Narrator 1: Kozma Laszlo, Baron of the Fold, has arrived.

Narrator 3: She has a sick ride. Her grand submersible looms, hulking enormously in the Lazaretto’s harbor.

Narrator 2: The Mothers have now assembled, the formerly sleeping islet of the Lazaretto has stirred to life with the Baron’s arrival.

Narrator 3: It’s basically 4am here, so just have that in the back of your mind.

Narrator 2: The Baron’s arrival has also interrupted a very uncomfortable conversation.

Narrator 1: Phineas, Lark, and Tzila, standing here at the entrance to the harbor area, watch all this unfold rapidly before them with some awe and confusion.

Narrator 2: And that weird, tense, lack of closure that happens whenever a …

Narrator 1: …whenever a gigantic jet-black gleaming submersible rises out of the abyss in the middle of your formative argument.

Narrator 2: Whenever that happens. Hate that.

Narrator 1: It’s the worst. Good thing it only happens occasionally.

Narrator 2: A loudspeaker-like contraption periscopes up from the top of the foldmersible, and a voice addresses the islet.

Narrator 2: (as an unidentified voice, coming through a crackly loudspeaker) “Grandmother. Come speak to me at your earliest convenience, please.”

Narrator 1: The Mothers assembling now outside the harbor exchange glances, whisper to each other. Word is sent at once for the Grandmother.

Narrator 2: The Mothers have already been preparing their fleet of living ships ever since Phineas brought them the news that Midst needed their help. But now with the Baron’s arrival, everything has been fast-tracked a bit, it seems.

Narrator 3: The original plan was to leave at a reasonably early hour in the morning, not 4am early, but like 9, so they’re getting ready.

Narrator 2: By the way, all these times are approximations. We won’t describe to you what their clocks look like. It would hurt too much.

Narrator 2: (unidentified voice) “Oh, and bring that Adsecla with you.”

Narrator 3: All eyes abruptly fall on Phineas now.

Narrator 1: Lark looks at him. Tzila, too.

Narrator 2: Lark just looks exhausted. She has this ‘fine, go on, get out of here’ look on her face. [as Lark]: “Fine. Go on. Get out of here,”

Narrator 1: she says.

Narrator 3: And Phineas is almost relieved to have an out prescribed to him. An external direction.

Narrator 2: As soon as he steps away, Lark and Tzila turn back to each other, whispering urgently.

Narrator 1: And gliding down the hillside from the castle of the Lazaretto itself comes the Grandmother in her billowing dark robes,

Narrator 2: her unveiled face distinguishing her easily among the other black-clad Mothers.

Narrator 1: (as the Grandmother) “Come along, young man.” The Grandmother smiles knowingly at Phineas. “Mustn’t keep the Baron waiting.”

Narrator 3: And together, Phineas and the Grandmother enter the submersible.

[Door clanking.]

Narrator 2: So. Kozma Laszlo’s submarine. Uh.

Narrator 3: Let’s… Well, let’s take a look at it.

Narrator 2: Where do we even start?

Narrator 1: This is, well, we don’t know how many submarines you’ve been aboard, but you’ve never been aboard a submarine quite like this one. Or maybe you have! We don’t, we don’t know what your submarine experience has been.

Narrator 2: We daren’t presume. But have you ever been in a limo, at least? That would be a useful starting point.

Narrator 1: And how about a limo-submarine?

Narrator 3: It’s basically like that, with the key difference being that instead of being submersed in water, this is a craft purpose-built to travel the Fold. A foldmersible, whose glossy hatches have issued open to admit Phineas and the Grandmother.

Narrator 1: A dim, lavishly mysterious corridor invites the newcomers within.

Narrator 3: Dark, woody wainscoting runs all along the hallway. Above it, rich wallpaper struck through with neon bursts here and there, and hanging on top of that wallpaper: oil paintings, picture frames, newspaper clippings, awards,

Narrator 2: ornaments, artifacts.

Narrator 1: Strolling down the corridor with the Grandmother at his side, Phineas, glancing through doorways, spots staircases spiraling up and down to higher and lower decks of the submersible. This thing is huge.

Narrator 2: This is rich, old-fashioned maximalism. A plush burgundy carpet underfoot silences their footsteps.

Narrator 1: Beautiful multicolored stained-glass lamps hanging from walls and ceiling, casting lustrous hues upon all that he sees. This is a hell of a place.

Narrator 3: They pass display cabinets chock-full of curios. At a bend in the hallway there’s a small table with clawed feet and a bowl of, like, potpourri?

