Narrator 1: Jonas Spahr has been summoned to appear before the Upper Trust. He’s not sure why, exactly, and he’s feeling a little ill-at-ease about that.

Narrator 3: He’s been feeling ill-at-ease for a while now.

Narrator 2: That’s a bit of an understatement. Ever since the incident with Imelda and Mr. Weepe, Spahr has not been… himself. He has barely left his house or spoken to anyone.

Narrator 3: And he hasn’t filed any kind of report like he threatened to do so heroically. What would he even SAY? Should he describe how he stood there and just let it all happen?

Narrator 1: He’s haunted by what he saw. He can’t get it out of his mind.

Narrator 3: He is certain that is what the Upper Trust wants to talk to him about. They have found out and now they want to know why he didn’t report it when he should have. Perhaps Imelda beat him to it and confessed her deeds herself.

Narrator 2: Her insane, inexplicable deeds.

Narrator 3: Which HE allowed to happen.

Narrator 2: It’s all he can think about, so surely it’s all anyone else can think about.

Narrator 1: As you can probably tell by now, that is not what they want to talk to him about. And he’s about to find that out, now, as he strides through the doors into the audience chamber of the Central Vault where a very large number of Upper Trustees turn their heads.

Narrator 2: He’s actually a little bit taken aback by the number of them gathered here today,

Narrator 1: Though there are a couple of people who Spahr does not see: a couple of significant absences. He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or worried about that.

Narrator 3: (as Fleit) “Ah, yes, Prime Consector Spahr. Glad that you could join us on such a short notice. Please come in.”

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Milton Fleit beckons Spahr to join them in the center of the council chamber.

Narrator 2: Spahr makes his way uncertainly down to the floor, suddenly aware that his hair is not quite as tidy as it normally is, nor his armor quite as polished.

Narrator 3: He knows he has stubble on his face. Dark shadows of weariness under his eyes.

Narrator 2: He’s been distracted. He hasn’t been attending to his post with his usual perfectionistic rigor.

[A chime sounds.]

Narrator 1: The chatter in the room dies down. Everyone takes their seats. [as Spahr:] “Thank you for seeing me today,”

Narrator 3: Spahr says.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I am at your disposal, of course, and am prepared to answer any questions you might have.”

Narrator 2: He steels himself, preparing to describe what it was that he saw in the Arca chamber.

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Fleit, standing in the center of the chamber, gets underway with his agenda.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “This urgent session of the upper cabinet can commence. We have three primary topics to review with you today, Consector.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Very well.”

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Firstly, we wanted to inform you that all paperwork pertaining to former Adsecla Thatch’s termination from our Company has been officially finalized. His account has been debited formally and severely. A new Prime Adsecla will be selected and assigned to the Consectorship in due course.”

Narrator 1: Spahr nods, listening thoughtfully. None of this is surprising so far.

Narrator 2: Yet he still feels a slight twist of regret in his gut for how it could have been handled. For how he would have LIKED to handle it.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “When the resources can be spared, a separate Company squad will be tasked with locating Thatch. If he still lives and can be retrieved, he will be summarily tried and assigned to a more appropriate role befitting his new record of… unstable temperament.”

Narrator 1: Unstable… Spahr takes a deep breath.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Point the second: the situation with Sherman Guthrie is disgraceful and — I’m afraid to say — also unproductive. As he has yielded no useful information, prolonging his detention serves no purpose other than to further damage public perception of the Company’s competence. We are terminating your involvement in this investigation.”

Narrator 2: This surprises Spahr.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Guthrie is to be released from Company custody effective today. He will be reinstated to his former place of employment here in the Highest Light to continue paying off his Caenum debts, which have been recalculated.”

Narrator 2: Spahr feels a bit like the rug has been ripped out from beneath him.

Narrator 1: He sits in his chair here in the center of the council chamber… making even, calm, professional eye contact with the Upper Trustees who are gazing right back at him, their expressions unreadable, neutral, implacable. This is not the news he was hoping to hear.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Furthermore, and finally, you will be court-martialed.”

Narrator 1: Spahr blinks.

Narrator 2: He isn’t sure that he heard that right for a moment.

Narrator 1: The members of the Upper Trust seated around him exchange knowing glances.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Eyewitness accounts regarding Phineas Thatch’s actions on the islet of Midst have begun to circulate, brought on no doubt by the Midst refugees that have been relocated here to the Highest Light. As you can imagine, the public response has been terrible. To bolster public opinion, we need to make an example and make it clear that the Trust does not condone this behavior. As the Prime Consector, you are, of course, naturally being held responsible for the actions of your Adsecla, who was in your charge… and for the gross mismanagement of the entire Midst situation. You will be required to appear before the Company tribunal. A date is forthcoming. You will be informed shortly before the event is to take place. This is, I will note, primarily for the media, since we need to assure the public that justice is being upheld.”

