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Twenty: Recovery and Unveiling

(For the rest of my first year on the grounds of Tamashi Kadorikyo, I forgot why I was there to train. If it were not for Kana, I would have unknowingly pushed myself too hard, even during days off from classes. The summer festivals to add to the weeks of no classes were something that I enjoyed. I like to think that Kana was responsible for that. With me and her side-by-side, I enjoyed every single festival of the seasons. She and I were close enough, almost always to hold each other's hands.

(It was more than the day my eighteenth birthday to mark becoming a woman. On the night of my heat, she and I slipped away. As we made sure of it, only she and I were among the bamboo thicket near the hot springs. She and I shed our clothes, but folded them neatly upon the rocks. We did more than kiss. That night was my first time. It was rough, which she said I was to expect, but it was all worth the trouble. I was hers. She was mine.

(To further forget the reasons I was there to train, there was one wolf that I noticed, and not in the right way. This wolf had a vermillion pelt and green eyes. He was twenty-one at the time. His name was Jiro. Both Kana and I had sparred with him and won already, much to his petulance. We had both noticed what cost him in our spars. It was that temper of his. Late in the spring month, I saw how it was more than that he challenged me.

(I watched Jiro spar with the feline that I knew to act out during lectures. I noticed that even the feline was improving in properly handling his sword. I still studied with a Naginata, but I had already considered an independent study. Neither a Naginata nor a Katana was my weapon. I watched the feline and the wolf lunge at each other, clashing with their blunt swords, and they seemed to score the times one repelled the other first. When I kept track myself, the score was equal.

(That was until the feline, reckless as his counters were, succeeded in more repulsions. This only increased Jiro's contained ire as the gap widened. This made his attacks more and more reckless, as well. His idea to bagsy his gall proved to be the false one. The feline could see it coming by now. He forced Jiro's blunt sword upwards, and then punched his gut. In response upon regaining composure, Jiro lunged, tackling the feline to the floor.

(I was the first over there, grabbing Jiro's arm and tugging him to get off of the bloke. Kana and other classmates pulled on him. Backing him from the feline took five of us. Jiro looked at all of us, growling before storming out of the dojo. I could see it in his eyes: the slow approach to the dark abyss.)

I had to leave... I had to get out right away. I slept on the train rides, almost missing the stop before walking to the station with the route to Ventine. Once again, my arrival to the Sanctuary was unannounced, but it was urgent. They saw me looking worse for wear this time. I was hasty with them getting me to the medical house.

Now, I lay in the infirmary resting. My life flashes before my eyes. I also dream of fights as I lay wearily in the cot. I reflect on the days with Gaston, with Kana, and with... Themba... In my dreams, I fight everyone I have clashed with before--every bully to whom I wanted to do worse; every criminal I filched from or assailed, even when I was a cub. I also slash with swords at the criminals that I have never before met.

For three days, I am in the cot, coughing and gasping, taking medicine regularly. I still feel hot outside and cold inside. Medicine is all that can be done. The High Priestess and my friends can only wait as I ride out the storm. I see other storms that I had to ride out in life. The demise of my mother and step-father. The harsh training regimen. The troubles with others in the process. The criminals that I considered practise.

After the three days of light eating and barely moving, the dryness and rate of coughing dwindle. Still, I remember what I have seen and hated in my subconscious. I feel like crying. I blamed myself for the demise of my first friend. I blamed myself for my mother and step-father being killed. I blamed myself for not protecting those threatened by the criminals that I killed long before fulfilling Clement's dying wish. It is all in the past. There is no changing it. I can only move forward.

After another two days to make sure of a full recovery, I reflect upon this again as I sit up from the cot. I stand up and stretch the sleep out of me. I pick up on what I have missed by performing callisthenics.

I am caught by surprise when a face all too familiar stands next to the first cot from the door. "Themba!" I dash toward him--

But I hesitate. I am ripe with my musk as well as what I might have taken from Crowsridge. He says happily, "Good t-see you, Sister."

I speak my mind. "I never knew how much I missed you."

"Then express it", the Savannah Wolf retorts.

I object, "I could, but I reek. I intended to wash up first."