Narrator 2: Beyond the potpourri itself, he smells some kind of delicious, savory dinner. He smells cigar smoke, not just like new fresh cigar smoke, but the impression that this is a place where many fine cigars are smoked on the regular. It’s sort of impregnated the walls. Phineas is no stranger to grand, illustrious places, but this is not the sort of decor he’s used to.

Narrator 1: No, this bears no resemblance whatsoever to the clean, minimal, bright elegance of the Un. This is the stuff of the Fold.

Narrator 2: Specifically the stuff of Kozma Laszlo, who cannot really be lumped in with the Fold, or indeed with anything or anyone else,

Narrator 1: as you are about to see. A waiting herald stands aside, indicating to them that they should step within an open doorway.

Narrator 3: A small brass plaque adjacent to it says, “The Office of Kozma Laszlo, Baron of the Fold.”

Narrator 1: Phineas Thatch and the Grandmother step within.

Narrator 2: And there she is.

Narrator 1: Kozma Laszlo.

Narrator 2: Kozma fucking Laszlo.

[The sounds of BUSINESS. Typewriter keys, pages turning, a voice dictating in the background.]

Narrator 1: Seated behind an opulent massive desk, assisted by several attendants. She appears to be in the middle of dinner. She is eating a steak.

Narrator 3: There are some potatoes on the plate.

Narrator 1: She is reading many newspapers at once, cycling between them, scanning the headlines, moving on to the next. She is drinking a coffee.

Narrator 3: One of her hands is in the clutches of an attendant, who’s actively giving her a manicure.

Narrator 1: She is simultaneously dictating an important letter of business to a nearby secretary. She pauses as her guests enter the office.

Narrator 2: Wiping her eating hand briefly on her velvet waistcoat, she snatches an ornate pocket watch out, flips open the lid, [the crisp click and whirr of an unusual mechanical apparatus, suddenly silenced] notes the time, and claps it shut.

Narrator 2: (as Kozma) “Ah, at last.”

Narrator 3: Kozma Laszlo. Bask in her glory.

Narrator 1: To know her is to love her.

Narrator 3: Let’s have a look at her. We were just looking at her, but let’s, like, LOOK at her, the way we do.

Narrator 1: Kozma Laszlo is extremely short in stature. She’s shorter than Tzila,

Narrator 2: who is tall for her age, admittedly.

Narrator 3: She’s a very energetic woman, probably upper middle age.

Narrator 2: Expensively dressed in a fine plum-velvet smoking jacket.

Narrator 3: She’s wearing these glittering spectacles that are on a gold chain around her neck.

Narrator 2: Her fingers are covered in rings, her nails in freshly applied polish,

Narrator 3: and a little bit of steak juice.

Narrator 1: And to top it all off, she has a short yet astonishing and melodramatic executive haircut.

Narrator 2: She glances up from her numerous tasks at the Grandmother,

Narrator 1: ignoring Phineas entirely for the time being.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Thank you for coming down on such short notice. I’m on my way to the Un by way of Midst. I’ve made arrangements to transfer over to an unworthy ship when we get there, and I just want to check on my old property, to see how that whole disaster went.”

Narrator 1: She is very unconcerned as she says all this, glancing at her notes, sipping her coffee,

Narrator 2: sawing off a bit of potato. [Kozma:] “The Trust wants to speak to me, naturally, about my ‘faulty merchandise,’”

Narrator 1: she does air quotes,

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “but as long as I’m passing by Sequester, I did want to confirm that the Mothers were mobilized to provide aid to the people of Midst. And it seems as though you are.”

Narrator 1: She raises an eyebrow.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “That’s good. It sounds pretty bad up there.”

Narrator 1: The Grandmother matches Kozma’s arched eyebrow with her own, before saying,

Narrator 3: (Grandmother) “Yes, preparations are essentially complete and ready to launch, thanks to this young gentleman,” the Grandmother gestures to Phineas, “who was able to inform us in a timely manner… well before any other heralds came by.”

Narrator 2: Here, Kozma Laszlo does glance at Phineas, dabbing the corner of her lip with a lacy napkin. [Kozma:] “I see. Most interesting. I had heard from my sources that an Adsecla was sighted here with some other refugees. Very curious to know what you’ve been up to. In fact, Grandmother, I think that concludes our business, thank you for coming down. It seems that you’re much further along with your preparations than I had even anticipated. That’s good. I’ll leave you to it. You may go and take care of what you need to do next.” The Grandmother bows elegantly and turns to leave. Phineas, unsure, begins to follow. “Not you. You stay.”

