowsiness began to threaten his consciousness then, he was finally able to shake himself free from the spell. He maintained an air of fatigue, however, hoping to learn the truth of the man.

Amos still ignored Raw's presence however, being more interested it seemed, in DG. His posture was oddly conciliatory, and he'd once more grasped her slender hands in his while his eyes seemed to pry into her soul as he spoke smoothly. "Tell me about yourself, girl," he prompted her softly, "Magic runs deep in those veins, doesn't it." DG hummed affirmatively and her eyes shut as Amos' thumb rubbed the pulse-point on her wrist.

"You've got it, your momma has it, and you've got others in that line of yours, don't ya?" he prompted gently.

"Line?" DG asked lazily, not seeming to understand completely as her mind became a jumble of memory and emotion.

Every turn of Amos' thumb on her pulse seemed to churn the emotions welling up within DG's chest, and the sensation, while somewhat unsettling, was akin to the rush one experiences on a roller coaster; thrilling and nerve tingling, yet somehow dangerous too, as if she was somehow on the edge of a precipice dangling on the very fingers pulling her under. The images emerging within her mind with every swipe were similarly confusing in how they came forward, then drifted as if unimportant before she could connect with their personal meaning to her. Memory of her mother, her sister, her daughter, her friends, and Wyatt came and went in a kind of fuzzy picture show, finally stopping on the hazy memory of a distant friend wearing a silver tin man star – a man that couldn't have been blood related, but who might as well have been for the warmth and love that blossomed in her heart when his face came into focus. DG gasped when the memory of her father's best friend, her "uncle," reconnected itself with her consciousness, and a singular tear tracked down her cheek.

Well, this is a pleasant surprise, the man thought gleefully when the image of a familiar foe emerged within the woman's mind. Amos' eyes seemed to pry deeper then, and he opened his mouth as if to ask another question, only to be interrupted by the squawk of the otherwise silent crow, still sitting in watch above them. One left, the crow cawed in a quiet, bird-voice, which was otherwise ignored by the Princess, who continued to be entrapped by the sight of the old man at her side. Amos' attention on DG was somewhat broken by this pronouncement, and with an irritated huff at the bird, his head tilted suggestively to Raw as he maintained eye contact with the princess.

"Aren't you going to bed too, Raw?" DG asked in a dreamy voice, her eyes still locked with Amos' as she spoke, acting like a kind of puppet for what was most certainly not her own inquiry.

Raw shook his head, "No. Raw not tired," the viewer rumbled deeply, his arms folded and expression resolute. This utterance had finally gotten Amos' attention, it seemed, and his amber eyes moved from DG to Raw, looking suddenly sharp and almost hot.

"You're a tough nut to crack, Mister Raw," he spoke in a low, almost threatening manner, his voice seeming to vibrate through Raw even from across the campfire.

The air was suddenly so thick with tension that one might cut it with a knife while the two sized each other up in silence; Raw holding the man's eyes with his own while a growl tumbled out from the depths of his chest. Although he could not sense thought or emotion from Amos, Raw thought he saw anger flash through Amos' eyes, as if Raw represented an obstacle to some goal he was trying to reach, and Raw suspected that under different circumstances, the man might have done something about it. As it was, they were not wholly alone, and for some reason this was enough to stay any overt action from him. What was more, whether because of his loss of eye contact with the Princess, or because Raw had somehow stirred DG back into her senses, she yawned suddenly, as if awoken from a dream, and Amos' expression quickly reverted once more, and the tension broke as if made of smoke.

"Oh!" DG exclaimed in surprise; her eyes suddenly wide. Without even realizing she'd done it, her wrist suddenly glowed hot, and she yanked it away from Amos in a suddenly protective manner while she feigned embarrassment, "I don't even remember what we were talking about, I'm so tired!" She arose with a nervous laugh and smiled at the pair of them, Raw still glowering at Amos, while the old man distractedly examined his burned hand. "Well, I'm off to bed. Good night, Raw, Mr. Amos!"