Narrator 2: Fleit lowers his spectacles and looks over them somewhat conspiratorially at the Consector.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “You know how these things go.”

Narrator 1: And Spahr DOES know how it goes, though this is the first time that he, himself, has been at the epicenter of such a disaster. He’s seen it happen from the sidelines in the past and felt terrible for those involved. Now it’s his turn.

Narrator 2: He feels a bit disassociated from his body as he listens to Senior Notary Fleit continue to go on about a few details related to the court-martial: how it’s really just a formality (‘you understand, Consector’), how a measure like this is exactly what they need to reassure the public of the Trust’s integrity…

Narrator 3: Spahr isn’t truly being reprimanded here, he knows. It’s not personal. The blame just has to go somewhere, for the good of the Trust. He’s just being used to balance the books, as is his duty: a satisfying spectacle to dangle before the public to prove some point or another.

Narrator 1: He’s probably going to lose his job because of this.

Narrator 3: Maybe. Not necessarily. It depends how the court-martial goes. On how severe of a punishment is deemed adequate. Maybe it will be enough to have him publicly scolded. It’s not for him to say.

Narrator 2: Even if he is removed from the Consectorship, he won’t go into debt, of course; his account is significant. It can take a hit. Even a big one.

Narrator 3: He can live out the rest of his days in comfortable, Valorous retirement — an ex-Consector with just a little bit of a scandal to spice up his record.

Narrator 1: Seated there as he is now in the middle of this vast chamber, surrounded by the watchful eyes of the Upper Trust, he sees… the end of the road.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Consector? I said ‘do you have any final remarks?’ Anything you would like noted in the log?”

Narrator 1: Spahr shakes himself back to reality. DOES he have anything you’d like to say? Oh, yeah, quite a few things. None of them appropriate for this particular audience or time, though.

Narrator 2: But the truth is, he has not been feeling comfortable in his Consector’s armor. Not for a while. Something has been happening to him. Something he hasn’t fully come to terms with yet. But things are changing for him.

Narrator 1: But they, of course, obviously, here now, do not need to know that. Spahr nods curtly, professionally, to the Senior Notary and the cabinet. [Spahr] “I do understand and accept and agree. It is all for the good of the Trust.”

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Thank you again, Consector, for your time and for your service.”

Narrator 2: Milton flight taps his stack of papers back into perfect square order.

Narrator 1: Is this it? No mention of… Weepe?

Narrator 2: They must not know.

Narrator 3: Or not care.

Narrator 1: Spahr says nothing.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “That is the end of our official agenda.”

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Fleit turns to the armored Company standing at attention at the back of the room.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Company, please go inform and release Guthrie.”

Narrator 2: Spahr stands suddenly. [Spahr]: “Uh, if I may, Senior Notary?”

Narrator 3: Fleit raises an eyebrow over his spectacles.

Narrator 2: (Spahr) “While I understand that the investigation has been closed, I would like to go and inform Guthrie personally if the cabinet has no objection.”

[Murmurs and hushed conversation fill the council chamber.]

Narrator 1: The cabinet confers quietly for a moment, shrugging, shaking their heads.

Narrator 2: (Spahr) “Seeing as I’ve been handling the case personally until now.”

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Very well. Here is his official decree of release. If you would be so kind as to read this to him, it will formally inform him of his rights and responsibilities thereunto appertaining. You know how it is. Thank you, Spahr.”

Narrator 2: A prim little smile from the Senior Notary. This is really all just a formality for them. Just one item in their agenda.

Narrator 1: And Spahr turns on his armored heel and strides for the doors. And speaking of his armored heel, close ON that heel comes,

Narrator 3: well, someone we haven’t seen for a while.

Narrator 2: As soon as he exits the council chamber, he is suddenly joined by… well, someone he recognizes, though he doesn’t know if he actually ever caught her name.

Narrator 3: WE haven’t caught her name.

Narrator 2: Actually, that’s true. What IS her name?

Narrator 3: She’s Backpack.

Narrator 2: It’s the… it’s the one with a backpack. Yeah.

Narrator 1: Burdened with a mountainous cargo of teletheric audio recording equipment, Jedediah Pom’s broadcast assistant,

Narrator 2: the teletheric engineer always to be found at his elbow,

Narrator 1: falls in step beside Jonas Spahr.

