[Sprinting footsteps, and a door banging open.]

Narrator 2: Emmet bursts into the Black Candle Cabaret to deliver the news.

Narrator 1: (as Emmet) “The Mothers! They’re here!”

Narrator 2: Saskia, Emmet, and Harry, along with pretty much everyone else on Midst, exit the cabaret to see the following insane sci-fi tableau:

Narrator 1: This is maximum space western. Whatever you got going on in your imagination, it’s time to crank those dials to 11. You’ve never seen a scene like this. Saskia has never seen a scene like this. A scene like this has never ever happened before.

Narrator 2: Imagine the high noon moment of any western you’ve seen, not only high noon because of the blazing, blaring, brightness of unlight, but high noon in that showdown moment.

Narrator 1: Coming up the main street of Stationary Hill is a shoulder-to-shoulder phalanx of black-clad witches,

Narrator 2: cut-out silhouettes against the baked red rock of the hill,

Narrator 3: the strange outsiders, the mantis-like black-clad Mothers streaming into Stationary Hill.

Narrator 1: They are almost floating over the ground, seeming to issue along in almost anti-gravity fashion.

Narrator 2: And yet, despite their phantom-like appearance, they are behaving in a very orderly, well-trained manner. Squads dispersing, peeling off from the main ranks to go provide help, to dispense their services to those most in need.

Narrator 1: The townsfolk still present here line the streets, watching in awe, the Mothers gliding towards them one by one, extending their gloved hands, reaching out, offering aid. What do you need? How can we help you? Let us heal you.

Narrator 2: Saskia sends one of her selves to join up with the Grandmother, to give her the lay of the land and help direct her attention to those who need it most.

Narrator 3: To perform triage.

Narrator 2: Her other self remains stationed in front of the cabaret, watching the procession up the hill. Standing out starkly among the Mothers is Phineas Thatch. Saskia picks him out at quite a distance away as he approaches up the hill. In fact, he seems to be coming to look for her, and their eyes lock.

Narrator 1: Soon, he stands before her, his expression complicated.

Narrator 2: As is Saskia’s. [as Saskia]: “You… You actually did it,”

Narrator 1: she says to him, looking him up and down. He is no longer wearing his armor. He is still wearing his one black bead of Caenum. Interesting.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I expect you want some kind of receipt that you can take back with you to the Trust for this good deed?”

Narrator 3: His mouth twists in an unusual way. [as Phineas]: “You owe me nothing, Saskia. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done with the Trust.”

Narrator 2: Before Saskia can truly process her surprise at this,

Narrator 1: bustling up behind Phineas, the short, powerful, busy, unmistakable silhouette of the legendary and infamous Kozma Laszlo. The Baron speaks directly and urgently to Saskia.

Narrator 2: (as Kozma) “Del Norma. Any idea what happened with the moon?”

Narrator 1: Saskia is taken aback, both at the question, and at seeing Kozma Laszlo herself here in the flesh, a rare treat.

Narrator 2: Even when she owned the islet she was a rare visitor, if ever.

Narrator 1: What happened to the moon? A great question. Saskia really doesn’t know. Saskia looks up to where the moon should have been. It’s definitely not there anymore. She shrugs. [Saskia]: “I have no idea. Some of the miners who survived and have come back to Midst are saying it was a freak accident.”

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “It sure doesn’t look good for me given the timing of the sale. Tell me about the damage. How’s it all looking?”

Narrator 1: Saskia looks upon Kozma Laszlo, incredulous,

Narrator 2: wondering how she’s supposed to deliver a succinct report on the devastation she’s lived through.

Narrator 1: Saskia gestures very broadly to all of this. Everything. All the stuff here, around her, all the absolute mayhem, madness, confusion.

Narrator 2: The warped, transformed, unrecognizable remains of Stationary Hill.

Narrator 1: How’s it all looking? [Saskia]: “Well,” she says, “bad. Many did escape, but many did not. Many died. Many were changed.” She says nothing about herself. Kozma is watching her, eyes narrow.

Narrator 2: (Kozma) “Neat. Thanks. I guess that will do for now. Keep up the good work. The Mothers are here, and I’m leaving some of my staff as well to help. But of course, Midst is still technically the property of the Trust, so presumably they will offer full relief at a time of their choosing. Presumably.”

Narrator 1: Phineas Thatch has been standing by here, quietly and somewhat awkwardly waiting for the Baron to finish her interrogations.

