7

A spike of panic sent Lurien into a sprint. From the exhortations reverberating down the hall, Hornet must have bumbled into one of his Knights. The possibility of an altercation—maybe even violence—flashed through Lurien's mind. He knew his Knights were slow to anger, but Hornet was in quite a state. They could easily mistake her wild energy for a threat.

"Drop your nail!" the voice boomed again. "Cease! Get down!"

Why were his Knights even active at this hour? They spent most of their time in torpor if not on an assignment.

Lurien cursed and rounded a corner, hopping on one foot at the very brink of his balance. "Wait, wait!" he bellowed, "She is but a child! Stay your—"

He stopped.

In the center of the Spire's sparring chamber stood one of Lurien's Knights, curved shell lustrous beneath the Lumafly chandeliers. He shifted his bulk from side to side, trying and failing to glimpse something behind him. Upon his back skittered Hornet. She had scaled him like a boulder and was gazing upon the greatnail that hung there from a silken strap.

"Where did you get this?" Hornet chattered "Did it cost a lot of Geo, I bet it cost a lot of Geo, did you get it from the trade district, are you friends with that grumpy old smith, you look like you'd be friends, can you ask him to give me one, I bet he'd say yes to you, he could—"

The Knight rumbled like a cavern on the brink of collapse. "Remove yourself, beastling. I will become angry."

Lurien righted himself and adjusted his disheveled robes.

The Vessel, which had been trailing dutifully until this moment, trotted past Lurien and up to the Watcher Knight. Hornet poked her head over the side, craning around the Knight's pronged horns.

"Spirit! Did you see this one's nail? It's as big as me!" She lifted her arms wide to illustrate but lost her balance and tumbled face first from the Knight's back.

To Lurien's relief, the Watcher Knight caught her before she hit the ground. He pinned her arms to her sides, holding the girl like a tramway spike ready to be driven into the earth. "You are strange," the Knight said. "Why do you trespass?"

"That child's presence is my doing," Lurien said as he strode over. "Forgive the lack of forewarning, time has been short of late."

Though he wasn't one to admit it, Lurien often struggled to differentiate his Knights from each other, not due to negligence, but simply because they were so damnably similar. From their physiques to their voices to their mannerisms, little set the Watcher Knights apart. Even their names rang the same: Tarn, Garn, Krom, Korm. Belvedere had once proposed they be color-coded with ribbons of dyed silk, but Lurien had prohibited it. They were Knights, after all, not scrolls on a cluttered rack.

Fortunately, there would be no awkward guessing games this time, for Lurien recognized the Knight.

It was Gram, his Watcher Captain. Among Lurien's Knights, Gram's shell was the only to possess any distinctive markings: a crescent scar that stretched from his temple to the orbit of his eye socket. It was a wound Gram had never seen fit to talk about.

At Lurien's words, Gram lifted his head. "Watcher, you return. This is good. We worried at your absence."

"It was merely a trek through the city," Lurien said, "nothing requiring your services. As you may behold, it was thoroughly uneventful." He held up his arms.

Gram walked a slow circle around Lurien, as though in search of some secret injury.

Lurien remained still for the inspection. He knew that protests would do him no good. Gram's reputation as a mother Gruz had been well-earned over the years.

Once satisfied, Gram nodded. "You were lucky, Watcher. The City is not safe."

Hornet squirmed in Gram's grip, but he did not let go. "Sure, it is! I didn't see a single Dirtcarver, or Corpse Creeper, or anything. It was almost boring."

Gram gave Lurien a look, the sort that bore with it a thousand questions, but Lurien only waved it away.

"You have my vow, Captain," Lurien said. "I will not forego your company again. I was simply not allotted the time to rouse you or the other Knights. Yesterday's journey had seemed to tire you, so I surmised—"

"You are the Watcher," Gram said reprovingly. "We are the Watcher Knights. Bound to you in shell and blood. If you walk, so do we, sleep or no."

Lurien thought back to the previous morning, before his trip to Monomon's archives, to the hour-long delay his Knights had caused. How many blows to the head with a broom had it required to awaken Gram? A dozen? Lurien kept that musing to himself.

