Narrator 1: Tzila, as you’re surely aware by now, is rather wise beyond her years—or, at least, has the reputation for being so. But that doesn’t stop her from playing with kids of her own age from time to time.

Narrator 2: If she had her choice, she’d go hang out with some of the cool adults at the Black Candle Cabaret. Or Lark! But they talked her into playing one of those games where you share secrets in the alley and it’s hard to pass up small-town gossip.

Narrator 3: (as Walter) “I heard…”

Narrator 2: This is Walter, a builder’s son.

Narrator 3: (Walter, continued) “…that they’re gonna tear up the town and start all over again!”

Narrator 2: (as Tzila) “What? But… that doesn’t even make any sense. It’s…”

Narrator 1: This is Tzila.

Narrator 2: (Tzila, continued) “…it’s just finally starting to look like a real town! Why would they start over now?”

Narrator 3: (Walter) “Well, I dunno! All the adults are freaking out about something.”

Narrator 1: Here comes Bets. Short for ‘Betsy’ or ‘Betty’ or something. She comes darting around the corner. She leans in around a side of the alley to catch her breath and yell at everybody:“Guys, it’s that GUY from the SHIP! The… he… with the armor! He’s right there! He’s in the street! Come look!”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “The Consector?”

Narrator 3: (Walter) “Oh my gosh!”

Narrator 1: There they go! They scramble out from wherever it was they were under this awning and—peeking around the corner—take a look.

Narrator 3: Lo and behold, there is Phineas Thatch.

Narrator 1: They, of course, don’t know him by name, but he is that guy! One of those guys in all the armor. He has a mace.

Narrator 2: They think they’re ALL Consectors.

Narrator 1: They look at him. He, walking around the street, seems to be looking for something, himself… and sees them. There’s a moment of strange eye-contact. And suddenly he is prowling straight towards them. “Oh, SHIT, RUN!” Bets yells. “We didn’t do anything wrong!” and is taking off down the alley. Just booking it.

Narrator 3: (Walter) “It wasn’t me!” Walter screams as the kids scatter the fuck outta there.

Narrator 2: Tzila is rooted to the spot, though, held there by curiosity or foolhardy bravery or something like that.

Narrator 1: And then Phineas is pretty much right over her, towering over her, looking down, face-to-face.

Narrator 3: (as Phineas Thatch) “Are YOU Tzila Guthrie?”

[Theme music.]

Narrator 1: Right here on the streetcorner with the water tower looming overhead, Phineas stands before Tzila. Looks her in the eye.

Narrator 2: Her eyes are huge. All her friends have abandoned her, though they haven’t gone far, probably hiding just behind those trash cans at the end of the alley.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Are you Tzila Guthrie?”

Narrator 1: …he repeats, looking straight at her. He knows that she is. He just needs her to say it.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Who cares?”

Narrator 3:  (Phineas) “Tzila, I don’t know if you know who I am. My name is Phineas Thatch and I am Adsecla to Prime Consector Jonas Spahr. We are here on behalf of the Trust on a special mission.”

Narrator 2: Tzila is terrified, but she has her game face on, defiant, not revealing a thing. Her father taught her well.

Narrator 1: Is he here to ARREST her? Maybe he is. Maybe this is it. Maybe the game is up.

Narrator 2: They finally found them. Maybe? Don’t give up anything yet.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Tzila, there was a note delivered to the Mission. The Trust Mission inside of the post office. Did you deliver that note?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “No.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Look. I already know that that was you. I… we have several eyewitness accounts that saw a girl matching your description. I’m all but certain it was you.”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “So? Is that not allowed?”

Narrator 1: The kids at the back of the alley are watching their friend possibly undergoing an imminent arrest. They are absolutely riveted and terrified.

Narrator 2: She’s actually giving him some backtalk! There’s sniggering and shoving.

Narrator 1: Phineas glances briefly over his shoulder.

Narrator 2: [The group of kids] instantly goes quiet.

Narrator 1: Their heads disappear, ducking down behind the trash cans.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “The person who gave you that note may be in danger.”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “From YOU?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “No, not from us. They were asking us for help… but they didn’t show up at the meeting that we were going to have. Did you deliver that note?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “You think they’re in trouble just cuz they didn’t show up somewhere? Maybe they just didn’t feel like it.”

Narrator 1: There’s a knot in Tzila’s stomach. Fuze? In trouble? Why would Fuze be in trouble? What kind of trouble would Fuze be in?

Narrator 2: As one worry lessens (they’re not looking for her), another worry grows. What’s the matter with Fuze?”

Narrator 1: Her emotions are see-sawing. One element of terror is dwindling. This man—this ‘Phineas’—is NOT looking for her? Not looking for her father? That is a relief. But something is wrong… with Fuze? Her anxiety is growing.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “We know you delivered a note. We need to get in touch with the person who gave you that note, and it’s very important that you assist us. WHO gave you the note, Tzila?”

Narrator 2: Tzila looks him hard in the eye for a moment. She doesn’t know this guy. He doesn’t immediately strike her as being a BAD man, and her worry for Fuze overcomes all else.