Narrator 2: (as Backpack) “Uh, ‘scuse me? Consector? Sir, um…”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Yes?”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Mind if I tag along? I just need to pick up this story to the dailies if that’s all right. Uh, the… they’re really wanting something, some update on the whole Guthrie story, and I understand that you’re on your way to release him? Or I heard that he was going to be released today. I don’t know if you’re personally… going to release him?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I’m afraid this is a confidential situation. The press is not permitted to attend.”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Oh don’t worry, sir, I have clearance.” And Backpack flashes some official-looking documents at him.

Narrator 1: Something from the Upper Trust itself.

Narrator 2: She DOES have clearance. Spahr is feeling more and more like things are moving outside of his control. Outside of his authorization. He’s no longer feeling like the figure of authority that he once did. He’s feeling more and more like…

Narrator 3: Sidelined.

Narrator 2: Like a pawn.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Very well, if you Upper Trust wishes it. Though why you? Where is Jedidiah Pom? Should he not be the one covering this story if it is of such importance to the Upper Trust?”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Oh, he’s on assignment elsewhere. I think they’re trying to keep him, uh… busy.” Backpack laughs a bit awkwardly.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “On ‘assignment,’ hmm?”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Well, I mean, you know, the whole Midst story is a little bit… sensitive with public opinion right now. And once ol’ Jed gets talking, he… it’s a little hard to stop him.” [Nervous laugh.]

Narrator 1: Now this further complicates the situation in Spahr’s mind. Jedediah Pom himself — number-one media attachment to the Consectorship — is not permitted to cover this story by decree of the Upper Trust. And yet his anonymous assistant is here? Something very, very strange is going on.

Narrator 2: Who is really in charge around here?

Narrator 3: Because it doesn’t seem like it’s Jonas anymore.

Narrator 2: If it ever was.

[Transition: the city soundscape of the Highest Light becomes audible.]

Narrator 2: Consector Spahr, accompanied by Backpack, makes his way swiftly to the Delagney Hotel. The Highest Light has been feeling strangely and increasingly empty — the public mood increasingly uncertain in light of the looming and unresolved economic disaster. It is not the city that he knows anymore. Add it to the list.

Narrator 1: And it is with concern and trepidation with regard to all of these factors that Jonas Spahr, Prime Consector to the Trust, makes his way to the stateroom where Sherman Guthrie is being detained, and knocks upon the door.

[A brisk knocking. A hum and sizzle of electronics.]

Narrator 2: Backpack’s teletheric equipment is buzzing and humming as she stands ready to record the interaction.

Narrator 1: There comes the sound of several locks, and the door creaks open just a sliver. Sherman’s eye peers out.

Narrator 2: He looks honestly quite surprised and not really that pleased to see the Consector there. [as Sherman]: “Uh… Y-yes?”

Narrator 1: Spahr brandishes the decree, reviewing it briefly before, with a sigh and slump of his shoulders, putting it aside.

Narrator 2: He doesn’t want to read that formal, unfeeling document to this man who he’s gotten to know. Who he’s starting to feel for.

Narrator 1: Sherman’s eye follows the paper in Spahr’s hand.

Narrator 2: Spahr sighs.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Mr. Guthrie, I have an official statement for your release. May I come in?”

Narrator 2: Sherman somewhat reluctantly, it seems, steps back and opens the door to admit them both.

Narrator 1: The two Company guards watching the door remain outside.

Narrator 3: And Spahr walks into the spotless penthouse. Barely lived-in. Sherman’s meager possessions—

Narrator 2: —new clothes, personal effects given to him as a courtesy by the Company—

Narrator 3: —scarcely unpacked, barely touched.

Narrator 1: Spahr squares his shoulders. [Spahr]: “Mr. Guthrie, the Upper Trust has elected to release you from confinement, and the investigation concerning you and Mr. Fuze has been terminated. Please let me be the first to offer you my congratulations on your release and your reintroduction into Trust society… in such a capacity as befits your balance, of course.”

Narrator 2: Spahr feels shitty saying this.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Thank you for cooperating with our investigation. And I wanted to inform you as well: you can be assured that further justice is being pursued as pertains to the way in which you have been treated throughout this unfortunate situation… and as regards the behavior and current whereabouts of Phineas Thatch.”

Narrator 2: Sherman looks like he’s weighing his response.

Narrator 1: But Spahr barrels ahead, trying to get this over with. He clears his throat. [Spahr]: “Guthrie, I wanted to let you know, I… I have, as promised, been looking into your daughter Tzila’s fate and whereabouts.”