DG didn't even wait for a reply from either of them, being so unnerved by her sudden loss of memory and state of familiarity with Amos that she retreated into the tent with Cain in a flash. Amos watched her go, a look of disappointment in his eyes while he rubbed the place where the princess' skin had burned him, while Raw's gaze remained unwaivering. Around them, sounds of awakening soldiers punctured the silence, and Amos let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

"Well," his deep voice rumbled in resignation, "it would be utterly useless to resume my conversation with your princess tonight, Master Viewer. It seems she is not so easily swayed while you are near." Raw's eyes narrowed at this turn of honesty from Amos, but he remained otherwise silent as the man continued to speak. "As such, I will be leaving you now."

When he arose, he discarded both his cane and his robe, revealing a man not so touched by infirmity as the others had once believed. Although Amos' face still showed annuals of experience, he was no longer bowed with age as he'd once been, and his body stood straight and assured before the flames of the little campfire, like he was ready to stamp it out with one foot. Raw stood in response to this, his furry chest puffed out and his eyes hot to demonstrate his defiance, staring down his opponent with none of the fear or anxiety that was once his constant companion.

Amos' amber eyes glowed on the viewer, and with a sneer, he concluded darkly, "I thank you, for the lesson you have taught me tonight. I will not be so careless next time." With that, he raised his arm to the crow, who landed noiselessly on the place Amos had indicated for him before the pair strode off to be swallowed up by the blackness of night.

Raw paced before the campfire, glowering at the dark space where Amos had disappeared while signs that his spell was unraveling were making themselves steadily apparent. The men were rousing about him and wiping an unseen dust from their eyes, looking around groggily as if uncertain of their surroundings. While inside the tent, just steps from the viewer's prowling form, DG sat balled up upon her bed roll, tightly hugging her knees while she stared ahead at Raw's shadow on the other side of the canvas, so consumed and confused by the feelings still washing over her that she could hardly wrap her mind around anything else. In her fogged mind, she imagined that Raw's shadow was Amos, and a part of her was both excited and scared by the prospect, and so she hugged her legs tighter – almost afraid she'd spring forward to be with him again. As she sat, the urge to jump forward began to fade, but the troubling content of her thoughts still gave her pause. The truth was, although she'd feigned a loss of memory, she remembered everything from the moment the old man had appeared. Far from deciphering the images he'd somehow draw from her, she focused instead on how he had made her feel. She remembered her initial suspicion; her worry when she'd first met the man and seen the affect he'd had on Wyatt, but the moment he'd touched her, he'd somehow siphoned all that doubt out of her. The feeling of having such negative thoughts pulled from her when he'd touched her, being replaced by such euphoria, had felt so alluring that she still struggled to wipe the sensations from her memory. They felt somehow engrained in her skin, like he'd somehow marked her when he'd grasped her hands and caressed her wrist. Even now, just imagining his hands on her made her heart race and her skin tingle, and she shut her eyes, trying to force the desire out of her body. The trouble was, when she closed her eyes, she could only feel his breath on her neck, and this sent her body into such waves of arousal that she could hardly see straight. When Wyatt arose with a deep, pained groan, she didn't even hear him – being so consumed with fear of her own arousal – and jumped when he grasped her by the shoulders to kiss her neck from behind.

"Jesus!" she gasped as she swung around to face him, her eyes wide with surprise and her hand clutching her chest.

Wyatt could not mistake the look of terror and confusion in his wife's expression, nor could he ignore how her chest heaved, and her breath came in quick, unsteady pants. She was very much like a cornered animal, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Apart from his own, strong feeling of disorientation, all he wanted was to pull Dorothy close and return the feeling of safety to her, knowing instinctively that he'd somehow failed to protect her when she'd needed him most. In understanding this feeling, however, he realized that touching her was probably the last thing she wanted just then, and he removed his hands from her space instead, raising them before his chest to show that he wasn't a threat.