Narrator 1: And he doesn’t look like what she thought this kind of person would look like. For one thing, he’s younger. He doesn’t really look TOO much older than HER… but there’s something in his eyes. He’s looking at her. He is not the kind of person… well… not the kind of Consector she USED to know.

Narrator 3: And maybe that’s part of it, too:he just looks like a person.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “His name’s… Fuze.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Do you know where he might be?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “I know where he lives.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Can you show me?”

Narrator 1: And she moves away. Away from the alley. Away from the water tower. Her friends—

Narrator 2: —watching in awe.

Narrator 1: And—glancing back at Phineas, who stands—moves off into the street, back out of the alley, into the flow of foot traffic and wagons, and begins to weave uneasily down the hill. Phineas follows.

Narrator 2: She’s moving quickly. She’s not making it easy for him to keep up with her, but she does glance back over her shoulder, keeping an eye on him.

Narrator 1: Phineas, as usual, attracts quite a few stares; everyone in the street is in awe of his presence.

Narrator 2: Tzila leads him to a row of identical houses on a quiet side street a little bit further down the hill.

Narrator 1: Little bungalows. Little identical sheds.

Narrator 2: She points at one of them. “It’s that one.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Thanks for your help. You can go now.” And Phineas strides up to the door.

Narrator 2: Tzila lingers by the fence, watching him, fascinated.

Narrator 1: Phineas, on the porch, looks back at her.

Narrator 3: He makes a ‘shoo’ gesture.

Narrator 2: She hunches her shoulders a little bit to appear smaller, but otherwise doesn’t do anything.

Narrator 1: The porch is bare except for a small flower pot and a rocking chair. The doors are all shut. The windows are shuttered.

Narrator 2: Seems like a normal house (by the standards of this place).

Narrator 1: A woman on a porch adjacent—sitting on a stool, doing some kind of weaving—looks at him curiously, brows knitted. He nods his head to her.

Narrator 3: And turns to the door, raising a powerful, gauntleted fist, and raps. “Mr. Fuze?”

[No answer.]

Narrator 1: Nothing.

Narrator 2: He lets the silence stretch out for a moment. People often like to check him out from the windows and confer amongst themselves before they answer the door for an Adsecla or a Consector.

Narrator 1: Nothing. He knocks again. Tzila is still here.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Must not be home.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Where else would he be?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Mm-mm. [Negative.] Lotsa places. He likes… walkin’ around all day. Patricia’s cafe. The Cabaret.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Patricia’s?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Yeah…? He… he likes to eat breakfast there, but it’s way past breakfast time now. He’d not be there anymore.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Where would he usually be at this time?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “I dunno!”

Narrator 3: Phineas knocks again, stronger this time. “Mr. Fuze, this is Adsecla Phineas Thatch! By the power vested in me, I request access to your home. So informed, I am coming in.” (This is a little clumsy for Phineas. He hasn’t had to do this before.)

Narrator 1: He’s actually not sure quite what to say. But that sounds right.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Are you gonna break the door down?” Tzila is RIGHT next to him. Whoa! He gives a little start.

Narrator 1: Well, thankfully, he doesn’t HAVE to break the door down; the door is unlocked.

Narrator 2: [Phineas] shoots a disapproving look at her.

Narrator 3: (Pineas) “Look, I asked you to go! Okay, you can stay here, but… keep by the door.”

Narrator 2: Phineas glances sidelong at the knitting neighbor as he says this. He doesn’t want to cause a scene. Attract more attention than he has to. Even if it means putting up with this kid.

Narrator 3: Phineas, pushing the door open, calls into the dark interior:“Mr. Fuze? I’m not invading your privacy, I’m just checking to see if you’re here.”

Narrator 1: And evidently Mr. Fuze is NOT. The tiny one-room interior is very small and contains only a minimum of furniture:a small coffee table, a workbench. There appears to be a tiny cot pressed against a wall. Little kitchenette in the corner:one small cramped room.

Narrator 2: But as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees something in the chair by the table.

Narrator 3: SomeONE. Tzila sees it too.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “…Fuze…?”

[Eerie music begins to rise]

Narrator 1: Sitting in the chair in the tiny kitchenette at the tiny dining table with a cup of coffee in one hand—other hand on his lap—is an older man with a bushy mustache… sitting, head slumped forward, eyes staring. This is, more or less, precisely what Phineas was afraid would happen.

Narrator 2: Tzila, eyes wide, is looking to him for some kind of confirmation. She begins to move forward into the house.

Narrator 1: His hand—

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Fuze?”

Narrator 1: (continued)—comes forward…

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “But, I…”

Narrator 1: (continued)…stopping her.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “I wanna see if he’s alright!” She tugs against his grip.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Stay by the door.”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “But…”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “This is a crime scene.”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “A CRIME scene!?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Just stay here, Tzila. Please.”

Narrator 1: Phineas steps forward into the dim interior of the bungalow.

