Narrator 1: Welcome to the Grand Penthouse of the Delagney Hotel here in the capital city of the Un, the Highest Light. If you thought Weepe’s accomodations here at this hotel were pretty lavish, check THIS out! It is here among these most opulent trappings, here in these sublime accommodations, that Sherman Guthrie is prowling to and fro like a caged animal, one question and one question alone on his mind:

Narrator 3: “Where is my daughter?”

Narrator 2: The last thing Sherman remembers clearly is the Adsecla’s gauntlet colliding with the side of his head during the raid on the Black Candle Cabaret.

Narrator 3: This followed by a (bleary at best) montage of rooms, doctors, attendants…

Narrator 2: It seems that he has been fixed up. His head doesn’t really hurt anymore. He can stand up without feeling faint. Some lingering soreness, to be certain, but his wounds have been tended to, although no one has really spoken to him or given him information as to why he’s here in the Delagney Hotel… where he used to work before he came to Midst. Before he… breached… and escaped the Trust. And this is one of their best rooms, too.

Narrator 1: Indeed, this is THE penthouse of THE hotel, one of the finest chambers in all of the Un — all to himself. Very kind of his captors.

Narrator 2: He knows that Company soldiers are outside his door. Pleasant enough, but very firm in their insistence that he stay where he is… at least for the time being. He’s been told that “soon” someone will come to speak with him. “Soon” his questions and concerns will be addressed.

Narrator 3: But in the meantime, he is feeling worry. He is feeling fear.

Narrator 2: And he’s feeling very, very confused. He assumes that he and the other Breached individuals at the Black Candle have all been arrested. And here he is: arrested, being held in the finest penthouse the Delagney Hotel has to offer.

Narrator 1: The Un’s finest prison.

[Knocking at the door.]

Narrator 2: There comes a knock at the door and he… he has been ready for this for ages already. His nerves are frayed, ready to snap. And in through the door comes Prime Consector Jonas Spahr.

Narrator 1: Alone. Dressed in somewhat more informal attire, his gleaming armor nowhere to be seen.

Narrator 2: Sherman is on his feet at once, wary.

Narrator 1: (as Jonas Spahr) “Mr. Guthrie. Please, at ease.” Spahr enters the penthouse, coming towards Sherman, raising a hand…

Narrator 2: …placatingly…

Narrator 1: (continued) …his expression one of concern. He does not seem threatening. He does not seem upset, but his presence here is not a good thing. This is THE Prime Consector of the Trust, which cannot be good news.

Narrator 2: Sherman knows that even though he is in Breach with the Trust, he’s hardly the Trust’s number-one wanted individual for any reason. Why is the Prime Consector here wanting to speak with HIM?

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “First things first: Sherm — may I call you Sherman?”

Narrator 2: (as Sherman Guthrie) “Uh… yes, Consector…?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “How are you feeling?”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Where’s my daughter, please? Can we talk about that?”

Narrator 1: Spahr gestures to an armchair here inside of the bay windows looking out over the city. [Spahr:] “An understandable question, Sherman, and one I’m happy to speak with you about. Please have a seat.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “If it’s alright, I… I don’t want to sit down. Please, can you just tell me: is my daughter ok?”

Narrator 1: Spahr sighs heavily, sinking into a chair, crossing one ankle over a knee, looking up at Sherman thoughtfully. Seriously. [Spahr:] “The short answer to that, Sherman, is we don’t know. Your daughter, Tzila, I personally last saw when she disembarked from my ship on the islet of Midst.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “She… she was on your ship?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Your daughter participated in an investigation connected to the murder of Francis Peabody. ‘Fuze,’ I believe was his local nickname. We spoke with her aboard my ship. She aided us in locating Fuze’s body.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “You… y… you interrogated Tzila in regards to THAT? What… what could a child have had to do with that?”

Narrator 1: Spahr, seated in his chair, still relaxed, raises a placating hand, carefully, slowly. [Spahr:] “Very little as it turned out, Sherman. I’ll have you know we released her almost immediately when it was apparent she had no details about the case. As to her current whereabouts, she is most likely located on Midst… though I cannot say for sure.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “And why am I not located on Midst, Consector?”

Narrator 1: Now this is a very good question, and one that Spahr is equipped to answer relatively seamlessly. He stands from his chair. [Spahr:] “Sherman, you’re being retained here because we believe you may have very valuable information pertaining to this case.” Spahr begins to pace before the window. “Our first inquiries with you with regard to this case… were… grossly mishandled… by my Adsecla.”