"This is Hornet," Lurien said, pointing. "I imagine in her excitement she did not deign to introduce herself."

"Oh, right, yes!" Hornet wormed free of Gram's hold, tucking and rolling onto the tiles. She rose in a lopsided curtsy. "Nice to meet you."

Gram thumped himself on the chest. "Watcher Captain Gram."

"That is the—that is Spirit," Lurien said. "For the next week, both he and Hornet are valued guests of the Spire. Inform the other Knights accordingly. Hornet is an… intrepid child, so ensure that she does not endanger herself during her stay."

Gram inclined his head. He was studying the Vessel with an intensity Lurien had beheld only once before. The last object of such scrutiny had been promptly bisected. Lurien clapped his claws, drawing Gram's attention.

"Understood, Watcher," Gram said.

"Can I see your nail, Mr. Gram?" Hornet extended her arms, eager claws flexing. "I want to hold it!"

Gram shot Lurien a sidelong glance. The Watcher shook his head with a vehemence that threatened to unmask him. Chuckling, Gram unslung the greatnail and hefted it over his shoulder in one fluid motion. The tapered mass of metal seemed to hum in the stillness.

"You are small," Gram observed.

"I'm not that small," Hornet said. "I'm still bigger than Spirit!"

"It is heavy," Gram continued.

"I'm strong! I opened a big door just a while ago."

Gram made a show of considering. He whipped the greatnail around and slammed it tip-first into the floor of the sparring room. With a shriek, the blade sank half its length.

Lurien suppressed a groan. Belvedere had retiled this chamber less than a month ago. He would be horrified if he were to discover this. Could Lurien send for a mender bug this late at night?

Gram crossed his arms. "First, a test. Show that you are strong. Draw the nail."

Hornet growled and stepped forward. She clenched her little claws while eyeing the deadly instrument. Even half-buried, it rose to her shoulders. Carefully, she grasped the hilt and pulled, at first as a test, and then with all her might.

Something told Lurien that this was a very poor idea. In her struggle, Hornet could cut herself—or worse, actually draw the nail. With her latent power over Soul, there was no way of knowing what might happen.

As Lurien was about to speak up, Gram sidled over. "You tremble, Watcher. This beastling troubles you."

"At this moment, you trouble me, Gram. Need I remind you that child is a guest? You are to provide her protection, not peril. How sharp is that greatnail?"

"Not. It is blunted. For training."

"Oh." The winch that had been cranking within Lurien's chest went slack. He looked at the embedded greatnail and was reminded—again—of the Watcher Knights' staggering power.

Hornet toiled at the greatnail for some time before a silent audience. For all her wrenching, twisting, and tugging, she made no progress. Lurien kept expecting her to collapse into exhaustion, but that did not come to pass.

Gram unleashed his long, low laugh. "Youth. I remember youth. Tireless, all the world a game." He turned to Lurien. "Would the beastling care to spar?"

Reflex conjured a 'no' to Lurien's throat, but he held it back. This was an opportunity, to both appease and tire the girl at the same time. King knew Lurien had no hope of getting the girl to sleep as she was.

"With shellwood?" Lurien asked.

Gram didn't reply, instead taking the question as an assent and trundling off toward the Knights' barracks.

Hornet was so invested in her test that she noticed none of this.

Gram returned a minute later with a small crate of hardened shellwood nails, much like the sort from the Nailsmith's shop. They were battered and chipped, though serviceable. Gram extracted a pair and held them up. They were toys in his claw.

"Ensure that you are gentle with her," Lurien whispered to him. "She mustn't come to harm."

"All will be well," Gram said, patting the air. "Do you not see her fire? She is a warrior."

Lurien restrained his doubts and ushered the Vessel over to one of the long benches that ran along the sparring room's walls. Even though the bench was simple stone, Lurien sank gratefully. It had been such a long day… The first of many…

The Vessel sat beside Lurien and placed its nail-umbrella over its knees. With what Lurien struggled to describe as anything but anticipation, the Vessel watched.

Gram proffered Hornet a nail without comment, though she was too occupied with the greatnail to take it.