Narrator 1: And Phineas does, as the Grandmother gives him a decorous look and, turning, whispers gracefully from the room.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “That’s quite enough, you may leave us,” Kozma says to her various attendants,

Narrator 1: who pack up all of their executive accessories, their dictation, their manicure kit, and make themselves scarce,

Narrator 2: filing obediently and silently out of the room, leaving Phineas alone in the office of the Baron, who’s chewing the last morsel of steak in her mouth, looking up at him scrutinizingly from her desk.

Narrator 3: She does that cool thing where you whip off your glasses, and eyes him up and down appraisingly.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “First of all, Adsecla, do you even know who I am?”

Narrator 3: (as Phineas) “I… I don’t know if I’m an Adsecla, really, anymore. You can call me Phineas.”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “You don’t say. I own most of the islets in this region. Used to own Midst, too. It’s very unusual to see a Company soldier down here. Tell me what’s going on with you. You can speak freely.”

Narrator 1: Can he really speak freely? Should he? That seems like a terrible, terrible idea, especially in front of one of the most powerful and dangerous political figures anywhere.

Narrator 3: Phineas stumbles through a recap of the events that led him to Sequester,

Narrator 2: unable to resist the siren song of an authority figure ordering him to answer a question.

Narrator 3: (Phineas, stammering) “And basically, I, after informing the Mothers of the disaster, I, I, I’m really not sure what, what IS happening next. I guess I should head back to the Un at some point.”

Narrator 2: Kozma has started rescanning one of her newspapers at some point during this speech. [Kozma]: “Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm. I noticed you are not wearing any of your regalia. How would they feel about that in the Un?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Well, I got rid of it. I guess I’m not really a Trustee anymore. I’ve decided… to… quit?”

Narrator 2: The Baron takes a sip of her coffee.

Narrator 1: She gazes at him thoughtfully.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “You’re in Breach, then.”

Narrator 3: Phineas can’t help but nervously fiddle with the bead of Caenum on his abacus. [Phineas]: “I… I guess I am.”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Oh, don’t worry, no one cares, least of all me. I simply want the facts.”

Narrator 1: Well, Phineas cares. It’s so eerie to hear someone say that to him. Him? In Breach? That can’t be right.

Narrator 2: He hadn’t been thinking of it that way, but

Narrator 1: technically, it’s true.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “I will repeat the question. What are you doing with yourself now, ex-Adsecla Thatch?”

Narrator 1: Great question.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “I guess I’m, I’m trying to figure that out, ma’am, I, immediately—”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Baron.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Oh, excuse me, Baron. I’m just, right now I’m trying to correct some of the wrongs that I caused in my office as Adsecla. To do that, I, I must go to the Un. There’s, there’s someone there I hurt. Who is suffering because of what I did and I… I need to set things right.”

Narrator 1: More than one person suffering because of what he did. Quite a few, in fact, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Mmm-hmm, yes, and after that? What are your long-term career goals?”

Narrator 1: What kind of, what is this, a job— What the heck?

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “I, um…”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Nevermind, how are you getting to the Un?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Uh, I, I don’t know, Baron. I just thought of this whole idea about… half an hour ago?”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “You can come with me. I am going to the Un directly.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “I, oh, I couldn’t impose on you.”

Narrator 2: (Kozma, sighing) “You fucking Trustees and your baggage about ‘owing’ things. I’m going to the Un already.”

Narrator 1: She throws her napkin down on the table, frustrated.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “You can ride with me and it won’t cost you anything. Pack your things and say your goodbyes. We leave shortly.”

Narrator 3: She checks her pocket watch again.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “VERY shortly, in fact. And maybe we can talk about your employment situation on the way.”

Narrator 1: She stands from behind the desk.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “There’s a lot of good that someone with your training could do, outside the Trust. The sooner you leave and finish up whatever you need to finish, the sooner we can get going.”

Narrator 1: And with that, she shoos him from the office.

Narrator 3: Phineas is kind of gobsmacked by this woman,

Narrator 2: as he should be.

Narrator 3: She IS the Baron.

Narrator 2: No one exits a first-time meeting with Kozma Laszlo without having their gobs smacked.

Narrator 3: Phineas backtracks down the hallway of the foldmersible, and, exiting into the Lazaretto’s harbor, sees a flurry of activity.

Narrator 1: The Mothers are completing their preparations with their organic fold ships, those vast manta-ray-like creatures. They’re packing them, assembling them, getting them staged for launch, loading them with cargo. Their relief effort is almost ready to move.

Narrator 2: Phineas feels odd. Sort of… hopeful.

Narrator 1: It feels good to have some form of structure, however ambiguous, offered to him. It’s a complicated feeling.