He suggests, "Then you might enjoy the company." He is right about that. We have seen each other nude before. So, there would be no surprise.

I answer, "I would like that, Good Chap."

Both of us are taken aback by my odour. How eager I have been to peel off the gown and bloomers. I practically leap in the wide tub, where I sit. I shift to the centre, to make room for Themba to sit behind me. Themba pours a bucketful of water over my shoulders, moistening the fur of my arms, shoulders, back, and chest. He hands me a sponge from behind. As I lather my arms and underarms, I feel him scrub with a sponge over my back.

He comments, "I hear you caused bedlam in the criminal underworld lately." I have no reply. So, he continues, "Agnarge Asylum's funds started to decline, factory workers and even prostitutes have begun to stand up to their bosses, and the smallest gang wars are ending. I wonder if that has to do the deaths of two certain siblings."

I scrub my own chest as he makes sure that my sides are lathered. I speak up, "I took no time to watch the aftermath. I only went on to the next criminal."

"I understand", Themba responds nonchalantly, as if he has predicted my words. There is silence for a minute as we both thoroughly lather my body. I stand up, so I can scrub my legs, Themba unphased by the sight. I just know that he makes no reaction to seeing my buttocks and seeing me bend forward. He watches as I scrub my legs and then sit down again. He helps me again by rinsing me. With different sponges, we both rinse the soap out of my fur. As he does my back whilst I do my legs, Themba finally continues, "You should know that your friend the white fox has rung here. Several times. The gap between each shorter than the last."

I scowl, not that Themba sees it. "'Tis not like Jack to ring me so pressingly."

"Well, he did", Themba says, "whilst you were in Crowsridge and during your recuperation. Speaking of which, Ghaliya is still here, worried for you. Even the other cubs know and are afraid of the worst for Big Sister."

I sigh. I can understand. Then, I remember the medallion that Ghaliya gave me before my departure. She will expect it back now that I have returned in one piece. That also brings me to the question of what to do with what trinkets I took from the dungeon. In the meantime, I have another plan during my stay. Sorry, Jack. You have to wait.

After I have wholly rinsed, I quietly offer to return the favour. Themba does not decline. So, I scrub his back as he does his chest. I speak, "I will visit the cubs. Eventually. No cub should look upon a wounded soldier or spy with damaged attire. I may owe you more, for making sure Ghaliya rand the others were not allowed in."

Themba jests, though coldly, "How are you so certain I ordered that?" I need not answer him; he knows. "If not right after this, you better see them tonight."

We are quiet again as we both lather and rinse Themba's fur. After he thoroughly rinses off, he turns around. He is not horny at all at the sight of my breasts. I tell him, "You have been a treasured part of my life, Themba. Remember that."

"You act as if this is farewell."

I lean forward. I say lowly, "This is no military, but Mau-Re is like it. There is olways a chance that the time we see each other will be our last." I look into his earthly eyes. I regretted once that I could have no romantic, let alone sexual, relationship, but he and I are not meant to be. I instinctively place my left hand on his chest, where his heart is. I remember what he has told me. I continue, "I know the risks of the mission that I gave myself. I cannot help everyone; I cannot save everyone. I learnt an adage about revenge, but there is more to the Lowell House than that."

He lowers my arm, but holds my hand. Themba responds, "Death loves. Your dear friend the raven is the sign of that. Also, me, the white fox, and the High Priestess." The mention of her, reminds me to seek wisdom from her. With my other hand, I cup the side of his face. Such a handsome wolf. We hold our awkward positions and tender looks before I get up and climb out of the spring.

Upon entering the dining hall, clad in a white shirt and grey slacks, I realise how hungry I am now that my appetite has returned. I take a whack of rice, a pile of root vegetables, a hefty load of meat, and two rolls. I am quick to take my seat opposite to Themba. There is still food, but it is barely warm, not that I care right now. Themba is here only because he wants to be company.

We are quiet yet again. He watches with mild amusement as I ravage my supper. After the minutes with the food becoming only crumbs, I open the window next to us. Whilst I await my friend, Themba speaks, "You have what you sought, right? What are your next intentions?"

