Narrator 2: The Consector’s flagship is headed toward the Light.

[Rhythmic whooshing.]

Narrator 3: The Highest Light, in fact: the capital city of the Un. You’ve been there before.

Narrator 2: They have left the poor doomed islet of Midst far behind, no longer visible somewhere beneath them, below layers of cloud and glittering fields of mica.

Narrator 1: The ship swooshes unward, its oars fanning through the air as it races at a goodly speed back towards the city, still far distant, but they’re well on their way.

Narrator 2: They are making haste. There’s a whole economy they have to save… and people too!

Narrator 3: Speaking of people… Below decks, the entire Company —

Narrator 2: Well, the entire Company minus some guy. They left some guy on Midst.

Narrator 3: Oh, that’s right.

Narrator 2: Yeah.

Narrator 3: Well, besides the Company, they’ve managed to transport virtually all of the individuals who had set up Trust accounts,

Narrator 2: all the new Trustees from Midst, or most of them anyway, a good number of them, safely aboard the flagship,

Narrator 1: being borne away to safety.

[Sounds of a crowd, of indistinct conversation.]

Narrator 2: They’re all pretty upset of course, in spite of being rescued.

Narrator 1: It’s been a really, really bad day.

Narrator 2: Many of them are missing family members or friends — they don’t know if they managed to escape, or what ship they went on, or if they’re ever going to see them again. And of course, plenty of them are pretty attached to the physical location of Midst as well, and who knows what’s going to happen to THAT. They can’t see it anymore. It’s gone from view. And for the time being, they have to put it out of their mind as well.

Narrator 1: It’s really hard to get a straight answer from the members of the Trust about what’s going on, why the moon fell out of the sky, what’s going to happen next, what’s going to happen to the money that everybody converted into Valor, what’s going to happen with that Valor now that Valor doesn’t really mean much of anything anymore, because the imminent annihilation of Midst has provoked some kind of economic disaster… It’s really a very strange situation. There’s a lot of yelling going on.

Narrator 2: The official Trust line seems to be “It’s fine, and don’t worry about it.”

Narrator 1: Consector Jonas Spahr, here in the main deck of his vessel amongst the people, is doing his very best right now to spread that very word.

Narrator 2: He is having just as bad of a day as anyone else. But it’s part of his job to be a shining beacon of confidence and positivity for those around him.

Narrator 3: (as Spahr) “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay,” he keeps telling people.

Narrator 2: He makes his way amongst the Midst refugees on the ship, comforting people where he can, helping out where needed in small ways.

Narrator 3: Spahr is finding blankets, passing out emergency rations, getting water for those in need,

Narrator 2: and most importantly, showing everyone that everything is going to be okay, through his manner, through his bearing. It doesn’t matter what’s going on inside his head. No one needs to see that. But, WE can — we can, and it’s bad in there. It doesn’t look so good.

Narrator 1: And it starts to look a whole lot worse as the door is at one end of the deck open and Imelda Goldfinch, Notary Imelda Goldfinch, strolls hurriedly through the deck, her arms full of paperwork.

Narrator 2: (as Imelda) “Coming through, coming through, oh, out of the way please, just gonna scootch past you here!”

Narrator 1: There’s a sudden commotion of people calling out to Imelda for answers.

Narrator 1: (as unidentified refugee) “Madam Notary, please, can you tell us what’s going to happen to —”

Narrator 2: (as unidentified refugee) “Miss Goldfinch, can I have a moment of your time, please?”

Narrator 1: Imelda doesn’t have time. She’s hurrying on her way through now to the bridge.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Please direct all your questions to the Company and the Consector for the time being, please. Thank you!”

Narrator 3: And that is something that Jonas Spahr does not agree with.

Narrator 2: Gently disentangling himself from the current group of distressed evacuees, he straightens up and makes a purposeful pursuit of Madam Goldfinch,

Narrator 1: watched closely from one side of the deck by a pair of featureless opalescent eyes that follow his departure.

