Narrator 2: It is almost unrise in Stationary Hill, and in the darkness of the Fold, Saskia (both of her) has gotten up early to continue the laborious work of renovating the Black Candle Cabaret.

Narrator 3: It’s honestly the world’s best alarm clock when blaring unlight pours in through your windows where once… darkness.

[The swoosh of the day/night Mediun of the Fold passing by.]

Narrator 2: No gentle gradual awakening for these people. Morning is… well, it’s just THERE when it gets there.

Narrator 3: Ever since the tearror passed by, night has been weirdly still and silent. The Fold is almost inert. Exhausted. Saskia is pulling on pants today (both of her).

Narrator 2: She has dusty, grubby, sweaty work to do. And honestly she’s thankful for the physical distraction. The hard work helps keep her mind in order. She still feels like she only has one mind. She’s had quite a few days now to get used to her new body situation and, actually, it has some notable benefits. She gets ready, pulling on heavy work boots (two pairs of them) putting her hair into a ponytail. Twice.

Narrator 1: She stares across her room at herself. It’s starting to feel more familiar now, and yet it is still so strange to see herself there in the room looking back at her.

Narrator 2: She’s not getting dizzy as often anymore.

Narrator 1: She talks to herself sometimes, but she’s realized there’s really no point to that. It’s not like having another companion in the room. It really is just her… again. And not even another her. It’s just still MORE of her.

Narrator 2: It’s not like a new person has been created. Her consciousness occupies both bodies seamlessly. Asking ‘which one is the real Saskia’ is a nonsensical question, she’s come to realize. It’s all real. It’s all her.

Narrator 1: The two of them… or the one of them — the both of the one of them —

Narrator 2: — goes and starts her day’s work.

Narrator 1: This morning there is quite a bit of activity around the warped, decimated town of Stationary Hill.

Narrator 2: Life is slowly returning. A sense of relative normalcy, kind of.

Narrator 3: Normal in the pre-tearror industriousness that you might remember. Where once buildings were being erected, now there is still carpentry, there is still construction efforts. But in some cases, it’s to undo the repeating doors that have appeared on the sides of buildings, or…

Narrator 2: …to clear out all the marshmallows from the living room. In any case, the town is feeling a bit more bustling now. Moon miners have returned.

Narrator 1: Some. Not all.

Narrator 2: And in a heartening turn of events, many of the residents of Stationary Hill who had managed to escape on the precious few ships there were are now returning, tentatively curiously, and with relief to their hometown, to see what’s left of it. To help restore it to whatever it can be now. Some people have left, it’s true. Decided they’ve had it. They don’t want any more of this shit. It is too dangerous a place to live and they are gone.

Narrator 1: And some have returned only to leave again in short order, dismayed by the wreckage they have found, unwilling to sacrifice their own time and resources to lend a hand to this rebuilding effort.

Narrator 2: As far as the people who left on the Prime Consector’s flagship — those who were the most enthusiastic about joining the Trust — none of them have been back yet. And Saskia isn’t holding her breath. But overall, the people who HAVE chosen to come back seem to want to stay in spite of the disaster and all its aftermath. This surprises Saskia but also makes her heart feel like it’s going to overflow — with pain and happiness, both.

Narrator 1: And there’s been a lot of speculation about the disaster itself. What actually happened? These people don’t know. YOU still don’t know. Everyone wants answers. WHY did the moon fall out of the sky? Many of the aforementioned moon miners who’ve now begun to slowly return to Midst have been talking, and while nothing is yet known for certain, there is one major point of agreement.

Narrator 2: And that is: it is incredibly unlikely that the moon could have exploded by accident.

Narrator 3: Mica is, of course, very dangerous, but it is also very predictable. And the whole mining operation was designed to safely account for mica’s unique properties.

Narrator 1: A whole lot of very specific things would have had to go wrong for something like this to even be possible.

Narrator 3: But there is no evidence, no consensus, no answers.

Narrator 2: The only thing everyone does seem to agree on is that, regardless of why the moon blew up, the Trust really fucked Midst over.

Narrator 3: The whole purchase was obviously now just kind of a money-grab. There was no management of the disaster after the fact.