"Hey Darlin'," he spoke softly, "it's just me. What's wrong? What happened?"

DG seemed to struggle with how to answer the question, her mind stumbling on what had really happened. It occurred to her then that nothing had actually conspired between her and Amos, and she let out a huge sigh of relief. "Nothing really." She paused to rub the remaining chills from her skin, shuddering at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn't somehow awoken from the spell he'd apparently had her under, "but it might have, Wyatt, and I'm a little freaked out."

As the seconds ticked past, DG could feel her self-control and common sense returning to her, and with it a sense of warmth and security. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed to a steady pace, and her eyes finally settled on Wyatt's. Finding them dark with worry, her heart constricted, and in an instant, she was flying into Wyatt's arms and sighing as he wrapped her up in his warmth.

To say that Wyatt was bewildered by this would have been an understatement, but if there was one thing he was accustomed to, it was Dorothy's seemingly random bursts of affection. It was a relief, really, that she was no longer recoiling from him, but he was still more than a little concerned about what had caused her initial fright, not to mention his own lapse of memory.

"Oh Dorothy," Wyatt sighed while his arms wrapped around her small body, his chest aching with the thought that something had happened while he'd been unconscious, "what's going on? You're not actin' like it's nothing."

"I'm okay, really," she muttered into his chest, "but, first –

She sat up suddenly and eyed him critically, her own eyes red with unshed tears before she asked seriously, "what do you remember?"

Wyatt's eyes became far away while he mentally catalogued the past day: the rats in the well and his dark, distant behavior towards Dorothy afterwards came back with uncomfortable clarity, but beyond that, he could only vaguely remember meeting someone on the road, and certainly not anything between then and when he'd awoken inside their tent. It was then that a feeling of near panic rushed over him, because certainly, if he'd lost over half a day, he would have missed a great deal. There was no doubt that he'd been manipulated, and most likely, it had all been undertaken to get him out of the way. His eyes returned to Dorothy's then, his pulse racing and his breath quickened with the thought of what might have happened during that time.

"I can't," he stammered, "DG, I can't remember anything since I stopped to wait on the rest of you. I got off my horse to give him a break, and I sat down on a boulder to rest my eyes. The next thing I know, I'm starin' at the roof of our tent. DG, how did we - " Wyatt's pale eyes were beyond worried and almost pleading and his voice equally uncertain while he struggled to speak.

DG seemed to read his mind, and she let out another relieved puff of air while she shook her head to answer his incomplete question. "I don't know how, Wyatt, but we dodged a bullet tonight. I think we'd better go talk to Raw though before I say anything else. Maybe he can restore some of your gaps."

As DG moved to stand up, Wyatt's hand reached out and fell on her bare arm, stopping her and causing her to look at him. His expression had morphed to one of remorse, and when he spoke, there was some shame there. "DG wait," he sighed, "look, I'm sorry about earlier. Those rats took me back. Reminded me of something Zero said a lifetime ago, but however much those rats bothered me, I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I'm sorry."

DG chewed on her lip as if attempting to hold something in, and her eyes flickered down onto the space where Wyatt's hand rested on her arm while she considered how to answer. A part of her wanted to stay in that tent and hash out the meaning of the rats, knowing that whatever message was behind them had somehow managed to unravel annuals spent building a relationship with Wyatt – a part of them had somehow been dislodged the moment they'd appeared, and DG knew that talking it out now could possibly undo the damage before it became bigger than either of them. Yet this latest development was of equal importance and more pressing towards their overall safety. Then again, the sensations Amos had stirred in DG made her feel unmoored and out of control – and she wondered how she might have unwittingly obliterated her marriage to Wyatt had Amos' control over her been maintained, and again, she was torn over which issue to address first.

Her eyes finally settled on Wyatt's, and she let out a resigned huff when she replied roughly, "I know, Wyatt, and I want to hear more about what was going on in your head, but I think we've got a bigger problem right now, don't you?"