Narrator 2: Spahr walks as fast as he can, without breaking into an outright run, after the notary. Mustn’t appear panicked, after all.

Narrator 1: He catches up to her in a hallway about halfway down the ship,

Narrator 2: a relatively private area of the ship with no one in earshot.

Narrator 1: Visibly, at least.

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “Imelda, a word.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Consector! Of course, I always have a moment for you.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “This is a graphic situation, Madam Notary, and we have to figure out what we are going to be doing about it, because just saying ‘Oh, it’ll be okay’ and putting a band-aid on it isn’t solving the issue.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, I couldn’t agree more, Consector!”

Narrator 1: Spahr stops Imelda in the middle of the corridor, turning her to face him. [as Spahr:] “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Madam Notary. People are spreading wild theories about what happened to the moon, and it’s not helping anything. We need to get to the bottom of this and make a clear statement. It can’t be a coincidence that the moon fell when it did.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “This is no time to be jumping to conclusions and sowing panic. It doesn’t really matter WHY it happened. It happened, and we must deal with it the best we can.”

Narrator 1: Spahr grits his teeth.

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “We have to think of something and quickly, Madam Notary. Pom is hounding me for a statement. The last thing anyone heard on the teletheric was ‘Oh, the humanity, Midst is besieged by this natural disaster,’ and then the airlines went dead, so…”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “That is true, that’s something that needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Pom has a well-known propensity for exaggeration. So what do you propose, Consector? I’m all ears. Please, regale me with your plans.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “For one thing, I would insist that you desist from ordering my Company out on frivolous raids and unnecessary actions that have not been approved by myself or the other higher-ups of the Company. You did not need to send Phineas to a cabaret, for instance, to cause collateral damage in an already-delicate circumstance.”

Narrator 2: Imelda’s eyes light up with a strangely gleeful adversarial light for just a moment. Clearly, she was a menace in debate club.

Narrator 1: (Imelda) “Consector, I in no way instructed your Adsecla to harm anyone, that was purely his own decision. And I must say that Phineas’s behavior, such as it was, is surely due to his training… at the hands of his supervisor.”

Narrator 2: Spahr can’t show it, but every mention of Phineas’s name, every time Phineas crosses his mind, sends a stab of… some potent mixture of guilt and anger and worry through his mind. He didn’t WANT to leave Phineas behind. If Phineas hadn’t rushed off like a man possessed at the last moment, he would have gone against Imelda’s wishes and brought him back with them on the ship. Who knows what’s going to happen to him down there on Midst, now that— he can’t, he can’t think about that. He feels furious with Phineas for what he did, and also angry at himself for not… teaching him better? For not being a better example for him?

Narrator 1: For not addressing the signs much, much earlier.

Narrator 2: For not NOTICING the signs. For him to have done something like that, there had to have been something going on inside his mind that Spahr just hadn’t seen or hadn’t wanted to see.

Narrator 1: He wants very badly to blame Imelda for the cabaret disaster.

Narrator 2: He does not feel Valorous in this moment, and it’s not something that can be quantified, and that makes him extremely uncomfortable.

Narrator 3: Imelda senses Spahr’s hesitation, and brightly interrupts,

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “I would advise putting Phineas out of your mind entirely right now. As far as the Trust is concerned, he is no longer a factor. We need to move on from that unpleasant incident.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “No, I don’t think so, Madam Notary. Phineas grievously wounded a member of the cabaret staff, a man we suspect to be an important lead in a highly significant and sensitive crime.”

Narrator 1: Imelda doesn’t even blink as Spahr steps closer to her, looming. [Spahr:] “And another probable lead, Fuze? He’s in our morgue as we speak, Madam Notary, possibly poisoned, according to my surgeon’s examination. None of this was part of the Midst assignment, it SHOULDN’T have been.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Additional duties as assigned, Consector.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “Duties are one thing. Dead men and bludgeoned witnesses are something else. And speaking of Sherman Guthrie, he is barely stable after being on life support, Madam Notary. We’ve stabilized him, but it should never have gotten that far in the first place. And it wouldn’t have if you hadn’t sent Phineas.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Consector, are you saying that I may not rely on all members of your Company with absolute confidence?”