Narrator 2: They came, they bought the islet, and then, at the first sign of trouble (and, granted, it was a rather large, significant sign of trouble)…

Narrator 3: …they packed their shit up and flew the fuck away and haven’t looked back. Anyone who might have been inclined to argue in the Trust’s favor, well… ha! They’re not here anymore.

Narrator 2: Kozma Laszlo would have handled things better, as absent and bizarre as she was, people are muttering. And every bit of news coming out of the Trust, all the reports on this disaster,

Narrator 3: which have been sparing,

Narrator 2: are incredibly dismissive of the actual scope of things. The Trust seems to be patting themselves on the back for their wonderful handling of this unfortunate situation. No mention of the true suffering, the disaster, the devastation that has befallen the normal people caught up in the Trust’s schemes. ‘Like always,’ Saskia thinks to herself. ‘Like it’s always been.’ And how COULD the Trust know what things are really like down here? They haven’t been back. They’ve made no statement about what they intend to do with this property that they do still own, technically. But honestly, it’s fine. No one here wants them back. The Valor fever has gone away completely — transformed, in fact, into something else. Something more akin to the opposite.

Narrator 1: Sentiment around the Trust is negative, to say the least. So long story short: there are a lot of feelings going ‘round town these days. A lot of turmoil, a lot of discord, and there’s still so much work to be done. Case in point: today’s work here in the Black Candle Cabaret.

Narrator 2: Many people are here helping to clean things up. To renovate the Black Candle Cabaret and repurpose it. And people are coming around that Saskia has sent on various vital assignments around town. Goe is one of the first to arrive.

Narrator 1: Of Goe’s Garag fame.

Narrator 2: Dependable, hard working, good old Goe! As the mechanic on Stationary Hill, the one with the most technical training, he has been assigned to trying to get the teletheric and underfold communication cables back up in working order. Even though, as he’s stated many times, that’s not his training. He’s a bocular engineer; he doesn’t know how these teletheric waves work, but he’ll do his best.

Narrator 3: (as Goe) “I’m not a telecommunication specialist!”

Narrator 1: The Postmaster was the only one who really knew how those things worked and the Postmaster, of course, is no longer here.

Narrator 2: Rest in peace.

Narrator 1: Pieces.

Narrator 2 & Narrator 3: [Shuddering.]

[A beat.]

Narrator 2: Saskia wipes her sweaty forehead and stretches out her back — her backs — looking around her with satisfaction on the progress they’ve made in the cabaret so far today.

Narrator 1: It doesn’t look good, exactly, but it’s better than it was. Formerly a twisted and diseased ruin, the cabaret is now looking at least remotely habitable. It is, in fact, one of the more habitable institutions here in the center of town. It does have a kitchen, a feature that most other buildings around Stationary Hill cannot boast. At least not a kitchen of this scale.

Narrator 2: It has the room and facilities to house a great number of people. People who have lost their homes. People who need somewhere to stay.

Narrator 3: People who are just looking for community after this disaster.

Narrator 2: So it’s not unusual to see people milling in and out. But someone now walks into the cabaret who looks a little bit out of place. She sort of sticks out a little bit like a sore thumb… in a dress. A clean, prim, tidy-looking, well-rested older lady… who Saskia does recognize now that she looks at her. She remembers seeing her face around town, but not in the recent days.

Narrator 1: Whoever she is, she clearly has not been on Midst recently.

Narrator 2: One of the lucky few who escaped and has now returned, then, perhaps. This woman walks right up to Saskia.

Narrator 1: (as the unidentified woman) “Excuse me, could I have a word with you? I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Narrator 2: Saskia realizes she can leave one of her selves to continue working while she has a word with this woman.

Narrator 3: She trades places with herself. The Saskia previously conversing with the townspeople goes and begins clearing away some more debris… while the Saskia formerly laboring with cleanup greets the newcomer.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Yes, of course. What… how can I help you?”

Narrator 1: (unidentified woman) “You must be Saskia.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Yes, I am. And I-I apologize, I don’t know if I know your name, but I do recognize you.”

Narrator 1: (unidentified woman) “No, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I am a resident of Stationery Hill, or WAS until I was evacuated prior to the tearror.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I’m so glad for you that you were able to escape. Things have been rough here.”

Narrator 1: (unidentified woman) “Yes, I see, but it looks like everyone here is doing wonderful things to put the town back together.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “We’re doing our best and we certainly could use all hands, so I’m glad that you’re back to… help?” This is a bit of a question.