Narrator 2: His new boss? [Kozma:] “Phineas, my unship has just arrived in the shipyard. I’m going to go prep for launch. Come along.”

Narrator 3: Phineas casts one last look at Saskia, and, inclining his head in a curt nod, gives her the tiniest smile,

Narrator 1: which she does not return. She nods back cautiously,

Narrator 3: and he follows Kozma Laszlo back down the hill.

Narrator 1: The Mothers work quickly and efficiently, spreading through Stationary Hill in a dark unstoppable wave of kindness and healthcare.

Narrator 2: An unstoppable cloud bringing mercy and relief wherever it goes.

Narrator 3: Seen from above, the phalanxes of Mothers pouring through Stationary Hill would look like a dark dendritic scar, slowly spreading up Stationary Hill through the side streets, the Neighborhood of Porcelain, the Fractal District,

Narrator 1: making their way all the way to the top of the town, threading their way through the ruins of the post office, offering aid to all that they meet.

Narrator 2: Saskia, as always now, is aware of many things going on at once, while she simultaneously guides and gives aid to the Grandmother,

Narrator 1: directing her and her legions to and fro throughout Midst, introducing them to those in need, bringing their attentions to Ettie and Ellie, taking them down into the caves beneath the post office,

Narrator 2: and simultaneously walks about with Hieronymous, still in disguise. As a cover story for his brief visit, Harry has been playing the role of a supply ship captain, which is a good lie, since he literally brought a ship of supplies with him, and it’s given the two of them a plausible reason to talk to each other here and there, as long as they keep it casual. Something catches Saskia’s eye. She stops dead in her tracks, reaches out a hand for Hieronymous’s arm. [Saskia]: “Harry, Harry look! Oh my god!”

Narrator 1: In the crowd, moving to and fro in a side alley, two familiar figures emerge from between the dark robed Mothers: Lark and Tzila.

Narrator 2: They haven’t spotted Saskia yet. They are looking around them at the vastly changed hill,

Narrator 1: Tzila close beside Lark,

Narrator 2: her mouth open with amazement and shock.

Narrator 1: Hieronymous Loxlee has eyes only for his daughter. [as Hieronymous]: “That’s her?” he murmurs.

Narrator 2: He looks for a long time.

Narrator 1: He leans close to Saskia. [Hieronymous]: “She looks… She looks so much like Sherman.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “She has your nose, though.”

Narrator 1: They watch. Relieved. Amazed. Hieronymous, astounded. [Hieronymous]: “God, she looks like she’s been through hell,” Harry says quietly, distracted, astonished. “Who’s that scary-looking lady with her? Is that Lark?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “That’s Lark all right.”

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “She looks like she’s been through hell, too.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Well, that’s just how she looks.”

Narrator 3: Saskia takes Hieronymous’s hand.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Here. Come with me.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous resists.

Narrator 2: Saskia gives him a comforting look. [Saskia]: “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be spilling any of your secrets. That’s for you to do if and when you’re ready.”

Narrator 1: And Saskia’s other, newest secret, her other entirely new, new other, entire self — that will be a surprise for another day as well. Saskia doesn’t want to overwhelm the girl.

Narrator 2: Saskia and Hieronymous weave their way through the crowd, closer and closer to Lark and

Tzila,

Narrator 1: and the moment their eyes meet, Tzila is running up the hill. [as Tzila]: “Saskia!”

Narrator 2: And Saskia drops to her knees and opens up her arms wide. [Saskia]: “Tzila!”

Narrator 1: Oh, this. This is a good hug. We don’t see a lot of hugging these days, here on Midst, but you know, this is a nice one.

Narrator 3: Saskia gives Tzila one of those, just, strong mom hugs.

Narrator 1: Tzila seems really happy.

Narrator 2: Tzila needed this. Lark and Hieronymous are standing there as somewhat awkward, uncomfortable bystanders, bookends to this really top-grade hug,

Narrator 1: black-clad Mothers whispering to and fro in the streets around them. [Tzila]: “Saskia, you’re alive! You’re…” Tzila pulls back from the hug a little bit, looking her friend up and down. “Nothing, nothing happened to you…?” This is a question and a statement. Saskia looks, well, she looks a little bit haunted, but she seems…

Narrator 2: whole.

[The Narrators chuckle gently.]

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Nothing, nothing bad. I’ll explain later. Are YOU okay?”

Narrator 3: Saskia is checking Tzila over as well, giving her arms a squeeze.

