[Awooga.]

Narrator 2: The bocular horse’s door hisses asunder, the boarding ramp extends, and five extravagantly dressed, fine and fabulous ladies disembark, Imelda Goldfinch leading the pack, beaming.

Narrator 1: Penny, Gertie and the rest of the gang have come to dine.

Narrator 2: Well, she goes by Gert.

Narrator 1: Oh, our mistake. We won’t make it again. There are three other fancy notaries here today as well: Lucille, Desiree, and who could forget Maeve? Of course. Maeve is here as well.

Narrator 3: It is a misty, rainy, late morning in the Highest Light. The ladies trot merrily up the manicured garden walk, handbags and notarial sashes sparkling. Laughter tinkles in the air, rain drums on the glass enclosure surrounding the upscale neighborhood.

Narrator 2: They’re carrying a variety of fun housewarming presents: wine, cupcakes, a potted plant,

Narrator 1: A jigsaw puzzle.

Narrator 2: Ooh! Imelda is saying, (Imelda) “Goodness, this is just so terribly exciting! I’m so pleased to be able to make this happen with all of you today.” She’s very jazzed.

Narrator 1: The ladies are effusively thankful to Imelda for inviting them. (Maeve) “Oh, I’m so nervous!” frets Maeve, wringing her hands, clutching her purse.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, it’ll be all right, darling.”

Narrator 3: Past a fountain, around a hyper-modern topiary, onto a sweeping front porch, the ladies arrive at the front door of a fashionable mansion. 

Narrator 1: Penny fixes her hat.

Narrator 2: Lucille fluffs her skirt.

Narrator 3: Imelda rearranges a curl and reaches for the doorbell.

Narrator 2: But before she can press it, the door swings wide of its own accord. And there in the foyer, dressed in ludicrous silks and microscopic unglasses, is Tripotentiary Moc Weepe, toothy skull grinning cheerfully at them from within his translucent, jellyfish-like head.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, hey there, ladies. I think perhaps if you’re not doing anything today, possibly you could come in and join me for a little brunch, whaddyasay?”

Narrator 2: Everyone is thrilled.

Narrator 3: And very polite about his see-through-ness.

Narrator 2: Which is frankly…

Narrator 3: Horrific.

Narrator 2: It’s… mmm.

Narrator 1: [laughing] Oh, no.

Narrator 2: His brain pulses gently, black veins slither and twitch.

Narrator 3: Luckily he’s pretty well covered by those vestments.

Narrator 1: Gruesome.

Narrator 2: Vestments, doing the good work.

Narrator 1: The ladies are introduced. Imelda has a good word for each of them.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Tripotentiary, this is Penny and Gert, we go way back, we were in school together.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Very nice to meet you both. How do you do?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “And this is Lucille, always the comedian of the office.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Lucille, I’m already smiling to make your acquaintance.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “This glamorous one here is Desiree, always showing the rest of us up with her trendy fashions.”

Narrator 3: (Desiree) “It’s just so nice to meet you, Tripotentiary!”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “And this — oh, come, come, step right up, darling, don’t be shy — this is Maeve, she’s a little bit nervous to meet the Tripotentiary. I told her she had nothing to be worried about, of course. She doesn’t KNOW you like I do.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well, y’all certainly in the right place. Why don’t you come inside? We got a beautiful little display ready for you.”

Narrator 2: And they are treated to a little walk-around of the new house. Uh, the HOUSE isn’t new.

Narrator 3: It’s new to Weepe.

Narrator 2: And none of the rest of them have ever been in here before. A number of specialized Company guards stand watch around the residence. They kind of resemble the standard Company officers, but they’re all wearing a more special, more fancy, more different uniform, implying their assignment to the new Tripotentiary Guard. They are specifically assigned to Weepe.

Narrator 3: In and around Weepe’s new home, movers are still heaving boxes to and fro.

Narrator 2: Taking a little bit in, taking a little bit out.

Narrator 3: Weepe shows off some of the exciting new renovations that they’ve been putting in. Mainly curtains, so many curtains, curtains all over the place.