Narrator 2: Sherman bites his tongue.

Narrator 1: (Spahr, continued) “And you are here in the Light because we could not stay on Midst due to its… recent devastation.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “…Excuse me?”

Narrator 1: Spahr’s eyebrows raise slowly. “No one has informed you… about the fate of Midst?”

[A beat of silence. Dawning fear.]

Narrator 1: Sherman’s terribly haunted expression says it all.

Narrator 3: Spahr does his best to fill the gaps in Sherman’s memory. His most recent memories of Midst were brutal and quickly faded to black because of the treatment he received at the hands of Phineas Thatch… and Spahr does his best to explain the unthinkable disaster that is currently wrapped around that islet that they flew so hastily away from.

Narrator 2: Sherman is just watching the Consector, dumbfounded. Not only has he been removed from his home, not only is his daughter missing, but… Midst is now apparently in the grip of some unthinkable tearror?

Narrator 1: This is one hell of a bad day.

Narrator 3: And as Spahr draws to a close with his recap, he alights on the following facts. [Spahr:] “In essence, Mr. Guthrie, Midst is as of this moment not a safe location. We made the decision to evacuate, taking you with us, and the whole original reason for the Trust going there has been rendered more or less obsolete… at least for the moment.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “And… my daughter is still there?” Sherman presses him.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Not necessarily. Many ships escaped from Midst. It is highly probable that your daughter was aboard one of them.”

Narrator 2: In the chaotic swirl of panic and shock and new information in Sherman’s mind, he alights on one fact and clings to it as his sole beacon of hope: as far as he knows, Tzila was with Lark. And if there’s one thing he knows about Lark, whatever else may be true about her in light of recent events, she is a SURVIVOR.

Narrator 3: And Tzila must be, too, if she herself was under guard by the Company, being interrogated. And they let her go. She clearly gave them what they wanted and nothing more.

Narrator 2: For now, it is clearly out of his hands, and all he can do is… heh… TRUST that he has raised his daughter right and prepared her for chaotic situations, and that his trust in Lark is not misplaced. At this point, Sherman thinks maybe he will sit down. He takes a few steadying breaths.

Narrator 1: Spahr sits as well.

Narrator 2: Sherman realizes, even in all his emotional shock, that his best chance for survival right now and his best way to help Tzila wherever she is, whatever her situation is… is to cooperate with the Trust and with the Consector right now.

Narrator 3: Spahr is doing his best ‘good cop’ training: he is mirroring Sherman’s body language, he is sitting down opposite him, he’s not staring unflinchingly into his eyes, but he is giving him attention. He’s being attentive. He’s being empathetic.

Narrator 2: Sherman recognizes all these moves.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Mr. Guthrie, I’ll be candid with you: information pertaining to a 50-year-old cold case was not what we were looking for when we arrived on Midst in the first place. We were neither expecting it nor seeking it, and I sincerely apologize that you were caught up in the crossfire of all of this. Nevertheless, I’ll be clear: we have reason to believe that you possess information about an individual we are seeking. Possibly you don’t understand the importance of the information you hold… or its significance. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Sherman?”

Narrator 2: Sherman sighs and sinks back into the seat. [Sherman:] “All right. What would you like to know?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “First of all, if you don’t mind, please tell me about recent events at your bar on Midst. The Black Candle Cabaret. What took place there with Phineas Thatch and yourself?”

Narrator 2: Sherman considers how to answer for a moment. [Sherman:] “The Adsecla, uh… he wanted information about… Fuze’s murderer. Information that he seemed to think I had. Which I don’t. But he seemed desperate and he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and… well, I believe you saw how that turned out.”

Narrator 1: Sherman is in a tricky spot here.

Narrator 2: The truth is, Sherman DOESN’T know anything… for sure. All he has is a horrible, sinking suspicion. And he doesn’t want to give up Lark on a mere suspicion.

Narrator 3: You might remember the night Fuze, the nicest guy in Stationary Hill, opened up to Sherman about Lark. About Tzila’s babysitter. That rictus smile and his uncomfortable laugh still echo in Sherman’s memory.

Narrator 2: All Sherman really knows is that Fuze thought Lark was going to kill him… and then Fuze died. But Sherman doesn’t KNOW. He technically does not know any facts… and that is the truth he’s going to cling to for now.

Narrator 1: Spahr is watching. Listening. [Spahr:] “You do NOT know… who might have killed Fuze?”