"Hold on," she grunted, assuming a desperate stranglehold. "Just a little more."

Gram waited for six heartbeats before grasping the greatnail's hilt and lifting it out of the ground, Hornet included.

The girl wailed as she dangled in the air. "No fair, you didn't wait! Look how much I loosened it!"

With a shake, Gram dislodged Hornet and several clinging chunks of tile. He stowed the greatnail and handed over a shellwood one. "Another test. Show that you are swift. Strike me."

Hornet held the shellwood nail as though it were a moldering piece of driftwood. "Can we use real nails?"

Gram laughed, one sharp note. "No. Now, strike me." He lifted his own shellwood nail, an almost comical defense.

Hornet looked around, spying Lurien and the Vessel across the room. Their attention seemed to embolden her, and she sank into a battle stance. "Okay then!"

Nail high, Hornet sprang into action, prodding and swinging, scrambling from side to side. Her blows were at first timid, as though she were still play-fighting with the Vessel. But as she failed to find her mark, the blows grew wide and fierce, full-bodied attacks that left her arms vibrating.

Gram was unperturbed, however, his lower body perfectly still. He blocked each strike with the barest effort, as though every movement was precious.

Lurien did not consider himself a duelist. Even in his younger years as a far-traveler, he had hardly worn a nail, let alone brandished one. Strife—either firsthand or vicarious—brought him no pleasure. However, being Royal Adviser, Lurien had beheld more than his fair share of duels. Rarely did a visit to the Pale Court go by without an exhibition bout between Knights. Lurien was often forced to update the King on the City's affairs in the middle of the Palace's sparring yard, the air thick with the clang of blunted weapons.

If the King could be said to have any recreational passions, then it was undoubtedly the duels of his Knights. How he seemed to delight in the sweep of Loyal claws, the thrust of Fierce nails, the crash of Mighty maces.

This eccentricity had always confounded Lurien, for the King openly condemned blood-sport. There was a reason the Colosseum hadn't been allowed within the Kingdom's borders. But as Lurien watched Hornet stumble through her battle, unyielding despite the disparity of skill, striving on in the face of the insurmountable, he began to understand. There was a pleasure to be gleaned from witnessing those under one's care rise to a challenge—a pride, he imagined.

The duel dragged on for some time, with Hornet no closer to her goal than before. Gram held his ground, not once lashing out. In her desperation, Hornet had taken to unorthodox tactics, going so far as to leap over Gram's head and swipe at him as she soared by. This failed, of course, though it was quite impressive.

Lurien stretched and rubbed at his lower back. How much longer would the girl hold out? Surely, she'd forfeit soon. He glanced at the Vessel.

It was no longer watching the fight. At first, Lurien thought that some small object near the foot of the bench had attracted its eye, for its head hung low, but no.

It was sleeping.

Unprompted, the Vessel had fallen asleep, still half-upright on the bench.

Lurien made an incredulous noise and shook the Vessel by the shoulder. Its head snapped up, gaze darting about before settling on him.

"I thought you a thing beyond fatigue," Lurien murmured.

But the Vessel only stared, as it always did.

With a pop of joints, Lurien stood. "Very well, then. Come along, we will find you a bed."

The clash of shellwood diminished over Lurien's shoulder as he guided the Vessel down a hall. Just as they were about to round a corner, there came another noise, a hollow resonance, like a cauldron being dropped on a stone floor.

"Oh, no!" said a far-off shrill. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

But the only response was the thunder of laughter.

Lurien and the Vessel slipped into another elevator—the last elevator. A few moments more and he'd be returned to the soothing familiarity of his lair.

As they ascended, Lurien turned pointedly toward the towering window that made up half the elevator shaft. He could feel the blind eyes of the Spire's statues drilling into his back. Oh, how he hated them. It was because of those ostentatious things that he never allowed guests. A reporter from the City Tablet had caught sight of them once, and the very next day Lurien had been chiseled a raging egotist. More than once, he'd thought to have the statues covered with sheets, but that would have done little good. His own outline was easy enough to notice, after all.

And besides… that would have wounded poor Belvedere.