Narrator 1: They’re both talking at the same time. [Tzila:] “Do you know what happened to my friends? To Walter? Bets? Did they—?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “They’re fine! They’re fine. They weren’t even here for the tearror. Both their families made it onto a cargo ship and they just got back yesterday. But where have YOU been? Oh, we’ve been so worried about you!”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Th-the Lazaretto! There weren’t any ships left on Midst, so Lark and I, we escaped in that mail car.”

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “The mail car!?” Saskia’s eyes immediately flit to Lark.

Narrator 2: A lot of thoughts rush through Saskia’s mind now. That’s so dangerous, what about the horribly deadly foldwails, and what about —

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “Was there anyone else with you in the car, besides Lark?”

Narrator 2: Lark looks up slowly, her eyes meeting Saskia’s from under the brim of her hat. [as Lark]: “Only the Adsecla you sent.”

Narrator 3: Saskia quails.

Narrator 2: She is horrified.

Narrator 1: Hieronymous raises an eyebrow.

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “I — oh, I would never have sent him if I knew. I was trying to keep him AWAY from anyone he might hurt. Even if it meant sending him on that death trap of a box on a wire. Tzila, listen. There’s something you need to know about Adsecla Thatch and your father.”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Oh, I already know that Phineas hurt my dad really bad and that the Consector took him away. But Saskia, I’m going to take care of it. I’m gonna go to the Un and I’m going to rescue my dad.”

Narrator 2: A weary laugh from Lark. [Lark]: “No, you’re not.”

Narrator 3: She turns to Saskia.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “She’s not.”

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “I — I agree!”

Narrator 2: says Saskia immediately.

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “That’s, that’s out of the question. Tzila. Sweetheart. You’re home. I’ll show you around. Things are a little different now. But I’ll take care of you from now on, all right?”

Narrator 1: She turns to Lark.

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “I’ll make sure she’s looked after, and keep her safe until we can figure out a way to help her father.”

Narrator 2: Lark grinds her toe in the dust, looking anywhere but at Tzila. [Lark]: “Great, thank you. She needs… some stability.”

Narrator 3: Lark is feeling increasingly distracted and strange. A combination of that Fold-weirdness, and her weariness, period.

Narrator 2: She glances at Tzila. She can’t quite bear to meet the girl’s eyes fully. [Lark]: “Look, Tzila. I’m… sorry about everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you need. You’ll be okay now. Goodbye.” And she turns, off to look for her bike in the wreckage near the post office tower, where she remembers leaving it. Tzila is just staring after Lark with a stricken expression, strangely silent. Saskia kneels down next to her.

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “Tzila, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. This is my friend Harry. Why don’t we all go get something to eat? Harry’s from the Un and he brought us a lot of food supplies.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous is clearly struggling to keep a lid on things here. [Hieronymous:] “Hi, Tzila,” he says,

Narrator 2: in a super chill way.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “It’s… it’s very nice to—”

Narrator 3: but before he can finish, Tzila darts after Lark.

Narrator 2: She hasn’t even been listening this whole time.

Narrator 1: She couldn’t care less about Saskia’s random friend Harry.

Narrator 2: Saskia is about to run after her—

Narrator 3: (Saskia) “Tzila! Wait!”

Narrator 2: —but Hieronymous stops her.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “Saskia, it’s… it’s okay, there’ll be time later. Let’s… We can give her a minute to say goodbye.”

Narrator 3: Lark has found her motorcycle. It’s a sort-of motorcycle, even more sort-of now, after the whole, well, tearror, but

Narrator 2: the important thing is it looks like it might still run,

Narrator 1: and speaking of things running, or well maybe more like slowly loping in this case, there is a certain someone coming up the road behind her.

[the panting of a dog arrives on the scene]

Narrator 2: The upwelling of emotion that Lark feels at Landlord’s sudden-yet-casual reappearance is manifested only in a little scratch on the head, a little ruffle of the ears. Honestly, this is an embarrassing outpouring of intimacy coming from Lark.

Narrator 3: But he’s a good boy!

Narrator 2: Oh, he’s such a good boy! And in his own way, he is as clearly happy to see Lark as she is to see him. They’re just a couple of old codgers that can’t really figure out how to express their emotions properly.

Narrator 3: On top of this, the knowledge that Sherman is still alive is gnawing at Lark.

Narrator 2: She violently hauls wreckage off of her bike, throwing all her energy into this physical task, so that she doesn’t have to think as much.