Narrator 1: It doesn’t look like she’s here to help. [As the unidentified woman]: “Where are my manners?” the woman says. “My name’s Meryl. Concord.”

[A beat. A silence. A realization.]

Narrator 1: And she extends a hand.

Narrator 2: Ah. As Saskia shakes her hand, the piece falls into place. Meryl Concord. That’s where she recognizes that… edge… in the eyes. That strange cordial, polite, charming, yet weirdly…

Narrator 3: …coded…

Narrator 2: …threatening…

Narrator 3: …mysterious…

Narrator 2: …demeanor.

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “I won’t take up much of your time. I’m trying to find my brother, Atticus.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh, yes, Atticus.”

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “You wouldn’t happen to know if he survived the tearror, would you?” Meryl is smiling at Saskia politely.

Narrator 2: Saskia sighs regretfully. “No, I’m… I’m so sorry. I haven’t seen him. If he was here on Midst during the tearror, I don’t know his whereabouts. It’s awful. Everyone is looking for someone. There are so many still unidentified, but perhaps he did make it away on a ship? Have you made any inquiries along those lines?”

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “No.” Meryl shakes her head, folding her hands. “You see, that’s just the thing, Saskia: my brother went missing somewhat prior to the events with the tearror. And last I heard from him, his destination and business was at your establishment here — the Black Candle Cabaret — for an appointment of some kind with Mr. Weepe, who I also cannot seem to find. So I just wondered if… you knew anything.”

Narrator 2: Saskia ponders this and begins to pull up some additional debris to give herself something to do while she thinks. The truth is, she hasn’t even thought about Atticus Concord in quite some time.

Narrator 1: She hasn’t seen him around.

Narrator 2: But the more she thinks about it, she realizes there was a period of time where he came around to the cabaret all the time. Almost every day. He was a regular. He was a very constant presence. And then she stopped seeing him for a while.

Narrator 1: And Weepe stopped mentioning him.

Narrator 2: There were no more requests for meetings, no more pushy demands that they talk business from Atticus.

Narrator 1: Meryl is smiling. Watching. Waiting.

Narrator 2: ‘Oh God, Weepe did something, didn’t he?’ Saskia thinks.

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “Well, if you do happen to learn anything or see Mr. Weepe or see Atticus, if you just let either or both of them know that I’d love to see them?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I don’t think anyone here will be seeing Mr. Weepe again. I believe he escaped. He’s not coming back.”

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “Is that so?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I believe so.”

Narrator 1: (Meryl Concord) “How nice… for him.”

Narrator 3: As this tense conversation is going on,  in the background, Saskia’s other body lifts up the broken edge of a round table… and there, glittering underneath it, lies a silver nutcracker.

[A phrase of Weepe’s theme music plays.]

Narrator 1: While one Saskia sees Meryl Concord on her way out the door, the other Saskia (this one here with the nutcracker) removes the evidence from the scene and steps out the back into the alley behind the cabaret, throwing the nutcracker into the pile of refuse in the street behind.

Narrator 2: She doesn’t want to see any trace of Weepe here in what little she has left her home.

Narrator 1: The other Saskia, on the street out front, watches Meryl Concord disappear down the hill. She gazes into the middle distance for a moment, unsettled, before heading back inside.

Narrator 3: She passes the kitchen where Ettie and Ellie are busily bustling around trying to put some kind of soup together with the ingredients they’ve managed to procure from the larder,

Narrator 2: Ettie still helplessly laughing, though she’s managed to get it under control somewhat. It’s now more of a constant shoulder-shaking, barely-suppressed ache. Ellie is just at her wit’s end about it. She does not know what to do. Her sister can barely speak because she’s been laughing for days.

Narrator 3: In fact, both of them look like they’ve been sleeping like shit.

Narrator 2: But they do make a good soup. Dancing is not their only talent.

Narrator 3: Ellie gives a gentle wave to Saskia as she goes on through.

Narrator 1: Our other Saskia — the one who disposed of the nutcracker — is toiling away out back, loading a wheelbarrow full of twisted scrap.

Narrator 2: And she stops to take a breather in the alley, bringing herself a glass of water with her other body who has now come to join her.