Narrator 2: Sherman does take a deep breath and look up immediately at this.

Narrator 1: At last some good news? No, of course not. [Spahr]: “I’m afraid that—” Ooh. Even… even at the beginning of the sentence, he can already see the fear stealing over Sherman. [Spahr]: “I’m afraid that no signs have emerged of her among the refugees or other unlifts, though I am continuing to use every tool and resource at my disposal to… locate her. And you will be the first to know if I do.”

Narrator 2: Though much longer he’ll have any tools or resources at his disposal… who’s to say?

Narrator 1: Ach, this is rough! The way Sherman is looking at him is a little hard to handle.

Narrator 2: Sherman’s remaining silent.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You are, uh… free. To, uh… leave… Mr. Guthrie…” Spahr says, gesturing to the door. Backpack is standing adjacent to him, microphone raised. [Spahr]: “Please allow me to see you on your way, Mr. Guthrie.”

Narrator 2: So this is incredibly awkward. The three of them, they make their way tensely to the elevator and have one of those classic, terrible, awkward elevator rides that seems to last much, much longer than it should.

Narrator 1: Spahr is aware that Backpack is continuing to record as they descend in the lift. He looks at her. He gives her a ‘please stop doing that’ look, and she gives him a look in return: a sort of ‘I’m really sorry but I have to’ kind of a look. The elevator reaches the ground floor. The doors open and Sherman, wasting no time at all—

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Narrator 1: —begins to stride forth to the exit. Spahr watches him go.

Narrator 2: He wishes there was something he could DO. He’s the Prime fucking Consector! Isn’t there SOMETHING that he can do to make this man’s life less horrible?

Narrator 1: And in that moment: “Uh, Mr. Guthrie, one more thing,” he calls out, not even entirely sure what he’s doing.

Narrator 3: Sherman almost flinches at Spahr’s words after this whole encounter.

Narrator 2: But he grudgingly stops and turns. [Sherman]: “Yes, what is it, Consector?”

M1: That IS the question, isn’t it, Jonas?

Narrator 2: What IS it Consector? What are you about to do? Better get it over with, whatever it is. It’s probably not something that the Upper Trust would approve of. But then again, how much longer are you GOING to be Prime Consector?

Narrator 1: Standing here in the dead center of the marbled, vast, high-ceiling, palm-frond-festooned hotel lobby, Jonas Spahr approaches Sherman one last time. [Spahr]: “This… this isn’t right. None of… none of this that’s been happening to you is right,”

Narrator 3: Spahr says.

Narrator 1: This means very little coming from him, he knows, and the cold, disinterested look in Sherman’s eye tells him that in abundance. There IS nothing he can do to make this right. This is largely or even entirely, in fact, HIS fault.

Narrator 2: But maybe there IS something he can do.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Mr. Guthrie, you are a very… just and valorous man, whatever your account may say. And if you will permit me, I would like to pay off all of your remaining debts… so as you go forth back into our civilization, you may start over again as a FREE man — free from all Caenum. Free from all debt.”

Narrator 3: As we’ve seen before, this is a rare and generous offer in the best of times.

Narrator 1: Sherman shifts on his feet, looking around the lobby. Is anybody listening? This is a little embarrassing.

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Oh, uh…”

Narrator 3: Backpack is listening, and the microphone is just there, still humming away.

Narrator 2: Sherman is awkwardly fumbling over his words. [Sherman:] “Uh, that’s really… not necessary, Consector. I-I really, um…”

Narrator 3: And at this, Backpack looks at Sherman and at Spahr and back to Sherman and at the microphone and back to Sherman…

Narrator 2: …and something in this whole interaction prompts her to withdraw the microphone and shut down her teletheric recording equipment — a very uncharacteristic move for any member of the Trust media. Spahr forges ahead, interrupting Sherman over his weak protestations.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Please, Mr. Guthrie, I insist. Your account does not reflect… uh…” He doesn’t…he — what does he… how does he say this? “Please permit me,” he says.

Narrator 2: Before Sherman can get a word in edgewise, Spahr is raising his hand, snapping to get the attention of one of the many Delagney Hotel lobby notaries, summoning them over to their position.

Narrator 3: God, the Upper Trust is just lousy with notaries. [As a Delagney Hotel notary]: “Yes, Consector? How can I help you today?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Thank you, Notary. Could you please pull a report on Mr. Sherman Guthrie’s current Caenum balance if you’d be so kind?”

Narrator 3: The notary goes white as a sheet, frozen like a deer in the headlights. She looks at Sherman, wide-eyed. “Uh…”

Narrator 1: Spahr glares at her. [Spahr]: “Well!?”