My raven friend swoops in through the open window and alights near the plate. As he pecks at the orts, I answer, "I will continue as planned and pursue the targets that Jack listed. And if I see Giffard, I will be sure to exploit whot weakness I uncover." I go into a short explanation of my journey in the dungeon below Crowsridge Cathedral. I let him know that the natural toxin of decay is what ailed me.

"Good gods..." Themba mutters after I finish my story. "So, you are certain that his old log contains vital information about him?"

"Why else would it be hidden in the dungeon?" I ask back.

"But words could not be enough to deter such a beast as him", Themba retorts.

I explain, "Jack told me that Giffard manipulates women by playing ta their greed. 'Tis a logical explanation, brothel owners are involved in 'is operations. By joining 'im, they make a right amount of profit."

Themba considers. He then infers, "You seek something with which to manipulate Giffard."

"Everyone has a weakness... even the proclaimed embodiment of death." I stand up, my raven friend eager to move on. "Now", I utter. "I owe somethin' to a kitten."

(My progression in the Naginata went unchanged. Even if I had already mastered it, I believed that I could still further improve. So, I kept up with the practise at night. In the day, for regular classes, I was taught more and more about the Katana. These people believed this to be the soul of the warrior. So, I was quick to take into account the lectures about it.

(I could not quickly get used to handling a Katana with both hands. Its weight was not the reason; the hilt is designed for it. In my opinion, they meant for this condition to say that a warrior puts everything into utilising their sword. To do so meant the grip of both hands. I was almost as quick to learn the stances and the motions as with the Naginata. The fact that Kana and other females were allowed to practice the Katana meant something to me.

(When a beginner with the traditional sword, I sparred with other beginners. There is nothing wrong with starting at the low level. So, there I was, sparring with the females and other male beginners, learning and growing as warriors together. I remembered to show respect to every one of my opponents because they deserved it.

(The same could not be said for the wolf I knew to be arrogant. I knew nothing of Jiro's background, but I had seen enough of his fighting to know that he scoffed at the stability of emotions. Motivations for crime are quite common. Jiro's motivation: to be better than everyone else at sword fighting. When I had decided that I was confident enough to challenge him to a spar, I did so.

(My spar with him was intense enough to make every duel with beginners pale in comparison. Witnessing his acts of aggression myself convinced me that I underestimated him. I still had the determination to keep going. Just like I had seen him with his previous opponents, he would lunge at me again and again. Each time would result in our weapons locking. Unlike his past opponents, I would lunge backwards, for I was not ready for such a struggle at the time. He was as skilled in martial arts as I was, too. However, in that area lay his downfall. He had very little patience. So, I used that against him. I would thin his patience after the several times he locked with me. Then, I would knock him down. I had the blunt blade just touch his chest, and I said, "Sanshutsu."

(Though begrudgingly, he did so. We exchanged scowls before he departed the dojo. I wounded Jiro's pride. All that I wanted in our duel was to teach him that his methods were useless. They would be such in a real fight, whether it was against a petty criminal or a soldier in the enemy's military. Jiro was just an egotist, betrayed by his critical judgment.)

"Big Sister!" That is all that I make out from the cubs as I enter their quarters. Ghaliya is there, too. She is the first to meet me, to feel me as if she wanted to know that I was no illusion. I ruffle her crown of fur as she embraces me. I let the embrace last a right while before I nudge her to let go. I kneel so I can align my gaze more properly with hers. From my pocket, I pull out a familiar medallion.

Presenting it, I say, "I promised you." The kitten slowly takes it as if she fears that it is an illusion, too.

Ghaliya's maw is open, but she knows not what to say. After the hesitation, she states, "I have been practising wit the Naginata.'

I smile at that. "You will have to show me later." I look to the rest of the cubs, to continue, "I believe you all miss my voice. I have a story that you might like." Eagerly, the cubs gather at two beds. I sit on one of them, Ghaliya at my side.

The story that I tell these cubs about the underworld god Kumhep, is about the time he crosses to the mortal realm after Slij has been sealed away again. When he sees the country itself, it is in chaos. He blames not the fractured and corrupted souls haunting others; he blames the people. Kumhep tracks the source of the havoc to the council in charge of the country. The people are rioting against their government. He blends in with the people well, for they believe not in gods and sorcery. He asks each and every protesting civilian what has driven them to a rebellion.