Narrator 3: He gives him a quick once-over…

Narrator 1: …inspecting Fuze. Doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t move him. The man is obviously dead… AND, furthermore, dead as of fairly recently. Short of moving him to detect any sort of rigor mortis or lack thereof, it’s hard to say. Phineas is not, well, frankly AUTHORIZED to fully inspect ANY sort of crime scene. They have other people for that.

Narrator 2: Still, this task HAS been assigned to him. Personnel isn’t exactly in abundance around here.

Narrator 1: Tzila, standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the red desert light, one hand on the doorframe, other hand clenched at her side, staring at Fuze… she’s gone quiet now. Some dreadful realization has taken over her. Phineas eyeballs her, gauging her reaction, and then begins a circuit throughout the single room.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) [Sniffles.]

Narrator 1: A loud sniff from the doorway.

Narrator 3: It is a very modest living space. The kitchenette dominates perhaps one quarter of the entire room and the room itself isn’t large to begin with. There on the counter:the accouterments for having the cup of coffee (presumably that he drank) being made. The grounds, the scoop.

Narrator 2: In another corner of the room, there’s a work table of some kind.

Narrator 1: Of some significance, too. A robust workstation:lots of drawers, many cabinets, several shelves that have been hand-mounted to the wall above to contain—support—various work boxes. Various cups full of tools, small detailed wrenches.

Narrator 2: The man was apparently somewhat handy. Something of a tinkerer.

Narrator 3: Alongside the shelves are many different almost-diplomas or certificates kind of tacked up, framed in various positions around.

Narrator 2: [Phineas] leans forward and gives one of them a closer look. Some sort of certificate thanking Fuze for 20 years of dedicated service to the Loxlee Lights company.

Narrator 3: It even appears to be signed by Mrs. Loxlee herself:acting C.E.O. of the company.

Narrator 1: Beside that, another letter thanking him for 30 years of service to Loxlee Lights.

Narrator 2: 40. 50.

Narrator 1: 50 YEARS in the employ of the Loxlee Lights company. On the table:lightbulbs in various states of manufacture.

Narrator 2: Delicate filaments and tiny instruments laid out in rows.

Narrator 1: The man made lightbulbs for fun.

Narrator 2: Even retired.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Tzila, what do you know about Fuze?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “What… what do you mean?”

Narrator 1: Her eyes are still on the old man in the chair.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “What did he do? Did he work?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “No, he’s… he’s retired…”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Why do YOU know him, Tzila?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “He comes to the bar where my dad works.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Is that why he gave you the letter?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “He’s fr… he’s friends with everybody.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “WHY did he give it to you? Where?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “I don’t know why he gave it to ME and not somebody else, but… yesterday morning he was coming back from breakfast and… I just happened to be passing him and… he called me over and… did a little magic trick. One of his silly magic tricks that he always does and… just gave me the letter and asked if I could deliver it.” She blinks and seems to come back to herself for a moment. “What… what was IN the letter? What is all this about?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “I’m afraid the contents of the letter are classified.”

Narrator 1: The space is a time capsule. A tomb to a man with a history. There on the wall beside the framed letters from Imogen Loxlee:an item, mounted, that stops Phineas in his tracks. A golden, embossed placard.

Narrator 2: Nothing really VERY special about it; the Trust prints out thousands of these things.

Narrator 1: It is addressed to Francis “Fuze” Peabody, congratulating him on the occasion of his account reaching balance. Zero:free of all debts. Free of all Caenum after so many years of diligent work. Phineas can’t take his eyes off it.

Narrator 2: Everybody gets mailed one of these things after reaching zero. Not everybody hangs it on their wall, though.

Narrator 1: Phineas would hang it on HIS. If he HAD one…

Narrator 3: Here is the home of a man who literally worked his entire life… up through the Trust system. And that’s something that Phineas has a profound respect for.

Narrator 1: He looks back across at the man at the table.

Narrator 2: [Fuze] does not wear an abacus, but here is a true Trustee.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “He was happy, you say?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Yeah. Never saw him in a bad mood.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Do you have reason to suspect that he may have had… enemies… here?”

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Enemies!? What? No?”

Narrator 1: This is a bizarre question for Tzila to hear. It’s as though asking her if her grandpa had enemies. Grandpas don’t have enemies! At least most don’t, right?

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “Everybody LOVED him. And he loved everybody! He…”

Narrator 1: Okay. This is enough of this.

Narrator 2: (Tzila, crying) “Was he POISONED? I don’t understand, he’s just sitting there, he’s…”

Narrator 3: Equal parts panic and certainty are rising in Phineas. Fuze WAS telling the truth in his letter. He DID have legitimate information of MAJOR significance to the Trust. Significant enough, at least, that someone made sure he couldn’t relate it. Someone HERE. On Midst. Last night. This is HUGE.

Narrator 1: Tzila is wandering dazedly away from the door, backing out onto the porch.

Narrator 2: (Tzila) “I… I’m gonna go home… now…”

Narrator 1: And Phineas turns on her in an instant, realizing what he must do.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) What has landed in his lap. “No.”

Narrator 1: He moves toward her.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “You’re not going anywhere. You’re coming with ME.”