Narrator 2: Other tasteful but quite opaque window treatments, darkening everything, dark glass lampshades. Delivery persons coming and going in a near constant train, bringing all kinds of extravagant, random stuff. It seems like the Tripotentiary has been hitting those catalogs pretty hard, ordering some things for his new home.

Narrator 1: Imelda and Penny and the gang gaze around themselves with great interest. This is amazing. This is like being in the White House or something. Wow, look at this place.

Narrator 3: Desiree pipes up, (Desiree) “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see the Consector’s mansion. What’s it like living here?”

Narrator 1: Weepe eyeballs the room as well, taking an interest — oh look, there’s a room here he hadn’t really noticed before. (Weepe) “Oh, mmm, it’s pretty neat so far, but I haven’t even lived here for one full day yet, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Narrator 2: Lucille pipes up, (Lucille) “Wow, you got rid of all of Jonas Spahr’s stuff so fast. Got it moved right out of here.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh yeah, that’s one of the benefits of having all this people to help me move in. And Spahr didn’t even really have all that much stuff to begin with.”

Narrator 2: Gert inquires seriously, (Gert) “With all your considerable Valor, might you ever consider getting your own private estate like the Loxlees?”

Narrator 1: Weepe stops on his trajectory to the dining room, turning to consider the question. He looks taken aback. He hadn’t really thought about that. (Weepe) “Hey, that’s a pretty good question, Gert. But what I gotta do is stay here in the center of it all so I can keep my finger on the pulse of the city.”

Narrator 2: The ink-black veins in his fingers pulsing.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “And besides, what would I do with a big old mansion? Not like I got a family that need the space. It’s just little old me, after all.”

Narrator 3: The tour progresses through one dining room and eventually to an inner parlor.

Narrator 2: Fewer windows here than the outer parlor,

Narrator 3: But this one full of many comfortable chairs, chez lounges, poufs, et cetera,

Narrator 1: Where a splendid brunch is being catered.

[Jaunty brunchtime music pipes up in the background.]

Narrator 2: The room is dimmed comfortably. The windows are blocked and Weepe is apologizing to everyone for keeping it so dark.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yeah, I really must for my health, but uh y’know I kinda like a darker climate anyway, so uh, this really more to my taste.”

Narrator 3: He’s even got some Loxlee lightbulbs going in a few lamps to keep things in that sort of familiar, pulsatingly-lit way. They brighten and dim calmingly.

Narrator 1: There is of course no Fold here, rendering these bulbs generally unnecessary, but—

Narrator 2: It’s about vibes.

Narrator 1: It’s about the feel, it’s not about the practicality.

Narrator 2: Pearlfruit mimosas are being freshly squozen and served to all as everyone settles down for an intimate and casual brunchtime hangout.

Narrator 1: Weepe drapes himself over in a plush armchair, and an attendant zooms over to his side to help hook him up to his now semi-permanent ichor-blood-siphoning device, this funny little pumping apparatus here next to his chair. Everyone is very polite about this, nobody says a damn word about that. [A mechanical rhythmic pumping noise begins. A liquid bubbling.] Ugh.

Narrator 2: Another attendant, yet another, brings Weepe a platter of tea sandwiches and little mini quiches garnished with herbs.

Narrator 1: They’re distributed amongst the guests, who begin to enjoy, vocally, complimenting the fare.

Narrator 2: They begin brunching.

Narrator 1: Weepe, nibbling on a pastry, gazes around the room at his guests. (Weepe) “Y’know, ah, as a Tripotentiary, I’m going to need a new right-hand buddy.” Everyone’s suddenly kind of at attention. (Weepe) “A sort of a top dog? A, ummm… what’s the word I’m looking for, a, uh… An arch… an Archauditor. Whaddaya think?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, the right word for what, Tripotentiary?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, y’know, somebody who really know the business. Somebody to help me manage a few things. Well, whoever they is, they would help me oversee all this other notaries, even Mr. Notary Senior Notary Milton Fleit Sr. I was wonderin’ if you fine ladies have any ideas for who I should pick. It’s gotta be somebody really, really smart.”