It is as simple as every piece of history he knows: unfair treatment of social classes. Kumhep watches as workers and criminals in alliance battle public servants and officials, unphased by how every fight turns out. Both sides decline in numbers at the end before they make hasty retreats. Kumhep aids the people as they fight. He pities them all, for something pushes them to self-corrupt.

Despite all that pity and all mortals that he slew, he saw the battle through. The day comes when a siege is laid upon the government house. The Dahalan Minister sees bloodshed on both sides as one criminal, who Kumhep senses is on the brink of corruption makes it through all barriers. This criminal is a ledge as a crime boss. Kumhep lets it happen, for this man has nothing to lose at this time. Kumhep watches the criminal take the Minister's life himself. Then, Kumhep looks him in the eye, stabbing him in the heart. He takes this man's soul with him to the Underworld, where he would be among the souls for Kumhep to judge.

The crime boss would die a ledge among his people. He would become a hero among even the best individuals. In seeming to have done the right thing, the man was deemed fit to work for Konjal, to keep corrupted souls confined.

The cubs know this story to have a bittersweet ending, like many stories involving or all about Kumhep. I sigh as I take in their reactions, wondering if I am everything like Kumhep. Only time will tell. I let the cubs mutter amongst each other as I stand up and depart from their cabin. I would see the High Priestess after breakfast, and then give Ghaliya lessons.

In the meantime, I am given my own story from Giffard's logbook. I read the introduction, telling who Giffard is: the son of Lord William Lowell and Lady Rodica Campana. He was sixteen at the time. The first written day is on the winter holiday, where he writes ill of his mother. He tells very little about his father, for he makes it apparent that he rarely saw his father. Just that first day's record explains how horrible his mother was to him. Rodica was an Arctic Wolf, which clarified why he looks like one, but not exactly. Even the holiday was awful, in his opinion, for his mother's belittling.

Almost every day's record to follow has him explain how much he despises both Rodica and his sister Nadine. My hunch is correct that he is the first-born. At one point in reading the first several days, I sense a pattern. For two days, Giffard would be stuck in a dark room, clawing at the walls and rattling the chains fastening him to the roof, to the point he gave up. Every three days, Rodica herself would assault him, favouring a set of brass knuckles. I read a time she uses a fire poker and one time with a cattle prod. The day after that, she would let him out, but have him fight another individual. He states that he's had to beat other slaves, to fight for a right to eat. He had lost many times, being forced to eat the orts of the same meal. This logbook is from the time he had started winning. Giffard went into gruesome detail how he beat the particular slave first mentioned.

I get through thirteen entries before I decide to turn in for the night. There will be time later to read. Even if I read this three years ago, I would have no sympathy for the man who killed my mother and step-father. There is no denying that I would despise his mother, but that is likely no secret of his. I must look past the anger begotten by Giffard's stories.

As planned, I have breakfast, sitting with Themba and his best friends. I catch up with their stories, to learn how their espionage activity holds. Most informants and assassins sent by the High Priestess have been successful in their missions in Symphon and those in Dahalo. Only a few since my time in Manusdale have departed never to come back or be brought back in bags.

Only minutes after I finish my meal, I seek the High Priestess's daughter, and she is in the library. I tell her, "I believe, y-wanted another lesson." How thrilled she is to hear that. However, she is conflicted. I add, "You can finish the chapter if you wish." I understand that she loves reading, as well. Ghaliya is to be one of a kind when her dear mother departs this world. A scholar and curious about combat.

So, I teach her basic moves on handling the Naginata on the combat grounds. I give her speeches on the stances as well as how to move when executing an action. Like my mentors have been, I am patient about how Ghaliya progresses. That progress has been decent as she displays with the beginner's series of drills. Then, I show her all the stances that I know. The few hours are me displaying each position. Then, with every move she makes, I say plainly, "Stop", followed by a short criticism of what she does incorrectly. One can go their whole life fighting, not knowing that they mismanage a weapon. As much as I hate to use them, I have been shown all the wrong ways that one handles any firearm. The Katana's hilt is made to be held with both hands. Any kind of spear should be handled with both hands, regardless of its weight. Ghaliya still shows some difficulty with a weapon with a length ten centimetres over her height, but she still wants to keep going. We repeat the drills over those few hours before lunchtime. By then, I tell her, "Let us take a break." She is reluctant, but she heeds me.