During the early days of the Spire's construction, Lurien had operated out of a modest town house just off the trade district. Belvedere—his only servant at the time—had spied the blueprints to the Spire's upper chambers and decided to make some 'enhancements', as he'd called them. By the time Lurien had noticed, he was already face to face with his stone doppelgangers.

Lurien shook the memory away. He looked down at the Vessel. Its head was pivoting from the statues, to him, and back again.

"I did not commission those," Lurien said.

But the Vessel didn't comment.

Lurien's quarters were just as he had left them: a clutter. Scrolls and shell tablets littered the place, as though they'd been hurled by a powerful wind. His art equipment was still set up beside the west windows. The paints had long since dried on the palette and brush. Lurien looked at his canvas, to the yellow smear that marred it. Though only a few hours had passed since he'd made that accidental stroke, it felt to Lurien like months. He struggled to recall the painting it was meant to become. A comet, yes? He suddenly felt old and doddering.

Lurien took the Vessel by the claw and ushered it toward the guest quarters. Some years had passed since the chambers last saw use, but they would still suffice for a week's visit. Lurien doubted that Hornet cared if her bed was no longer in vogue.

There was no sign of Belvedere about. Lurien had expected to find him fussing over the disorder, maybe stacking scrolls or rearranging furniture. He was always quick to seize such opportunities on the rare occasions that Lurien allowed him up here. Perhaps he had retired for the evening, it was certainly deserved.

Lurien opened the door to the guest chamber only to be assaulted by a storm of dust and the stink of rotting silk.

Within whirled Belvedere, a mask over his face, a Squit-wing duster in each claw. Beside him was a cart covered in cleaning equipment and fresh bedsheets. "Oh, Watcher," he said, fighting back a cough. "You are here so soon? Pardon, but I've yet to finish tidying up."

"It has been quite some time," Lurien said. He stepped back, allowing a fogbank of neglect to exit the room and float down the hall. "Have you been at this task since we parted company?"

Belvedere paused, revealing a wobble in his legs. "Well, yes, but it was in dire need of doing. Not a trouble, though. As I promised, it shall be finished forthwith. I beg your patience just a bit longer. If you'd care to show the young sir, the mender bugs informed me that your telescope has been recalibrated."

Lurien crossed his arms. "Watcher Captain Gram is entertaining our other guest. Perhaps it would be wise if you retired for the evening. I will conclude this chore before she arrives."

Belvedere clutched the dusters as if Lurien intended to snatch them from his claws. "No, Watcher, I wouldn't dare subject you to that! Please, grant me just a moment, and it will be done." Without waiting for approval, Belvedere pressed the door shut. The swish of Squit wings and Belvedere's intermittent coughing percolated through it.

Defeated, Lurien shuffled back to the main room. Since he had been deemed unfit for dusting, he decided to follow Belvedere's suggestion. The Spire's telescope had been under maintenance for some days now, and Lurien missed the tranquilizing pleasure of combing the City's streets. The Vessel would glean little from the demonstration, but that didn't concern him.

As was becoming a habit, Lurien looked over his shoulder for the Vessel, but it had stopped following him. There was no music on the air, no contrary order, and yet there the Vessel stood, frozen some steps behind.

"What?" Lurien asked, in the tone one would reserve for a malfunctioning lever. "Come along."

The Vessel spared him only a glance before returning its intent to something against the back wall.

Too tired for anger, Lurien walked over.

There was a gray blur of movement, the flicker of light. Lurien almost startled, but even his clouded mind understood. It was his mirror: a polished sheet of metal propped on carved, stone legs.

The Vessel was gazing at its reflection.

Lurien put his weight on the edge of a sitting table. Here he was again, the same conundrum before him: the empty shell brimming with thought, the slack puppet taut with will. But now, Lurien had no hellions to shepherd and no destinations to reach. There was time for reflection. He could resolve this mystery. All he need do was to embody his epithet.

And watch.

"Do as you wish," Lurien said, barely over the patter of rain.