Wyatt's blue eyes darted between DG's, noting a flood of emotions in both her voice and her expression – there was resignation for certain, and even anger, but fear too, like she was afraid of what he might say. His chest clenched uncomfortably, knowing instinctively that she too might say something he didn't want to hear when they finally hashed out all that had happened that day, but she was right about one thing. They'd just had a major security threat, and they needed to deal with that issue first. Knowing this, he could only nod his head lamely, releasing her arm so he could draw his sidearm and lead them out of the tent.

Neither truly knew what they might find when they exited their canvas enclosure, having been absent when the mysterious old man had departed. Consequently, they were prepared for a fight when they stepped onto the earthen ground just outside the tent. What met their eyes gave them some relief then, for the man was completely absent, and in his place, Raw paced the near-by campfire, while the good doctor sat on a nearby log, his own sidearm drawn and resting on the log by his side. Apart from this pair, a handful of the men were still apparently awake, and murmured quietly to each other at their own campfires, while another pair paced the dark perimeter of the camp, their eyes watchful and ears pricked up as if expecting unseen and unwanted visitors. This heightened sense of awareness meant that not a single person could breathe without the others knowing it, and consequently, when Wyatt stepped out onto the dirt, his presence was quietly noted by his men with polite nods and salutes. It was late, however, and neither Wyatt's serious demeanor nor their sense of duty required more than this cursory acknowledgement. Briefings were the domain of the morning, when sunlight would reveal all they could not readily identify between the trees: not the dark of night, and so it was with this unspoken knowledge that Wyatt and DG merely nodded to the others before they joined Raw and the doctor at the campfire.

"General, Princess," the doctor greeted the pair quietly, his physician's eyes silently examining them as they sat down at the adjacent log.

Wyatt was more than a little accustomed to the good doctor's less than covert approach to assessing his state. At one time, Wyatt would have found such silent appraisal unwelcome, being the private man that he was. However, there had been more than one occasion where, although unsolicited, the doctor's assessments of the Tin Man had led to some kind of vast improvement in his life. It helped too that the doctor usually kept a polite distance when performing such evaluations and offered his advice only when necessary. The almost cursory nature of his assessments might have made the unaccustomed believe he was somehow derelict in the care of his patients but given that his observations were generally uncanny and his advice succinct, such opinions were usually thrown off the moment the man spoke. The doctor had truly been right on every occasion that Wyatt had encountered him on personal matters, and so Wyatt now accepted the man's appraisal without so much as a grumble.

"What do you see, Doc?" Wyatt asked as he sat down, his voice sounding almost casual, but with a complete lack of levity in the gravity of his eyes, which were just short of piercing the good doctor where he sat.

The doctor peered back, looking the Tin Man up and down before replying in a paternal tone, "I see that you are back to your usual, congenial self, General, albeit with a bit of a lapse in memory, if you're anything like the others. Me included, I'm afraid." When Wyatt nodded, he asked critically, "What do you remember General?"

Wyatt coughed uncomfortably and shifted on the log, grumbling, "Not much beyond getting off my horse to give him a break. I'd been sitting on a boulder when I saw an old man ahead of me on the brick route, stumbling like he could hardly walk. When he finally fell over, I got up to help him, and then nothing." His eyes flickered on to Raw, who'd stopped pacing and was now standing stock still before the fire, eyes glowing in the light as he looked out into the darkness beyond them. It wouldn't take a great genius to intuit the viewer's state of mind – he was clearly just as unnerved but had thrown out his usual anxiousness for a protective stance, which he held like a cat on the prowl, alternating between pacing and stopping to listen to the night noises around them. Wyatt had rarely seen the man act in such a fashion and given that it certainly had everything to do with their mysterious visitor, Wyatt had a strong urge to understand what he'd missed from the events of the afternoon until that moment, late in the evening. Unsurprisingly, Raw's gifts were heightened as he continually reached out to sense danger, and so Wyatt's thoughts echoed in his mind like a bell; his feline eyes darted from their study of the darkness and landed on Wyatt, and he crouched before the Tin Man as if on cue.