Now, I am flawed in the aspects of how to treat others at a table, but this is important to me. I pick up from where I left in Giffard's logbook as I eat my lunch with everyone else. I let my sandwich get soggy as I have my nose deep in the book. There are several more weeks of Giffard following the procedure that his mother gave him. I feel I lose my appetite when I am a little over half-finished my sandwich, when I read how Giffard has mutilated some useless slave that he forgets about.

It is on this day, I realise: Giffard thought of his mother the whole time he beat her slaves until they stopped breathing. He had become an executioner on those to have outlived their usefulness. I barely get through nine entries when I see that the dining chamber is empty, bar the server. So, I continue my reading in the library.

There Ghaliya is, as well, expecting me to teach her something. That has to wait. I get through another five entries of Giffard's log, mentioning his time with his sister. He hated her, but not as much as he resented his mother. Giffard only distrusted Nadine. He wanted her not to be close to him, so she would never lay a hand upon him. The entry that I reach with her mentions his threat to break her arm if she touched him.

After another session with Ghaliya, I get back to reading Giffard's stories. On his seventeenth birthday, he still finds something about his mother to pick at. He blames her for denying the step-mother and step-sister that he once wished for years back. As his parents were separated at the time, Giffard's father had sought a fiancée in one of Rodica's slaves, and gave Giffard a say. Giffard blames his mother for enabling that slave... to escape...

I pause at that speech of his, looking back on what my mother has told me. I continue that entry with scepticism. What he wrote to follow is that he considers killing his mother. That day comes sooner than expected.

I have dinner without being rude to others. I need a break from the vile things Giffard says about his family and his life. I listen to what Themba and his friends say about the other spies and guards. Even still, I cannot stay away. There are many entries where Giffard is still treated with his mother's abuse. As much as he wants to kill her, something prevents him.

That urge finally comes on the day after his eighteenth birthday. Giffard saw his mother kill his father. According to him, he beat his mother with only his fists until she dropped to the floor. She still smiled as he stabbed her in the chest with a butcher knife that he had been keeping on his person. He stabbed her several times, and her smile still taunted him.

In the year to follow, Giffard has written dreams that he had about his mother. He had nightmares about his mother chaining him up, trapping him inside a chest, or beating him with a cane. He also had nightmares when he would stab her, and she still would stand, laughing. Things became even worse, as he has written about the times he heard her voice and saw her wearing her favourite suit.

I pause again. Now I know why he checks into Agnarge Asylum. He wanted a regular stay in a cell in return for paying Diefenbach. With him dead, he cannot attempt to taunt his mother back. I continue, and the writing is there. He finds his dead mother giving him "advise". And he heeds it every time. A phantom chain and a voice that only he can hear.

It is on the day to follow, I read the entry that has piqued my interest to its highest. It is in June. The day after Giffard slew my mother and step-father. He speaks of how he has done so. He wanted revenge for a life that he denied, but it was not his first thought.

It is what he thought his mother would want! He finds his mother barking orders! She has poisoned his mind enough to make him dependent! It is what she wanted all along! The fucking Munter had planned everything about him from the beginning!

(Since my victory against Jiro, he seemed to have been degrading. His skill slipped enough for him to go down two levels. There were nine levels in martial arts. Therefore, Naginatajustsu and Kenjutsu had nine levels--at least in the ways of Tamashi Kadorikyo. Jiro was a level six when I wounded his pride. Now, he had been demoted, whereas Kana and I still stood at level six.

(Over the weeks, he had grown more and more reckless, which made the instructors in Katana combat question whether he was worth keeping. I would find that out myself. He had slipped so much that many first-year pupils had bested him in Kenjutsu. I was suspicious of him after he lost to a fourteen-year-old beginner. I could have sworn that Jiro stared at that young wolf's backside.