Narrator 2: “Oh!” There’s this immediate supportive chorus of (Chorus) “Imelda, Imelda!”

Narrator 3: (Chorus) “Oh, it HAS to be Imelda!”

Narrator 2: (Chorus) “Couldn’t be anyone other than Imelda. Have you considered Imelda?”

Narrator 3: (Chorus) “She would be perfect!”

Narrator 1: (Chorus) “Imelda’s a genius, Tripotentiary! She’s the only one—”

Narrator 2: Everyone’s saying something nice about Imelda

Narrator 1: Imelda’s totally— [gasp] Oh, she would never have imagined! Heavens, no.

Narrator 3: And Weepe, for his part, has clearly already picked her and is just doing this little performance for kicks and giggles.

Narrator 1: He waves a hand grandly. (Weepe) “Congratulations, Archauditor Goldfinch. Of course there could be no other choice. Do you all know Imelda did such a terrific job on Midst? She make such a stellar impression from the very first moment.”

Narrator 2: Imelda tucks a curl behind her ear, (Imelda) “Why, thank you, Tripotentiary. What an honor.”

Narrator 1: The other ladies are beaming at her.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “I shall do my best to be worthy of it.”

Narrator 1: (Penny) “Oh, but going back to the subject of Midst…”

Narrator 2: (Gert) “Yes, what a debacle.”

Narrator 1: Time to talk about Midst now, great.

Narrator 2: The conversation now turns to the whole Midst situation.

Narrator 1: Ah, that.

Narrator 3: Great.

Narrator 1: Uh-oh.

Narrator 3: (Lucille) “How are the refugees settling in in the Highest Light?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Pretty well, pretty well,” Imelda says. “Many of them are living in the same districts or the same residential buildings together — you know, for familiarity. And Midst’s very own Mr. Stex has been helping reorient and accommodate other Trustee Midst refugees, bless him, he’s a treasure, that one.”

[The bubbling that has been continuous in the background abruptly takes on a hollow, echoing sound quality. The pump mechanism sputters.]

Narrator 1: Weepe’s attendant has noticed some kind of problem happening here and is once again double checking and adjusting some vials and tubes on Weepe’s… pump thing.

Narrator 2: There’s a tinny bubbling from the thing.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh thanks, that, ah, got a little bit weird there, didn’t it? Uh, was getting a little bit of, uh… blood problems.”

Narrator 2: Everyone nibbles at their brunch to show how polite and unbothered they are.

Narrator 1: This is fine.

Narrator 3: It’s going well. Weepe even takes a bite of some delicious petals.

Narrator 2: Mulching them for all to see through his translucent lips and jaw.

Narrator 3: It’s like a floral cud.

Narrator 2: Oooh, it’s really hard to resist this time. Politeness only gets you so far.

Narrator 1: Penny kind of side-eyes some of her friends,

Narrator 2: Takes another swig of her mimosa to muster her courage.

Narrator 1: With a gentle and broadly polite gesture, Penny indicates Weepe’s… self.

Narrator 2: His whole deal.

Narrator 3: (Penny) “Was it a tearror that did this to you, Tripotentiary?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, Penny!” Imelda is immediately cutting her off, apologizing, (Imelda) “Uh, it’s — I would say that’s a bit untoward. You can’t just ask someone if a tearror did something to them!”

Narrator 1: But Weepe just gazes mildly at Penny and blinks slowly, swallowing his floral meal. (Weepe) “Oh no, that’s quite all right, Imelda. That’s a valid question. I do look pretty strange.” He takes off his unglasses, revealing his horrible, inky eyeballs.

Narrator 2: Everyone except Imelda leans back just a little. They can’t help it.