Narrator 3: This return to Midst, this return to the scene of the crime, where she thought she saw Sherman die. That finality had felt like a vice around her heart. But something that was familiar, too.

Narrator 2: Easy. It meant she could run without looking back, close this chapter of her life and move on to the next one. But what is she supposed to do now?

Narrator 3: Leave Sherman’s rescue to Phineas? That kid is so transparently obsessed with his own absolution, he could very well make things so much worse.

Narrator 2: He won’t be thinking clearly. Who’s to say he won’t go crawling back to the Trust as soon as they offer him a drop of Valor? And at the same time, making matters worse, her paranoia is going crazy, and she’s no longer certain if it’s her own, or if it’s this web that the Grandmother said she was connected to, the network of consciousness coming from the Fold, feeding her probability data. It’s telling her to go. It’s telling her the walls are closing in, but — and this is the weird part — it feels like it’s pulling her in an unexpected direction. Her mind is just in total turmoil. She’ll drive back out to her cabin, see what’s left of it, and look for her old ship, if it hasn’t been totally destroyed by the tearror and then… what?

Narrator 3: All of these thoughts are coming rapid-fire through her mind. The one thing she knows in her bones is that she won’t be safe on Midst, or anywhere else she would normally choose to run.

Narrator 2: It feels kind of like a huge searchlight is about to shine down on all her shadowy hiding places, exposing her, exposing everything. How can you hide from something like that? This is like the feeling she had before the Consector’s ship came to Midst but a hundred times worse. Something is about to happen. Something big.

Narrator 3: She can’t tell her own feelings apart from the vibrations of the web, from the impulses coming from the Fold inside of her. What is real? What should she listen to?

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Lark, wait!”

Narrator 3: Tzila cries out,

Narrator 1: rushing up the hill towards her.

Narrator 2: Lark doesn’t even look at her. She pulls her bike upright, plaster and dust showering off of it.

Narrator 1: Landlord snuffles at Tzila’s feet as she skids to a halt nearby, taking stock of what Lark is doing, seeing that she clearly intends to run away again.

Narrator 2: Lark dusts the seat off. [Lark]: “Now that you’re back home and have Saskia to take care of you, you don’t need me anymore. I’m leaving.”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “No, I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you!”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “But we have to do something! Please take me with you. Let me go save my d— I just want to save my dad!”

Narrator 3: Lark whips her attention from the bike to Tzila, affixing her with the same stare she gave her in the meditation maze at the Lazaretto: the crone, glaring admonishingly at the child.

Narrator 2: (Lark) [angrily, desperately] “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re wrong about me. I’m scared. I’m old. I’m alone. I have no one. No family. No friends. I’ve been running my whole life and now I’m an old woman and I’m not STRONG enough to help Sherman.”

Narrator 1: This display of emotion from Lark is startling. Tzila blinks, takes a step back, almost falling.

Narrator 2: It’s scary.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) [through tears] “No friends? What about my dad, what about me? Aren’t WE your friends? Lark?”

Narrator 2: Lark thinks about this. She realizes that, despite her best efforts to the contrary… She HAS made friends. She stayed on Midst too long, and she put down roots without meaning to. She accidentally made a home.

Narrator 3: She had started to enjoy the scenery, the long drive into town, the red rocks, the green plants, the sound of the insects, the way that the town glimmers on the hill with that gentle light during Fold. She got to know some of the townspeople, every last one of them a transplant from someplace else, all trying to start over in some way — like her.

Narrator 2: She developed a routine. She served tea to guests. She let a DOG move in with her, for fuck’s sake. ALL the things she knew she should never do if she wanted to survive. And at some point during all of that, when she was supposed to be living out her days in total obscurity… she started to CARE about this place and these people, and the worst thing is, some of these people started to care about her, too.

Narrator 3: Goddammit Lark, you had ONE job. She should have left the same day Fuze moved in. That was the beginning of the end, she just couldn’t admit it to herself at the time — she was already too attached to the life that she’d built here, unwilling to give it up at the first sign of trouble, even when it was right in front of her.

Narrator 2: The day they saw each other in town for the first time, they made an instantaneous, unspoken promise to never acknowledge each other, and that arrangement seemed to work for a long time. Fuze always seemed content to pretend that he didn’t recognize her. He was comfortably retired, he wasn’t after Valor anymore, and he just wanted to live out his sunset years in peace, like her.