Narrator 2: Sherman is standing very, very still, not making eye contact with the notary or anyone.

Narrator 3: The notary gulps. “Um… I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.”

Narrator 1: Spahr boggles at her. [Spahr]: “You… what? Why not?”

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Uh, a special order sir. I can’t show you this man’s account.”

Narrator 1: What the fuck? What? Now what? Spahr is pissed. He turns on the notary. [Spahr]: “I am the Prime Consector and I special order YOU to produce the account or I will have you stripped of all Valor!”

Narrator 2: As Prime Consector, Spahr CAN probably do that. And the notary knows it.

Narrator 3: (Delagney notary) “R-right away!” And she scurries away.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I’m sorry about this, Guthrie. We’ll get this settled. I would like to do this for you.”

Narrator 2: Sherman sighs heavily, rubs his hand down his face, and turns to face the Consector.

Narrator 3: Because he knows what that notary is going to bring back.

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Consector. Thanks, I guess? But honestly, what you’re trying to do here — this is all too little too late. Your help would have been great earlier, but I have a daughter to think about. I had to take matters into my own hands. How was I supposed to know you would develop a convenient savior complex here at the eleventh hour and finally feel bad enough to help me?”

Narrator 1: Spahr isn’t sure he understands what Sherman is getting at, but he doesn’t like where this is headed. [Spahr]: “What are you… what are you talking about?”

Narrator 2: Backpack is shifting nervously around, unsure what role she is playing in this interaction anymore. The notary returns fearfully, account papers in hand, and Spahr snatches them from her.

Narrator 3: And as he scans the document, his eyes go wide… as he sees the substantial anonymous deposit of Valor pending in Sherman’s account.

Narrator 1: Spahr turns slowly to Sherman… with a dawning combination of confusion and comprehension. [Spahr]: “What is this? Who deposited this?”

Narrator 3: The notary is in an absolute panic. [Notary]: “I-I’m sorry, Consector, the spender ORDERED me not to reveal—”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Excuse the FUCK out of me,” Spahr says, turning sharply. “I am STILL the Prime Consector, and I authorize YOU to inform me right now!” Add this to the pile of things Spahr doesn’t know about. People have been going around him and over his head one too many times today.

Narrator 2: The notary nearly faints from the power of this outburst.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “WHO MADE THE DEPOSIT?”

Narrator 3: (notary) “Of course, uh, y— um… yes, the deposit, uh…” She retrieves the slip from her voluminous pockets. “Uh, the… the deposit was made by Upper Trustee, uh… Mr. Moc Weepe.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Thank you, that will be all.” Spahr quietly dismisses the notary,

Narrator 2: who is only too happy to get out of this situation.

Narrator 3: Backpack’s eyes are as big as saucers.

Narrator 2: It seems like both Sherman and the Consector have forgotten she is there. And she just stands there mutely.

Narrator 1: Sherman is standing by, one hand on his suitcase, staring dead ahead, making no eye contact with anyone, his jaw tight, clearly very interested in being anywhere but here right now.

Narrator 2: Spahr takes a step closer. Lowers his voice.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “So you DID have information this entire time. You DO know who killed Fuze Peabody.” Sherman still does not look at him. [Spahr]: “I presume you told Weepe and were compensated. Why would you tell HIM? He betrayed you!”

Narrator 2: Sherman laughs this exhausted, exasperated, humorless laugh. [Sherman]: “I guess, when it came down to it… between the two manipulative, heartless employers I’ve worked for in my life, I prefer the one that has betrayed me only ONE time, as opposed to more times than I can count,”

Narrator 1: Sherman says, gesturing broadly to ALL of this,

Narrator 2: to the gleaming gold insignia of the Trust on Spahr’s breastplate.

Narrator 1: Spahr shakes his head, frustrated at this. [Spahr]: “Weepe is now a MEMBER of the Upper Trust, Guthrie.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “You don’t know Weepe like I do. Weepe is ONLY out for himself. He’ll throw the Trust under the bus the first chance he gets, just like he did with the Black Candle.”

Narrator 1: Spahr swallows,

Narrator 3: and a chill goes down his spine,

Narrator 2: as he thinks about the last time he saw Mr. Weepe.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Perhaps he will betray the Trust,” says Spahr, looking Sherman significantly in the eye. “Or perhaps he will not. I assure you, people can change.”

Narrator 2: Sherman picks his suitcase back up to go. Looks at Spahr for a long, loaded moment. [Sherman]: “CAN they, now?”