Narrator 1: Weepe guzzles his mimosa. [Prolonged, obnoxious, unnecessarily detailed slurping and swallowing noise.] (Weepe) “So Penny. I don’t mind tellin’ you a little bit about that, so, um… Even before I looked like this,” he gestures to himself and the way that he is, “I had kind of a weird thing goin’ on. I have a condition, y’see.” His veins pulse visibly in his flesh. “There’s some bad fold that lives in my blood. And y’see, I had to get myself lightproofed to make sure that that blood problems didn’t get worse. And that’s why I used to be all one funky color, or sort of more like, uh, NONE colors.”

Narrator 2: He looks around,

Narrator 1: Smilingly,

Narrator 2: At his rapt audience.

Narrator 1: They’re listening attentively. He goes on, (Weepe) “Yeah, but anyway, anyway, that, uh, got worse, at some point — the blood did. And now, uh, well, as you can see, I not so lightproof anymore. [Hue hue hue.] Gotta be careful, and, uh… here we are now. But don’t be worried ‘bout a thing, don’t you worry about your Tripotentiary. I’m uh, gettin’, uh, top-quality healthcare now that I’m so rich.” He pats the pump apparatus beside him affectionately. (Weepe) “So long as I keep this pump thing here goin’ most of the time, and I don’t get too much of this unlight shinin’ on me to stir up this fold any more, I’m doin’ alright. And luckily I got all these great vestments.” He indicates his abundant robes.

Narrator 2: Penny can’t help herself. (Penny) “But how did your blood get poisoned by the Fold in the first place?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well,” Weepe says, “you could say I had an experience, uh, that very clearly demonstrate the value of fold-safe lightbulbs.”

[A contemplative pause, only the sound of the pump rhythmically pumping, and the tinny background tune distant]

Narrator 3: Desiree sets her mimosa down on a pouf beside her and clutches her hand to her chest. (Desiree) “Oh, you poor dear. It’s not painful, is it?”

Narrator 1: Ha ha, we can tell you it is INCREDIBLY painful, but Weepe is being polite. (Weepe) “Eh, transformation not always comfortable…” He looks at Imelda,

Narrator 2: Who smiles at him.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “But sometimes it is necessary. And believe it or not, I feel better than ever nowadays. And bonus, I’m always smilin’. But enough about me. Where did you get that great shoes, Desiree?”

Narrator 3: (Desiree) “Why, I would be thrilled to tell you, Tripotentiary!”

Narrator 2: Desiree is about to go OFF about the shoes, but Gert cuts her off. (Gert) “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I daresay this is no time to be going on about footwear, not when our economy is in such dire condition.”

Narrator 3: (Desiree) “Oh, you never want to talk about shoes, Gert!”

Narrator 2: (Gert) “Desiree! With class division growing, Mr. Tripotentiary, those of us fortunate enough to enjoy elevated stations within Trust society are mercifully holding on, but less-Valorous people? They’re finding life harder and harder. As notaries, we are on the front lines of all this, and we are becoming rapidly more and more conscious of serious problems on the rise.” At this point, this kind of opens the floodgates for all the notaries to begin venting about their jobs, which are incredibly stressful at the best of times. But during an economic collapse? Whew!

Narrator 3: (Desiree) “It’s almost impossible to keep records accurate, especially during a Valor freeze. The added difficulty of calculating motive and selflessness during a period of such high tension, I tell you what…”

Narrator 2: (Lucille) “Oh, tell me about it.”

Narrator 1: All their jobs are extra chaotic and stressful at this particular time in this particular history of the Trust.

Narrator 2: (Penny) “We’re still holding off on processing transactions, and most businesses have decided to reduce hours or shutter completely during these times,”

Narrator 1: Penny says.

Narrator 2: (Penny) “And it’s not just here in the Light, of course. ALL Trust holdings are having these kinds of problems. My brother is a notary over in Gloria — charming place — and he says things are just as bad over there, if not worse!”

Narrator 1: (Maeve) “But I must say, it is such a treat to just sit and have a drink for a minute.”

Narrator 2: This is Maeve.

Narrator 1: Oh, these poor ladies. They do love their jobs, as challenging as they may be at times.