[A beat.]

Narrator 1: Sherman looks Spahr dead in the eyes.

[Another beat.]

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “No.”

[Yet another beat.]

Narrator 1: Spahr… doesn’t… blink.

[Extreme tension. Silence.]

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Very well, Sherman, if you say so. I’ll take you at your word. But I would still like to understand what happened at the cabaret. Can you tell me, please, a little more about what occurred during this encounter? The manner of your interrogation was not sanctioned by the Trust or my team or authorized by me in any way… and we would like to determine how this happened. You may speak freely and with indemnity, and I want you to know that the Adsecla responsible for your treatment has been discharged from service.”

Narrator 3: This pains Spahr to say. The last time that we were hanging out with him, he was feeling a desire to put Phineas through the paces — to figure out what went wrong and use this as a development opportunity.

Narrator 2: He hadn’t been ready to give up on Phineas, but… well, he had his orders.

Narrator 1: And the secret fact here, which Sherman certainly does not need to know, and which is not entirely true, is that Phineas has NOT been fully or effectively discharged from service. They just don’t know where he is and are looking forward to firing him if and when they ever see him again.

Narrator 2: Yeah, ‘discharged from service’ is a pretty official way of saying ‘uh, we just left him, uh, as we were running for our lives.’

Narrator 1: There’s more to the story, but this will suffice for now.

Narrator 2: (as Sherman) “Well, since you asked, Consector,”

Narrator 1: Sherman says,

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “there actually was a moment that I can remember when it distinctly went from bad to worse. And it was when YOU walked in. It was when YOU came through the doors of the cabaret and the Adsecla turned and he saw you and…”

Narrator 1: Spahr… is beginning to feel… a growing… icy… cold… coming over him.

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “I don’t know, it was almost like he was afraid of you, he was trying to impress you. Or he thought that this was what you wanted to see.”

Narrator 3: Do not show weakness.

Narrator 2: Spahr is rattled by this. Sherman doesn’t see any of that. He sees the charismatic, implacable, professional face of the Consector… but we’re giving you a little peek inside, and it’s, uh, it’s a little messy at the moment. Spahr doesn’t like hearing that.

Narrator 1: So he changes the subject. [Spahr:] “Thank you, Sherman. Thank you for telling me about this. I appreciate your honesty, your clarity, and your insight. We will take action against Phineas Thatch. I can promise you that.” And Spahr stands from his chair and makes to leave, but then pauses, turning. “Sherman. Can I ask you something?”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Consector?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You’re clearly a very valorous man. In spirit, if not in terms of your account balance. I have had a look at your file. I understand the Delagney Hotel, here, was your former place of work whilst you were a citizen of the Highest Light, years ago. You were the hotel’s head bartender, were you not?”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “That is true.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You were an excellent employee. I spoke to the management downstairs. They recall you very fondly. Excellent with the guests. Terrific with other staff. The management here had nothing but high praise for you. You were extremely well-liked by all your customers. Why did you Breach? Why… did you leave?”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Why does anyone Breach, Consector?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I’ve heard many, many stories for why people do, Sherman. Why did you?”

Narrator 2: There’s a strange look in the Consector’s eyes, actually: a kind of slight drop in the professional façade. He seems to really be curious about the answer.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Why did you choose to leave a life of comfort, stability, and dignity here in the Highest Light, in exchange for a life of uncertainty, persecution, and — inevitably — endless pursuit? You must have known that we WOULD find you.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Endless pursuit… In some ways, Consector, it doesn’t feel that different. I, uh, don’t suppose that you have ever been below zero? You were probably born with Valor?”

Narrator 1: Spahr says nothing, only watching Sherman closely.

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “I… I don’t know if I can explain what it’s like to someone who has always had Valor. There’s just… there’s no rest. You can’t stop. It’s like… a monster that has your scent and is just coming for you, relentlessly, maybe not fast, but if you ever stop, it will catch up to you. I mean, you’re talking about how good this job was. Even with that, do you know how long it would have taken for me to break even?”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “That depends on a variety of factors. I can’t say I know.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Yeah, neither did I. And eventually I decided I just… I didn’t want that and I didn’t want that for my daughter and… if I was gonna spend my life running anyway, at least I would choose what to run from.”

Narrator 1: For the briefest moment, there is — could it be — a spark of understanding between them? A moment in which they are seeing eye-to-eye? Well, whatever it is, it’s fleeting, and then it’s gone. And Spahr is turning to go and Sherman feels his stomach drop.