Narrator 1: And as the two of them sit there together, recuperating,

Narrator 2: she realizes that someone is approaching her in the alley.

Narrator 1: The approaching stranger stops in his tracks, looks at one Saskia, then the other.

Narrator 2: And Saskia realizes this is not a stranger at all, though it is someone she NEVER would have expected to see here on Midst.

Narrator 3: He looks rattled, and he has probably just been taking in all of the surreal new features of Stationary Hill and its residents for the first time. And now he’s struggling to comprehend the two Saskias staring back at him.

Narrator 1: It’s hard to tell who’s more shocked, Saskia or the newcomer.

Narrator 3: (as the newcomer) “I was afraid you died!” he says. “But it seems you’re… TWICE as alive as before?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh my god, Hieronymous?” Saskia runs forward, overcome with a rush of emotions, and throws her arms around him.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous Loxlee. Dressed very intentionally incognito.

Narrator 1: No abacus in sight. Drab, unremarkable clothing. Even stooping a bit so as not to draw any attention to himself.

Narrator 3: Even as he hugs her back, Saskia can feel him tense up at the sound of his name. [As Hieronymous]: “Careful. Call me Harry,” he whispers in her ear.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry! Right, right. I-I just… I wasn’t expecting to… SEE you… again. Ever. Let alone HERE . What are you doing on Midst? What if someone recognizes you?”

Narrator 3: Hieronymous adjusts his hood a little lower over his face. [Hieronymous]: “Well, I certainly hope they don’t. But it’s a risk I had to take. I had to come here. Are you sure you’re… okay? What is… THAT?”

Narrator 1: He’s nervously eyeing her other body over her shoulder, which is watching them.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Don’t worry about it. That’s just, uh… me? It’s… it’s me. It’s how I am now. It’s… it’s actually kind of great.”

Narrator 1: Ellie, inside the kitchen, catches sight of them through the window of the cabaret. She gives Saskia a questioning glance. They shouldn’t stay here talking like this, like they know each other. This is too dangerous.

Narrator 2: Saskia places a hand on Hieronymous Loxlee’s elbow. Harry’s elbow. [Saskia]: “Uh… let’s go somewhere more private.”

Narrator 3: And Saskia sends one of her bodies back inside to continue working on the cabaret and deflect suspicion, and with the other, guides Hieronymous into the ruins of one of the nearby quiet side streets.

Narrator 2: This kind of multibody multitasking is getting easier for her every day. And she’s actually coming to rely on it. It’s hard to imagine going back to the way she was before.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous Loxlee looks stunned and concerned by every single odd thing they pass: the tearror aftermath that Saskia is already starting to get accustomed to. [Hieronymous]: “Nothing could have prepared me for how things really are down here,” he says.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh, I’m sad you never got to see it before. You picked a hell of a time for your first visit. Why ARE you here? You’re the first person from the Trust that has set foot down here since the tearror… though I assume you’re not here in an official capacity, right?”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Uh, no. Definitely not.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “That’s probably a good thing. The Trust is not so popular around here anymore.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “I’m very strongly getting that impression. But no, I’m actually here for extremely personal reasons. The MOST personal. Saskia, I spoke to Sherman.”

Narrator 1: Saskia looks too surprised to speak for a moment. Back inside the cabaret, she almost drops the wheelbarrow she’s pushing.

[Distant crash of the other Saskia stumbling with her wheelbarrow.]

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “You… you WHAT? Face-to-face?”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Face-to-face.”