Narrator 2: Lucille cuts in cheerfully. (Lucille) “In any case, we’re all looking forward to getting everything all balanced up again. What an elegant and ingenious solution you came up with, Tripotentiary. Not only fixing the current problem, but resolving an old injustice that’s gone unpunished for far too long.”

Narrator 1: Weepe takes this all in, listening attentively, unconcerned, drinking his mimosa, eating a cucumber sandwich. (Weepe) “Mmm, I realize things are real crappy right now, but, uh, believe me, they not gonna be that way for much longer.”

[The background tune jazzily slams into a boppier track.]

Narrator 2: Discussion now turns to the ingenious solution that the Tripotentiary came up with, and this Lark character that the whole thing hinges on. (Penny) “It’s such an interesting plan,” pipes up Penny, ever the curious one. “Did you know her personally, Tripotentiary? You’re both from Midst.”

Narrator 1: Weepe waves a hand generally. (Weepe) “Oh yeah, I know everybody on Midst,” he says. “I did run a cabaret, after all. I’m very familiar with this Lark.”

Narrator 3: The truth, of course, is that he does NOT know Lark. He has a passing familiarity with her at best. Maybe saw her, once, from a distance, across a crowded room, while he was drunk, or something. He probably didn’t even know that she was one of the people buying his blood over the cabaret counter.

Narrator 2: Hell, LARK didn’t even know that’s what she was buying.

Narrator 1: Did YOU? [Music cuts out.] More on that later.

Narrator 2: Might be important.

[Music resumes.]

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, it’s all part of the plan,” Weepe says. “We gonna to find her, when we do, all this problems is gonna fade away. The Trust is gonna find itself sittin’ very pretty once again. Prettier than ever, lemme tell ya.”

Narrator 2: The part of this that they’re all aware of, but are far too polite to say out loud, especially over brunch, is that the WAY all the problems will go away is by ritually sacrificing Lark in a highly ceremonial and incredibly elaborate manner.

Narrator 3: That’s why the Trust needs her ALIVE.

Narrator 2: They need to kill her in exactly the right way, according to PROCEDURE, you know.

Narrator 3: That would be very Valorous, very Valorous indeed.

Narrator 1: The attendant is back again for a third time, swapping vials on Weepe’s machine.

Narrator 2: This time with a message for the Tripotentiary. (Attendant) “The Consectorial stylist team has arrived and is receiving tea in the main dining room. When you’re ready, sir— your eminence— your triple…ness… sir.”

Narrator 3: Gert casts a withering gaze at this attendant. (Gert) “Well, gosh, we don’t mean to keep you, and we ought to be getting back to work anyway. Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Tripotentiary.”

Narrator 2: Gert shoots daggers at the bumbling aide. She’ll probably manually debit them for this infraction of etiquette later.

Narrator 3: And the gang stands up to go, gathering their things.

Narrator 2: Weepe, ever the gracious host, immediately tries loading them up with gifts to take with them, wonderful gifts.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I don’t really need all this stuff anyway,” he says, trying to hand over a vase here and some kind of hunk of decorative coral there.

Narrator 2: Armfuls of random crap.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “People keep givin’ me this stuff. Plus, Jonas left a bunch of things in his cupboards. Um, what have we got here? Do you, anybody want this can of mirrorhawk dip? I think it’s still good.”

Narrator 2: (Penny) “Oh, thank you, Mr. Tripotentiary…”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “You really don’t need to call me that. Just call me King Triangle or something. [Hue hue hue.] Imelda, I’ll see you at the dinner with Kozma Laszlo tomorrow night, and I might be just a little bit late.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “All right, I’ll see you then.”

Narrator 3: And before they can really even react, he gives them a jaunty wave and is escorted away to the dining room for his next appointment on his busy schedule.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Hey there, nice to meetcha Mr. Stylist,”

Narrator 2: He’s heard to say distantly as the ladies exit through the front door.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “First things first, before we get down to business. I’m gonna need you to hook me up with a lotta bowls of nuts. And a nutcracker. I lost mine… [Hue hue hue]”