"Tin Man need to see. Raw helped the others remember, he help Cain too." Raw explained, his voice steady yet urgent as he reached forward with both hands, waiting for Cain's approval before he grasped the man's skull.

Even though Wyatt had, in a sense, asked for Raw's assistance, he was far from comfortable with the prospect. Often, even the simplest of Raw's gifts – healing – left Wyatt with the unnerving sensation of having his mind scrambled like an egg. Understandably then, intentionally having his mind reordered by the viewer was the last thing the Tin Man wanted. Without his assistance, however, Wyatt was certain he'd be at a massive disadvantage – one they could not afford if they wanted to stop the creature who'd manipulated them with such little effort. So, although Wyatt nodded to indicate his tacit approval of Raw's probing, he did so with a puff of impatience through his nose and a grimace on his face.

Raw was far from unsympathetic to the Tin Man, but his sense of urgency nearly overrode all other concerns. Asking for his approval felt compulsory, however, given what he and the others had experienced – the feeling of disorientation was universal amongst all the humans, but with DG and Cain especially, a certain sensitivity prevailed more than the others, as if they'd somehow been violated. The need for information was great though, and Raw sensed that the Tin Man needed it more than he needed comfort. His hands reached forward then, and his fingers rested within the short, pale hairs of the man's skull, his thumbs rubbing small circles on the man's temples. Wyatt's skull felt like a cauldron, and his brain a potion – with each successive turn of the viewer's thumbs, Wyatt felt his grey matter being stirred and reblended, and as this happened, images and sensations emerged from within the depths; chief among them, Wyatt remembered the extasy of having his control taken away by the creature who'd called himself Amos. The old man had, indeed, stumbled on the brick route and fallen just ahead of where Wyatt had taken a respite. Wyatt had felt compelled by his usual sense of equity to help him up. All it had taken was a touch, and he'd forgotten himself. In the absence of Wyatt's self-control, exquisite submission prevailed; a feeling much akin to that lovely sensation one has when they stop struggling in water, and instead allow their body to go limp and float upon its surface. He remembered that very feeling in the split second that he'd held the man's hand - he'd rarely experienced such feelings, as he was so often expected to be dominant, and so he'd fallen into that spell so readily. It had been like a drug, and under its influence, he'd been completely ignorant of what was being done to him and those he loved. He'd become a puppet, and he'd exposed his wife and friends to a predator; one that could have killed them all, but not before toying with them it seemed. A sickening rush of shame flooded the Tin Man, making it nearly impossible for the man to remain still while Raw completed his unhappy task and he grunted as clarity returned. His head jerked, and tears streamed down the man's face unbidden, yet he remained within Raw's grasp, for although the cure was almost as bad as the sickness, he knew that recalling the extent of what had happened would arm him for the future. Then Raw was suddenly apart from Wyatt once more, and Wyatt felt his mind equalize. The rush of emotions gratefully subsided, and his heart slowed once more. When Wyatt opened his wet eyes, he found Raw stooped before him still, studying him with a kind of compassionate silence, and Wyatt let out a long, labored sigh and a nod that signaled his mental restoration. Raw, in turn, sighed through his nose as he arose, moving to sit on the opposite log beside the doctor, while still silently examining the Tin Man, worry furrowing his brow.

"I'm okay, Raw. Just a little shaken up." Wyatt explained darkly, causing the viewer to nod in silent understanding, his body language giving him away when he began to fiddle endlessly with his hands.

Beside the anxious viewer, Doctor Miller's piercing eyes examined Wyatt closely, and he asked again in a clinical tone, "What do you remember, General?"

Wyatt threw a twig into the fire and watched it disintegrate in the flames, his own eyes blazing as anger began to bubble to overtake the feeling of being violated. "Everything, Doc, but what about everyone else? Did everyone have the same lapse in memory?"