Narrator 2: Saskia tries to gather her thoughts. [Saskia]: “Well, is he all right? The condition he was in when they took him away… I wasn’t even sure if… if he…”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “He’s all right. He’s had the best care they can give and he’s making a full recovery, but… he’s in a difficult predicament. There are rumors that he knows something related to the murder of my predecessor. The Company has him under ridiculously tight watch. And I… I can’t do anything to help him. Not without risking my cover.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Harry, you risked your cover just by going to talk to him. I mean, I saw him every day, I worked with him every day, and I never breathed a word… because that was what we agreed would be safest for him and best for the Breach in the long run! But after all this time, being so careful, maneuvering all the way to the top, marrying Imogen fucking Loxlee… you just walked in and revealed yourself to Sherman?”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “I had to. When I heard who it was the Company had in custody, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. And I already spend so much of my time feeling powerless.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “What!? You’re a Loxlee now! You should be able to do anything you want! HELP anyone you want. Wasn’t that the whole idea?”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “That was the ORIGINAL idea, yes. And it HAS enabled me to help the Breach in ways that I could never have before. But things are complicated, Saskia.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous and Saskia look at each other, all kinds of unspoken words hovering between them. They both know there’s a bigger conversation to be had here. Probably even an argument. But they also know this is not the time.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Well, anyway,” Saskia says, “what did you say to Sherman? He must have been surprised that the famous Hieronymous Loxlee turned out to be… you.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “He was surprised… at first. I basically just caught him up on things. Explained what I’ve been up to since he and I parted ways. But I thought it would be a harder conversation. We always did understand each other. He understands that now my hands are tied when it comes to HIS situation. But we both thought that maybe I can be of more help when it comes to Tzila. Honestly, that’s the only thing he asked me to do. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve come to Midst personally. Sherman and I just want to find our daughter.”

[A beat.]

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous, cont’d) “Do you know where Tzila is, Saskia? Please tell me she’s alive.”

Narrator 1: Saskia looks up at Hieronymous, her eyes shimmering.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I was afraid you were going to ask that question the second I saw you. All I know for certain is that she was not down in the caves with us. I have been checking with every ship that comes back, but so far… she hasn’t been on any of them. I want to believe that she escaped, but… I just don’t know, Harry. It doesn’t look good. I wish I had something better to tell you.”

Narrator 3: Hieronymous takes a deep, steadying breath. [Hieronymous]: “Okay. That’s not the answer I was hoping for, but it’s not the answer I was most afraid of, either. There’s another thing, too: do you know of someone named Lark?”

[A phrase of Lark’s theme music plays.]

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous, cont’d) “Sherman said that if Tzila was still with Lark, that there’s a chance she… she might be all right. Seemed to think highly of this lady.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Unfortunately, I don’t know Lark’s whereabouts, either. But maybe that’s a good thing.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “We can hope, but hope’s not a course of action, always, is it?” Hieronymous says, and looks uncertain. “Listen, I brought some supplies with me. Not as much as I would have liked, since I had to keep a low profile, but I did what I could. Food, medicine, blankets, that sort of a thing. I had no idea what condition the islet would be in, so I just grabbed a little bit of everything. I can have it delivered to the cabaret if—”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh, thank you, Harry, yes, yes, whatever you’ve brought, we can absolutely use it! Thank you!”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “I hope it helps. But from what I’ve seen, what you could really use are some Mothers. Do you have any way of contacting the Lazaretto?”

Narrator 2: Saskia’s eyelids flutter shut, her expression pained.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “No, not right now. The underfold comm equipment is broken, the only person who knew how to fix it is dead, and the only ships we have access to right now are unships. I… I did send someone to go in person just before the tearror hit, but… I would be surprised if he actually made it. He would have been sitting wail-bait in that cable car, which I was fully aware of.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “And you sent him anyway?”

Narrator 1: Saskia opens her eyes.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “His safety wasn’t my highest priority. He was the one who attacked Sherman.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Ohhh… Adsecla Thatch. The Trust has all but given him up for dead.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “He probably is.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “In any case, I’m sure it won’t be long before the Mothers hear the news somehow and I can’t imagine they won’t be here with their help. If I had the time and a foldworthy ship I would volunteer to go, but I can only stay a few days before my absence will start raising questions back home… more than it already has.”

Narrator 1: And speaking of raising questions, people here on the streets of Stationary Hill are starting to look askance at them more and more. It’s time to wrap this up quickly.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Of course! I understand. We’ll manage somehow. You should spend what little time you have looking for your daughter. More ships are coming back all the time. Tzila could be on any one of them.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “I hope so. Saskia, terrible circumstances aside, it IS good to see you.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “You too, Harry. Maybe someday we won’t have to pretend like we don’t know each other.”

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Someday. But in the meantime, goodbye. And this conversation never happened.”

Narrator 1: Their clandestine meeting concluded, the retired lounge singer and the second-most Valorous individual in the cosmos part ways, innocently heading off in separate directions as though they were NOT two of the most essential people in the entire Breach.