Narrator 3: But then the Trust set up shop, the Prime Consector came to town, and Lark KNEW that Fuze would crack under the pressure, turn her in, rather than risk being judged as complicit if she were found out. And STILL, instead of running like she should have, she had been willing to kill him, all so that she could live here on Midst a little while longer.

Narrator 2: Her time is up now. She can feel it. It seems like the whole Fold is ringing with it. It’s practically deafening to her. The Trust is going to come looking, and anyone who cares enough to protect her is going to be in danger.

Narrator 3: Lark looks at Tzila, who is now almost the same age Lark had been when she destroyed her own life,

Narrator 1: when she murdered Maximilian Loxlee.

Narrator 3: And she suddenly realizes exactly what she needs to do.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “We are not friends.”

Narrator 1: She towers over Tzila, absolutely terrifying.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “And since you seem to be having trouble grasping that, let me prove it to you. Remember Fuze? I know you liked him. Nice old guy. I murdered him.”

Narrator 1: Tzila is backing away from Lark, her eyes widening, starting to shake her head. [Tzila]: “No… Lark, what are you saying? Why—?”

Narrator 2: Lark takes a step closer to her. [Lark]: “Does it matter why? He got in my way. And now, you’re getting in my way. So listen to me, Tzila. You don’t want to come with me. I’m as bad as Phineas. Worse. He regrets what he did. I don’t. I would do it again.”

Narrator 1: Angry tears are streaming down Tzila’s face.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Stay with Saskia. I’m leaving, and you’re never going to see me again.”

Narrator 1: Tzila is shaking, her fists clenched. [Tzila:] “What about my dad, Lark!? What about my dad!? You’re just gonna leave it up to Phineas!?”

Narrator 3: She wants to tell Tzila that she’s going to try her best. But she doesn’t know how good her best is. She wants to tell Tzila that if she and her dad can just have a boring regular life after all this, then maybe Lark’s trainwreck of a life will almost have been worth it. But this is also the first unselfish impulse she has had in literal decades, and she has no idea how to act. And she’s terrified that if she thinks about it too closely, well… All she says is,

Narrator 2: (Lark) “It’s none of your business what I do. It never was.”

[Lark’s motorcycle revs.]

Narrator 3: And Lark, always one with a flair for the dramatic, gets on her bike,

Narrator 1: which mercifully still works,

Narrator 3: and she rides off, Landlord loping behind.

Narrator 2: And Tzila stands on the hill, heartbroken, watching Lark go, and does not follow.

[the scene shifts to an industrial tone]

Narrator 2: Down in the shipyard, Phineas is helping the Baron Kozma Laszlo prepare her unship for departure. “Helping” her is maybe a bit rich — she is bossing him around like he’s already signed a contract of employment with her,

Narrator 1: something that he definitely has not done or agreed to yet, though it does feel good to be useful again for a change.

Narrator 2: Can’t deny that.

Narrator 3: It’s something he has been battling all season, you guys.

Narrator 2: It’s sort of his theme.

Narrator 3: And as Phineas busies himself with these tasks given by Kozma, an unusual motorcycle slows to a stop.

Narrator 2: Landlord isn’t far behind. He comes bounding into the shipyard after her and shakes his head, his ears flapping noisily.

Narrator 1: He ambles over to Lark as she dismounts the motorcycle.

Narrator 3: She bends down and puts her hand on Landlord’s head.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Take care of that girl for me, okay?”

Narrator 3: And Landlord puts up with it with a kind of resigned tiredness.

Narrator 1: He has been used from time to time, though rarely, as a friend.

[Dog whines]

Narrator 3: Landlord says.

Narrator 2: Laszlo, through a loudspeaker installed in her new unship, blares: [Kozma]: “All aboard. We have a schedule to keep.”

Narrator 1: Lark prowls across the shipyard looking around her at Kozma Laszlo’s ship, at Phineas, who looks back at her with some surprise.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “What are you doing here?”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Are you still going to the Highest Light to find Sherman? Is that your plan?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “It is. I am.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Good. I’m coming with you.”

[The scene transitions one final time, to somewhere we’ve been before.]

Narrator 1: Imelda Goldfinch is standing at a door.

Narrator 3: Her hair is freshly curled, her abacus gleaming, her notary’s raiments formal and immaculate.

Narrator 2: Beyond the door, eagerly awaiting her, is pretty much the entire Upper Trust — the most Valorous and elite officers of the Un — assembled for a private audience of grave import.