The doctor took a deep breath and looked to the darkened trees above them as he considered his answer, replying thoughtfully, "No, I wondered the same once Master Raw restored my own memory, but it seems that how much one remembers depends highly upon a number of factors that I cannot quite grasp as of yet. Take Master Raw, for instance – "

"Raw not lose memory," Raw grumbled darkly.

"Neither did I," DG cut in softly, "but it did get a little fuzzy when he grabbed my wrist. Like I was outside my body, watching myself. I didn't have any control after he grabbed me."

The doctor sighed again and pointed at DG's wrist while he hypothesized excitedly, "That, I think, is the impetus for where the memories of the others begin to truly fade. Some of the men remember setting up camp. Others don't remember seeing Amos at all, and all the men report growing very suddenly sleepy at the same time; the same time, I'd wager, that Amos took hold of the Princess' wrist. Almost as if he was using the princess as means of harnessing and focusing his own power."

Wyatt watched as DG continued to gaze down at her arm, chewing her lip nervously, and he asked cautiously, "Are you okay, Dorothy? What did he do to you?"

DG's eyes darkened while she considered her own recollections. "Nothing really, I don't think he got the chance." She rubbed her own pulse point while explaining in a somewhat uncertain voice, "I think the doctor is right though. He seemed to need touch with me more than the rest of you to keep me under his control, but somehow, Raw woke me up and I – burned him – somehow. Broke his spell I guess."

There were almost too many questions flying through Wyatt's head, and it given that it still pounded as if he was recovering from a late-night binge, he had a great deal of difficulty focusing. Through the incessant throbbing between his temples, one question emerged: Why? If Amos was the creature that Lavender had warned them of, the one that was possibly older than the OZ itself and had preyed upon the weak throughout the long annuals, why would he stop at toying with them all? He had single-handedly subdued them all, and yet, he stopped the moment DG's defenses had been roused. Besides this, even Lavender had stated that he'd historically attacked young men. Why, this time, would he attack a weathered Tin Man and a Gale instead?

Maybe she has something he wants, he thought to himself suddenly, and his mind traveled back to the rats in the well, giving him sudden inspiration.

"DG," Wyatt's voice punctuated the silence that had fallen around them all, making his wife jump, "what did he want? Did he ask you anything?"

DG's mouth screwed itself into a thoughtful frown and her eyes darkened as she recollected the man's questions just before Raw's growl had stirred her into full alertness. Before she could speak, however, Raw's voice spoke in a deep, unhappy growl, "He want to know about DG's clan. Ask about her family."

"I'm not so sure he was trying to pry into the details of my family, Raw. Maybe he was just warming me up for something else," DG thought aloud, her voice unmistakable in its disbelief. "I mean, my family history is hardly a secret."

An uncomfortable feeling churned in the pit of DG's stomach as she spoke those words, for the once-dormant memory of her long-lost uncle had been prevalent in her thoughts since the encounter with the demon. It felt almost like she was uttering a lie, since although he was not strictly family, her Uncle Thomas had been important to her once – enough to warrant the title of uncle. It felt somewhat wrong to omit him from their conversation, except there was still much she was struggling to remember about him. Chiefly, for purposes of their conversation, she could not fathom his relevance to the demon, and without any further frame of reference, she was reluctant to mention him. I need more information, she thought determinedly as she shut down her doubt, brooding at the fire as a kind of counterpoint to the similarly focused Tin Man at her side.