The Vessel faltered over to the mirror. It lifted the nail-umbrella out before itself and settled into a battle stance. But this was wrong, it seemed, for it straightened, readjusted. The Vessel pulled at the ruby scarf encircling its neck, draping the limbs in just such a way. Satisfied, it returned to the stance, nail-umbrella pointed forward, ready to strike.

This reminded Lurien of a maskfly he had once owned—a birthday gift from Belvedere. The simple creature was always twittering away in its cage, though whenever it spied a reflective surface—a mirror, a pane of glass—it went deathly quiet and lifted its wings, seeking to intimidate. It saw a rival in those reflections, an enemy, for it lacked the means to understand anything else.

But this was not the same. It was too precise, too deliberate. The Vessel knew itself as surely as Lurien did.

This was practice. This was emulation. Of a certain, rambunctious girl. In clothing, in weapon, in stance. There was no doubt.

Lurien almost laughed, though he choked it back. Dare he call this endearing? Or dire? His mask felt so heavy. He removed it, though the weight remained.

Did the King know of this? He must. In only a day, Lurien had spied the Vessel's defects. The King had likely spent many more than that in its company.

The mask rolled end over end in Lurien's claws. The Vessel pantomimed a duel, using the same clumsy attacks Hornet had employed a few minutes prior. It thrust, and the nail-umbrella struck the mirror, tolling like a bell.

The Vessel stopped. It pressed a claw against the mirror to halt the faint ripple.

Throughout his tenure as Watcher, Lurien had encountered many Vessels within the Palace walls. They had been like mannequins through trade district windows, merely objects in a bug's form. But their appearances had never been the same twice. Every visit, another shape, another horn, another fracture. The King had deemed each of them impure, but never what that impurity entailed. Where did they go, those mannequins? Lurien feared the answer.

"Enough, Vessel," Lurien said, donning his mask. "Come, I will show you something."

The Vessel lingered just long enough to reposition its scarf, then followed.

Lurien's telescope was a gaudy thing of copper filigree and iron tubes. It stood at the far end of his chambers, leaning out into the dark through a gap in the glass. He sat on the cushioned stool before it and adjusted the eyepiece.

"This contraption is a product of the Archives," Lurien said, "a fantasy of Monomon's made real. Through it, one may witness distant things with ease. Splendid, no?"

The Vessel lifted its head but said nothing.

"With minor adjustments," Lurien continued, "these far-off things may be brought to focus." He leaned into the eyepiece and twisted a few knobs along the telescope's casing. The image of a sentry crystallized, walking the streets in a posture that spoke of a long, lonely shift. "Behold."

Before Lurien was granted the time to rise and cede his seat, the Vessel clambered onto his lap and did as was commanded. It peered through the telescope, head cocked at a curious angle.

Lurien recoiled at first, but then went very still. His arms hovered over the Vessel, as though it were a dozing Belfly that might explode at the slightest provocation.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The Vessel kept to its task, Lurien kept to his paralysis.

This close, Lurien couldn't help but note the Vessel's shell, snow-white and smooth, lacking in the blemishes that plagued its kin. Even its horns were without flaw, tall and symmetrical. Princely, Lurien thought.

Slowly, he placed a claw upon the Vessel's head. It was cool to the touch, almost comforting.

The Vessel flinched, then craned to look up at him.

"What am I to do with you?" Lurien whispered.

But it would not tell him.

There was a snap of a distant lever and a rattle of chains. The elevator ascended, within which towered Gram. Slung over his shoulder like a sack of moss was Hornet. This alarmed Lurien at first, but once the mechanisms quieted, the girl's snoring came clearly enough.

"Hail, Watcher," Gram said. He exited the elevator in a crouch, taking great—though futile—pains to avoid scraping the sides.

Lurien was impressed that Hornet managed to sleep through the scream of metal against shell.

"I see the sparring proved effective," Lurien said. "How did the child fare?"

"Six bouts. One blow."

Lurien hummed. By Gram's standards, that was no small accomplishment. Few besides the Greats could boast that they had landed a strike upon the Watcher Captain.

Gram stepped forward and cradled Hornet in his huge arms. "You bring strange company to our Spire, Watcher. A beastling of the Deepnest, and…" He trailed off. That same razor focus claimed him the moment he spied the Vessel.