Narrator 2: What a guy. Just mustered up the courage to quit his job and can’t wait to start the next one.

Narrator 1: Well, some of his jobs are not yet complete. Lark and Tzila are outside here in the harbor, and have clearly been arguing.

Narrator 2: Phineas drifts closer.

Narrator 1: Tzila’s fists are balled tightly. [as Tzila:] “I don’t care!” she’s saying. “My dad is alive! Nothing else matters now that I know that!”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Listen to yourself. NOTHING else matters?”

Narrator 1: Tzila is clearly 100% focused on her dad,

Narrator 2: whereas Lark seems more conflicted. Phineas is really not comfortable with interrupting this,

Narrator 3: but this new urgent timetable being what it is… [Phineas:] “Um, e-excuse me, Lark, I, and Tzila, I… I am sorry to interrupt, but—”

Narrator 1: They both look at him harshly.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) and Narrator 2: (Lark) “What!?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “I basically need to tell you that I’m leaving for the Un with Kozma, excuse me, Baron Kozma Laszlo.”

Narrator 2: Tzila’s eyes pop open a little at this

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Really? Can I come? I want to come! I want to go to the Un!”

Narrator 2: Lark drags a hand down her face. [Lark:] “Tzila, think. This is the guy who assaulted your dad, something I WAS going to tell you, by the way, as soon as we got the hell away from him. And now you want to go WITH him? How will that help Sherman? You’ll only get yourself captured if you go to the Un.”

Narrator 3: Phineas is getting up to speed with where Lark is going with this. And now HE appealingly turns to Tzila. [Phineas:] “There’s no need to put yourself in danger, Tzila. I will do this for you. I don’t expect your forgiveness and I, I understand that you doubt my reasons, both of you. But I AM going to set things right with Sherman, and atone for what I did. I don’t know what that means yet, but… Baron Laszlo is going to take me to the Un. If either of you want to go back to your home, she said she’s stopping by Midst to change ships. The tearror has probably blown over by now, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving you a ride.”

Narrator 1: Well, they certainly wouldn’t want to ride with HIM, he realizes.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Or, you’d probably prefer to ride with the Mothers. Their whole fleet is getting ready to depart. And from what I understand, it’s all, we’re all leaving shortly.”

Narrator 2: Lark and Tzila appear to think about this.

Narrator 3: Now, we can tell you that both of their hearts are beating a little faster than usual. Tzila’s eyes hurt from crying, from tiredness, from anger. Lark presses her fingers against her temples, trying to quell the alternating waves of panic, dread, and anger that keep cresting within her. There’s a lot that’s happened in the last half hour, and at the very least, this has thrown a wrench into their ceaseless, cyclical argument.

Narrator 1: Lark clearly, visibly, is reluctant to return to Midst. Tzila, however, appears to like the sound of that.

Narrator 2: She’s looking up at Lark with new hope in her eyes.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “At least come to Midst, Lark! Look, I know you want to get rid of me, and I’d rather be there than here. Midst is still home for me, even if it’s all messed up now.”

Narrator 2: Lark considers. If it means finally getting Tzila off her hands, Midst might be worth visiting. Assuming it hasn’t been totally decimated, and there’s anyone still alive there who could even take care of Tzila. And also Lark wouldn’t mind seeing Midst for herself, just so she knows what’s become of it. But no, no, no, no, this is ridiculous. Why is she even considering going along with this?

Narrator 3: Once again, the weird feelings, the weird impulses. That weird intuition that she has been feeling rears its head again.

Narrator 2: The spiderweb the Grandmother described is vibrating wildly. Something is caught in it.

Narrator 1: Across the harbor, climbing astride one of the manta ships, the Grandmother turns her head to stare directly and knowingly at Lark. Their eyes meet,

Narrator 2: which makes Lark think that maybe this isn’t entirely her own paranoia anymore, or maybe it never was. She can hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. [Lark:] “Okay, just to Midst.”

Narrator 3: She knows by the look on Tzila’s face that this isn’t the end of the conversation,

Narrator 2: not by a long shot.

Narrator 1: Phineas, Lark, and Tzila collect what little they have with them and make their way to their respective craft.

Narrator 2: Phineas boards the limo submarine for a smooth, smooth ride to Midst.

Narrator 1: Lark and Tzila climb astride a manta in the company of the Mothers.

Narrator 2: And together this strange ragtag fleet, led by a shiny black submarine and filled out with the waving, undulating ranks of the manta ray ships, sets off for Midst.

Narrator 3: Unward.

Narrator 1: With one last call from the loudspeaker [herald’s voice through the loudspeaker]: “All aboard! Midst, ho!”