For during their conversation, Wyatt's hard stare had moved to the the fire as well, and he absently twirled his hat in between his hands while his jaw hardened, ruminating all the while on everything being said. When the conversation petered out, a kind of silence grew between them, and the fire's intermediate cracks and pops punctured the quietude like a kind of living clock, ticking away the time while they each pondered the puzzle left by the demon. Wyatt heard none of this, and seemed unaware of the passage of time as he gazed absently at the dancing flames before him. Instead, he traveled within his own mind, cataloguing the facts of their case as they'd been laid out for them thus far: Miners being attacked in the north, mysterious illnesses in Center Munch, and travel storms just to that city's east. These events in the northern region of the county could now, almost certainly, be attributed to Ardat Lilth – or Amos as they'd known him. Then again, his mind moved to the southern region of Munchkin County, where the cause of the mysterious illnesses turned out to be a not-so-subtle plant by Zero, which had added another set of chess pieces to the board that he hadn't planned on. Interwoven through all of this was Lord Palmeroy and his security service, and the bandit sightings throughout the county. Certainly, it was possible that Zero, Palmeroy, and the longcoats were all working as one unit to undermine the Gales, but Ardat Lilth, he still couldn't grasp. He had appeared too far south of where the travel storms had appeared to be a coincidence, and the fact that he'd risked attacking a mage where he hadn't before didn't add up either.

When Wyatt's voice finally sounded again, drawing them all out of their thoughts, it was as if no time had passed at all. "Something's not adding up. Your mother said he had a thing for attacking young men. Not mages. He wanted information, to be sure, I just don't know what." Wyatt rumbled before turning to Raw and asking, "Raw, have you or your people ever dealt with a creature like this before?"

Raw's brow furrowed, and a growl rumbled from the back of his throat. "No, but viewers have legends about a creature that steals life-force of young humans. Very dark. Very dangerous, but not attack viewers. Too light."

"What do you mean, Raw?" DG asked quietly.

"Humans emotions always hidden, easy to manipulate, but viewers one with their hearts. See clearly where humans don't want to." Raw explained sagely, causing the humans around him to shift uncomfortably. Then Raw added in a sudden flash of insight, "Raw not sense heart in Amos. No feeling. Raw think he feeds on emotion of others to stay powerful. Young peoples' feelings still very raw and they still trust too much. Easier prey. Tin Man right, he not want to feed tonight. Want something else."

"That may be so," Wyatt replied, "and we need to work that out quick, but there is one thing we know for certain. He doesn't much care for viewers, he has less control of Raw or DG than the rest of us, and he didn't want me around before he started probing DG for answers."

"So that means?" DG asked carefully.

"It means the three of us have to stick together from here on out," Wyatt replied.

DG held Wyatt's hard gaze, watching the firelight light up his eyes like they were lit from within – there was trouble in those eyes, the same that had darkened them hours before. Now at least, he wasn't shying away from her, and DG sensed that now was as good a time as any to ask, given that none of them seemed keen to try and sleep.

"There's something else you're not saying Wyatt. Something that's been bothering you since those rats showed up. What is it?" DG asked quietly.

The pair continued to study each other over the firelight for a moment more, and Raw and the doctor both shifted somewhat nervously, feeling instinctively the tension between husband and wife. But then Wyatt sighed and grasped her hands in his, and the heaviness in the air seemed to lift somewhat, allowing them all to breathe a little easier.

"Dorothy," he began in an earnest rumble, "I'm pretty sure that Zero left those rats to poke at me; make me jump at shadows. I'd even be willing to put money on him trying to put a wedge between us to make it easier for Amos to get to you down the road."

DG's brow furrowed deeply, and her mouth screwed into a frown. "You're not really explaining how rats could do that, Wyatt. There's more to this than you're saying. Don't you think you should share with the class now?"

Wyatt sighed again and prepared himself to explain the history behind the symbol, and with a final grunt of discomfort, he dove into his explanation, having decided not to leave out a single detail. While he unloaded the long annuals of his friendship with Damon Zero on them, DG's eyes remained steady and calm, and her hands grasping his back were warm and assuring. It was comfort too that where his wife was patient and understanding, Raw and the Doctor were avid listeners, their expressions clearly hopeful and eager as they worked to piece together the puzzle pieces the Tin Man was offering. In the end, explaining it all to DG and the others was easier than he'd been prepared for, and by the time he finished his explanation, his heart felt somehow lighter. "Anyway," Wyatt ended with another sigh, "while Zero could really be warning me that someone in your family has some skeletons they'd like to keep hidden, I shouldn't have pulled away from you."