Lurien lifted the Vessel from his lap and placed it out of the Knight's sight, breaking the spell. "So, I have," Lurien said. "Is this a concern?"

Gram said nothing, long enough that Lurien feared he may have fallen asleep on his feet again. Their conversations often ended in that fashion.

But then Gram cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, Watcher."

He passed Lurien the sleeping girl. She was heavy for her size.

Gram forced his way back into the elevator and offered a bow. With another snap of the lever, he was gone.

Lurien sat through the din, and then the long hush that followed. It was ever like Gram to opt for silence over explanation…

He stood, struggling under his new burden. Now wasn't the time. "Come Vessel," he said, and lumbered down the hall.

As Lurien reached the door to the guest chambers, it cracked open, revealing a haggard Belvedere. He was splotchy with dust and wisps of old silk. His cart of cleaning supplies hardly moved, though he leaned wholly against it.

"Hello again, Watcher," Belvedere said. "Fine timing. Was the telescope calibrated to your liking?"

"Quite. The mender bugs are nothing if not meticulous."

Belvedere bobbed halfheartedly. "Good. The chambers are readied for the guests." He took a few deep breaths and extended his arms to accept Hornet. "I will put them to bed."

"The only bug you will be putting to bed is yourself," Lurien said, lifting Hornet away.

Belvedere bristled. "Watcher, this is my duty. Do not steal it from me."

Lurien would have laughed at this uncharacteristic asperity had he not feared it would undermine him. "You are mistaken, this duty is indeed mine, decreed by the King Himself. Now, it is time I leveled a decree of my own. You are to take to your rest and remain so until fully recovered. The lesser attendants will maintain the Spire until then. I will not behold you at any labors for the next day at the least. Is this understood?"

Belvedere wiped at his uniform as he grasped at some rebuttal, but he did not find it. The fight left him, and he lowered his head. "As you wish, Watcher." He started to push the cart down the hall but abandoned even that at Lurien's glower.

Lurien did not take his eye from Belvedere until the bug stumbled into the elevator and vanished from sight.

"Like a Baldur, that one," he murmured.

He stepped into the guest chambers to exactly what he had expected: perfection. Not a mote of dust tainted the air. Not a speck of debris littered the floor. The beds, one to each side, had been decorated with new sheets and pillows of purpled silk. Upon the side tables sat jars of herbs that soaked the room with inviting fragrance. A lone candle lit the space from a sconce upon the wall.

"Go to sleep, Vessel," Lurien said.

He turned to one of the beds and placed Hornet as gently as he could. His back protested, but he reached down to pull the sheets up to her chin.

A silly little pleasure rose. He was not yet too decrepit for so simple a task.

He looked back to the Vessel.

It was sprawled upon the ground, not two steps away from its bed, with one arm thrown over its eyes. Some dim part of Lurien recognized this posture, but he brushed the observation away.

"Sleep in the bed, Vessel," Lurien clarified.

This time there was no misinterpretation, and Lurien tucked the Vessel in as he had Hornet.

As the candle was doused, and the door to the guest chambers creaked shut, Lurien began fantasizing about his own bed. However, a lone word warbled out of the dark.

"Lurien…?"

He steeled himself and stepped back inside. "Yes, Hornet?"

"Will you tell me a bedtime story? My mother always used to."

Claws forward, Lurien found the girl's bedside and sat. "I am not… the foremost scholar on bedtime stories, but I will try."

"Do you know the Weaverling and the Bell?"

"…No."

"The Very Hungry Grub?"

"No."

"The Three Little Funglings?"

Lurien wracked his mind, but nothing came. "Unfortunately, no."

"Oh."

"Would you like to hear about the King's border negotiations with the Mantis Tribe? That is a fine story in its own right."

"N-No, that's okay. Thanks anyway. Goodnight, Lurien."

"Of course. Goodnight, child."

Lurien rose, and the door sighed shut.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading :) I hope you enjoyed it. Throw me some feedback if you're inclined.

Oh, btw, for those of you up to date on both this story and my other Hollow Knight fic "...Father?...", which would you rather see more of first?