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Please, Consector: I’ve been cooperative. I’ve answered your questions. I will continue to cooperate. Just, Tzila — is… is there anything that you can do? Please?”

Narrator 3: And Spahr regards Sherman. [Spahr:] “Mr. Guthrie, I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me today, and thank you for letting me have this opportunity to bring you up to speed on where things are at. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re a good guy and I want to do what I can to help out. So… I will launch an investigation of my own into all of the ships that we know departed Midst. We’ll see if we can get crew rosters, passenger lists. If I find Tzila, I will make sure you are reunited. You have my word on that.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Thank you, Consector.” Sherman knows that he has to content himself with that for now.

Narrator 1: Spahr turns to go. [Spahr:] “Mr. Guthrie, please feel free to avail yourself of the facilities around the hotel, and you are free to move about the city, though you will be chaperoned by a Company escort, of course. In the meantime, if you have any further insights or if you need anything from us, the front desk downstairs can connect you to our offices if you need to speak with us.”

Narrator 2: (Sherman) “Thank you. I guess.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “We will speak again soon.” And with that, Spahr departs.

Narrator 2: And let’s go with him. Let’s check in with how our ol’ Consector is feeling. In his line of work, of course, he has heard many a tearful tale about why people breached contract with the Trust. Why this and why that. But he’s not quite sure what unsettles him more: the amount of sense that Sherman seemed to be making, or the idea that Phineas’s actions were somehow HIS fault. Spahr’s fault. He’s grappling with an emotion he’s not really used to feeling.

Narrator 3: Doubt.

Narrator 1: And it’s a hard feeling to wrestle with as the Prime Consector of the Trust: a position that is, well, not very open to feelings like that.

Narrator 2: Hmm. Doubt in himself, specifically. But just with everything that’s happened in the last few days with Phineas and Midst and Sherman, he’s feeling off-balance.

Narrator 3: And Spahr comes back to himself.

Narrator 2: Standing there in the hallway outside the penthouse door with the Company soldiers standing at attention a little uncertainly, watching their superior officer. And it is at this moment that a figure rounds the corner in the hallway, crisp footsteps echoing on the hotel’s marble floor.

Narrator 1: A tall and handsome gentleman in a very fine suit bedecked with an extraordinary quantity of subdued but tasteful Valor. Hieronymous Loxlee.

Narrator 3: You remember him. This was one of the last people Phineas Thatch spoke to at that party all those weeks ago, was it?

Narrator 2: All the Company officers snap to attention, deferentially, respectfully.

Narrator 3: In the presence now of the second-most Valorous individual in the entirety of the Upper Trust.

Narrator 2: (as Hieronymous Loxlee) “Good day, Consector. Company.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Mr. Loxlee. What an unexpected honor. Very good to see you. What brings you here today?”

Narrator 2: (Loxlee) “I would like to speak with our guest, please.”

Narrator 1: Spahr and the Company members exchange quick glances.

Narrator 2: Mr. Loxlee smiles neutrally.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Uh, why… uh, yes, by all means. Allow us to escort you inside.”

Narrator 2: (Loxlee) “Oh, that won’t be necessary, thank you, Consector.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Mr. Guthrie is not to be visited by anyone without a chaperone. You must understand, of course, given the sensitive nature of his presence here.”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous Loxlee laughs quietly under his breath and turns to the Consector, blinking slowly. [Loxlee:] “Jonas…”

Narrator 1: And what are you supposed to do about that? When the second-most Valorous guy in the entire universe asks you for something… Spahr and the Company exchange one more glance: a conceding little nod of the head, a little shrug of the shoulders.

Narrator 2: Technically this shouldn’t be allowed. Technically this goes against every protocol in the book. But, um… these things do happen.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Five minutes? Is that enough time for you?” Spahr asks.

Narrator 2: (Loxlee) “Oh, I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “So be it,” Spahr says briskly, standing at attention. “I must be on my way, Mr. Loxlee, but Gretel here will keep an eye on things. Just notify her once you are ready to depart and she will see you out.”

Narrator 2: (Loxlee) “Will do. Thank you, Consector.” And Hieronymous Loxlee lets himself into this highly-secure and off-limits room where Sherman is being kept.

Narrator 3: And Spahr, feeling deeply unsettled now by this pull of rank…

Narrator 1: …by a great many things, really, to be fair…

Narrator 3: …he goes into the elevator. And the doors close. And he’s left with his thoughts.