Narrator 1: Spahr is one of those people for whom fear manifests as anger. He’s struggling to maintain his composure, aware that everything he says is being recorded in some way and will be reported. So he’s doing his very, very best to keep himself under control, to keep his rage under control. But it’s not really rage. It is deep fear — that what he has done, what he is allowed to let happen, and what he here in this moment has absolutely no idea how to fix, and what he is not about to concede, not for one second, to a mere notary of all people — is clearly, predominantly, his own fucking fault. The refrain “Do not show weakness” is not Phineas’s alone. Spahr has received this directive himself, more than once, as well. Imelda turns her full attention to Spahr, lowering her armful of papers.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “If I recall the work order correctly, you were assigned to assist ME. That has not changed. You are an instrument of the Trust’s will, and it is my great honor to interpret the Trust’s will. I believe there will only be further devastating repercussions if we don’t put our best foot forward and show the people that we have this under control. Our number-one priority is the preservation of the Trust and the control of the situation. Now, I need to know that you’re with me, Consector, and the PEOPLE need to know that they can trust the Trust.”

Narrator 1: (as unidentified speaker) “Imelda, I could not possibly agree more with that sentiment.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, Mr. Weepe, I didn’t see you there!”

[Weepe’s musical theme begins.]

Narrator 1: Unfolding himself from a shadowy corner of the corridor, Mr. Weepe spiders his way over to Imelda and Spahr,

Narrator 2: who both turn in surprise to see him there.

Narrator 3: Let’s take a look at this guy. It’s been a little while. He is still dusty, still keeping hold of his medical case. But even with his conspiratorial slouchiness, he stands there before Imelda and Jonas, even taller than the Prime Consector, regarding them here in this corridor.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping on you, but I could not help but be curious about the nature of this conversation.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “It’s none of your business, sir.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, I beg to differ, Mr. Consector. Imelda, I have a few questions for you in support of the Consector’s inquiry, if you don’t mind.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, of course! And don’t forget, Consector, as I told you back on Midst, Mr. Weepe IS the newest member of the Upper Trust.” [light chuckle]

Narrator 1: Weepe’s non-existent eyebrows shoot WAY up his head. [Weepe:] “I am?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh my goodness! In all the commotion, I completely forgot to inform you! Congratulations!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “But I thought we just lost all of our money, wasn’t that the whole—”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “So in fact, Consector, Mr. Weepe will be having a great deal to do with the administration and—”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “What the fuck, you’re serious.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Yes, of course, that is one of not only the privileges, but the solemn duties of those in the Upper Trust, the most Valorous in our society.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, I was not aware of this, um, hmm!”

Narrator 2: He realizes he is now a member of the nouveau riche.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Imelda, I was gonna inquire with you about a particular detail that I think… has yet to be resolved.”

Narrator 2: Spahr is looking back and forth in confusion. He’s surrounded with a million problems, people needing help, people dealing with REAL issues, and… [sigh] Imelda just doesn’t want to hear any of it.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I just wanna lend my support to, um, Mr. Consector here, Imelda. I seem to have a recollection that you were not going to raid my establishment… until I was not present… there, and uh, somehow that did not take place.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, that was certainly the intention, Mr. Weepe, but after all, I don’t know where you are every moment of every day! Oh, but I’m so glad that you happened along here, because in fact, we could very much use your help, precisely because you ARE an important member of the Black Candle cabaret. Were? Are? Well, that’s all yet to be determined, we’ll see what happens to it. Your help in communicating to the press the TRUE nature of what went on would be most helpful. That is, a bit of… unsavory, non-Trust-sanctioned activity, having nothing to do with anyone who is any longer a current Trustee. There’s no need to belabor the point any more than that.”

Narrator 1: Weepe and Spahr exchange a strained look.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Now, gentlemen, Consector Spahr, Mr. Weepe, come along. We’re all going to speak to the media, and we’re going to tell the people what the people need to hear.”