"How do we know Zero wasn't just toying with you, General Cain? You said it yourself; he knew you well enough to know that your suspicions might pull you away from your wife. Make you more vulnerable," Doctor Miller mused thoughtfully.

Wyatt shook his head. "No, if there was one thing that Zero has always taken seriously, it's warning me about what he perceives to be a danger for me. I used to think he was just lookin' out for me, but really, I think he got a kind of sick pleasure out of one-uping me." Wyatt threw another stick into the fire and huffed, explaining darkly, "I think he even tried to warn me that he'd turned rat himself, but I ignored it. Sent Addy and me a letter just before he showed up with those longcoats to throw me into the iron suit. He told us that the Sorceress had let him and all the other convicts out when she took over Central City, and was hunting for known associates of the Mystic Man. Told me I was on her list. The fact that the letter came straight to the farm should have been the last sign that trouble was coming, but I was just too stupid to figure it out until it was too late."

"Tin man not stupid. Tin Man just have big heart." Raw grumbled emphatically.

Wyatt's eyes met the viewer's briefly, and he offered the furry man a hint of a smile before it was gone again, and he sighed. "Yeah well, it's water under the bridge now anyway, Furball. The point is, he thinks he's right, and I'm betting that he's hired this Amos or Ardat Lilith, or whatever his name really is, to pull whatever it is out of DG's family."

Wyatt's words rung with such truth that its sobering implications left them all silent, allowing the campfire's sound to once more overtake the sound of their conversation. The orange flames licking the darkness became like a mesmerizing dance, and their collective sights moved to watching it play out, while their thoughts drifted uncomfortably close to memories of prior political uprising. Inside Wyatt's mind, he traveled back to the conversation he'd had with the Queen and the others in the library, when he'd questioned who was behind Palmeroy's thinly veiled attacks on him during counsel sessions. He'd suspected then that someone else was behind it all, pulling the proverbial strings, but he hadn't pegged Zero for the simple fact that he was unlikely to be aware of the Queen's history with the demon-hunter. He was closer, for certain, to putting the puzzle pieces together, but there was still something lacking in his knowledge that nagged him. It was as if the answers were right in front of him, taunting him like those rats in the well, but for some reason, he felt woefully in dark, and once again, the chilling sensation of being laughed at struck him.

As if she'd plucked the thoughts out of his head, DG's gravelly voice sounded at his side, drawing them all out of their thoughts, "I still can't figure out how Zero and this Amos are linked though. Palmeroy I get, but Zero sicking a demon on me to pull out some skeletons that I'm not even aware of seems out of character for even him, and what about these travel storms? We're missing something."

When DG glanced to her side to study her husband, she noted how Wyatt's jaw flexed and the vein in his neck rippled in the firelight; his eyes still dark and trained on the light flickering before them.

"They're all linked. I don't know how, but they are," Wyatt muttered darkly, adding as he pulled the Farnsworth out of his pocket and waived it suggestively in DG's direction. "and I'm pretty sure I know who's skeletons they're after."

DG's eyes flickered with understanding as they moved from the Farnsworth in Wyatt's hand to his own, serious expression. In his steely gray eyes were written the same concerns that had haunted DG since sitting with Lavender in the library, seemingly ages ago, when she'd first revealed her history with the hunter demon. Although far from the first instance of Lavender's proclivity towards secrecy, the information she'd divulged then and since had only heightened DG and Cain's sense of disquiet, and now they silently wondered if what lay beyond the veil of pomp and circumstance that the Monarch expertly steeled herself in might undo everything they'd worked to save. Clearly, Zero and his cohorts thought so, although how and why they thought DG might be able to unlock that mystery eluded them both still. At the very least, they'd have to check in with both Artie and the Queen – they'd need to relay the unfortunate confirmation of Ardat Lilith's involvement, and the discovery of Zero's re-emergence. More importantly, they hoped to glean some truth from the Queen that might help them combat their recent visitor and form some kind of counterattack for whatever Zero was planning.