Narrator 1: But on this side of the door, it’s just Imelda, and also… a monster.

Narrator 3: Imelda places a hand on the door and turns to the monster, beaming.

Narrator 2: (as Imelda) “Now,” she says, “let’s have a nice big smile!”’ And she opens the door.

Narrator 2: A horrified silence falls over the entire council, as all eyes turn to behold the newcomers.

Narrator 3: Senior Notary Milton Fleit stands from his chair, but almost loses his balance. He grips the balustrade beside him as he gazes on.

Narrator 2: Imogen Loxlee gasps behind a hand.

Narrator 3: Jonas Spahr looks on with grim, guilty dismay.

Narrator 2: The monster, for his part, stands before the Upper Trust, beaming beatifically while Imelda looks on proudly.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) [gravelly, gravely, more grimly than we’ve ever heard before] “Hello everyone. I have identified a solution to our predicament.”

Narrator 2: Let’s… look at Moc Weepe, shall we?

Narrator 3: Must we?

Narrator 1: So, we’re really sorry to have to tell you this, but the strikingly, incredibly, wonderfully, handsome man that you may remember… is gone.

Narrator 2: His skin, once opaque and iridescent, now has the translucent pallor of a moist spring roll wrapper, beneath which can be seen the inky stain of his fold-riddled veins, and the deep pulsing of his internal organs.

Narrator 1: Clearly visible through his lips and cheeks, his toothy smile, even with his mouth closed.

Narrator 2: The whites of his eyes consumed at the edges by the reaching branches of fold.

Narrator 3: Through his bald forehead and the semitransparent frosted glass of his skull, it is even possible to make out the grayish wrinkly pink of his brain, stained with dendritic patches of black, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Narrator 1: His translucent innards pulse and seethe with slithering, maggot-like darkness.

Narrator 2: Sorry if this is TMI. It’s kind of TMI for everybody here seeing this right now.

Narrator 3: You were probably wondering what the hell happened to him anyway.

Narrator 2: Despite this gruesome appearance, he looks kinda happy.

Narrator 3: He’s holding himself in a new way. He was always self-assured, but,

Narrator 1: well, it looks like he’s never felt better.

Narrator 2: Gone is the slight slouch of his shoulders,

Narrator 3: the sort of apologetic stance for his spidery nature.

Narrator 1: He stands horribly and joyfully before the Upper Trust,

Narrator 2: dressed in the most glorious vestments.

Narrator 3: Imelda probably dug these clothes out of a sanctified wardrobe somewhere, but WOW he wears them well.

Narrator 2: The assembly is shocked and awed at his condition. All they knew was that he had been missing for a few days, ‘taken ill’ someone had said, and seeing him now is…

Narrator 1: [shudders]

Narrator 2: [shudders]

Narrator 3: [shudders]

Narrator 2: On the other hand,

Narrator 3: Imelda is so proud, almost reverent. Tearful, even. She looks the part of the proud parent, her hands clasped, beaming at Weepe as he gives this pronouncement.

Narrator 2: She looks more than happy to let Weepe take center stage. She trusts him implicitly, now.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “She was known as Clara Mire when she murdered Maximilian Loxlee, Most Valorous in All the Trust, 50 years ago, incurring upon herself the greatest debt of Caenum the Trust has ever recorded. Mire has eluded capture for decades, but no wrongdoing can hide forever from the light of the Trust.”

Narrator 2: Weepe has the Upper Trust’s full attention.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Fuze Peabody knew Mire’s villainous deeds and whereabouts, and she killed him too before he could expose her to us. But not before Fuze confided in Sherman Guthrie… and Guthrie has now confided in me — a Valorous act, for which he has been suitably compensated. Thanks to Guthrie’s insight, his familiarity with the murderer, having gone astray in Breach and now returned to the Highest Light himself, we now know where Mire lives. We know with whom she associates. We know her current description… and her new alias. She will not evade us now. This holy task takes precedence above all others: a nearly inconceivable wealth of Valor that has been lost to the Trust for decades will finally be restored with Clara Mire’s reclamation.”

Narrator 2: With Imelda watching with great passion and excitement, and the members of the Upper Trust spellbound,

Narrator 3: Weepe raises his hands invitingly, his pulse ticking in the palm of each translucent hand.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Mobilize our entire fleet, and all branches of the Consectorship and Company to locate Loxlee’s murderer, and restore the Trust to equilibrium by eliminating our single greatest imbalance — Lark.”