(I tailed him that same night. Despite his tarnishing reputation, he still had friends that were more like his blindly loyal henchmen. I was right about something, for Jiro and his "friends" dragged that same young grey wolf, like a hapless prisoner. Where they pulled the boy was in the same dojo where Jiro lost to the beginner. Oh, how this sickened me...

(I saw Jiro beat upon the young wolf as the others restrained him. An instant later, I heard the sounds of fabric ripping. The young wolf was stripped naked. Jiro got naked, as well. I needed see no more to intervene. As Jiro wanked, I came up behind him. I yanked him by the shoulders. I then displayed my knowledge in martial arts to the two other wolves. They and Jiro all took a right beating without any of them injuring me.

(When I did enough, I saw them all walk away, acting as if I did worse than I displayed. Of course, they would play the victim. As the young wolf thanked me, I fashioned a skirt from his tattered robe--his pants were ripped apart. I told him, "I do not condone to bullying." I then escorted him to the only two wolves that would understand what happened.)

(Only a day later, there was a trial. Jiro and his friends complained to the council that I had assaulted them during their personal sparring session. The discrepancy there was that they were at the wrong temple for such. I defended that I was there for a good reason and fought because it was the only way. Those three wolves were not real fighters; they showed dishonour to someone.

(Jiro's story was that he and his friends wanted to practise with the beginner. I interrupted them and challenged them to a gauntlet, which I won. Kana defended me, stating that I would never attack without cause. The grandmasters objected that they were shown where I attacked, which was inside the temple that they used, where discarded and tattered clothes were found. The young wolf--named Sabu--had the marks to show his injuries, which were not caused by martial arts manoeuvres. Jiro and his friends had the marks to show that my attacks were precise.

(Even still, Jiro played the victim. So, I played to his temper. I made a point in the form of a story. I found it painful to tell, for it was the story of my old friend Gaston. I spoke of the motivations that Gaston's father could have had to abuse him and then kill him in cold blood. "By my understanding, he was weak. He was a coward. Only a coward would dare lay a hand upon his own cub. Only a coward would prey upon someone much smaller and much weaker than he is. They want to feel superior by beating someone frail and small. That wolf was like that. He was a coward for assailing his own cub and making him even weaker than he already was. He wanted to be feared, but only corrupted himself."

("Corrupt!?" Jiro spat. "If you want a rematch to see how much of a coward I am"--he leapt from the bench, to grab me, and I did not resist--"I will not turn it down." He growled at me, prepared to punch me in the muzzle. As I predicted, he sealed his fate.

(Jiro was exiled from the grounds the same night. I would never see him again, but I knew that there would be others like him. That fact hurt me, for nobody was safe from bullies, not even in a culture with strict disciplinary practises.)

I need read no more of the logbook after the worst day of my life. Giffard may think that it changed the daughter of Malentha, but he is wrong. My mother and Clement knew that they would die. So, they prepared for it. They arranged for my training to become a real fighter and predator. Giffard only made it happen early.

It is after the while I have taken to calm. There I kneel in the Grand Temple, at the altar and in front of Pasht. She speaks, "Rise, my child." I look up, but I do not stand up. I wish not to make her look up.

I speak, "I know the secret of Giffard Lowell now." She holds back the question. So, I continue, "I know now, his mother led the clan that became his. I know why he has an unhealthy relationship with his sister. I know why he needs his right-hand man near him." I then go into detail of what I saw of him in Agnarge, followed by what is significant about Crowsridge Cathedral.

Pasht states, "You expect that you will meet Giffard face-to-face, and you believe you are ready for that."

I admit, "Not quite. Other members of his circle must meet their end."

Pasht approaches me, and I do not even flinch. She asks, "If not soon, when?"

I orate, "The Lowell House and Snowfox Syndicate are not like other criminals. The small gangs, drug dealers, and cultists were just practise. Gaining Jack's trust was not easy, but he and I have the same enemy. Giffard has people in much of Highcond. I need to cripple his empire and make 'im angry before I confront 'im."

Pasht implies, "He may know you currently as one with nothing to lose, but there might be the time he discovers whom you cherish. The kind of man he is will use loved ones to make sure that his enemies lose."

Suddenly, that worries me. I plead, "High Priestess, do not claim that you are soon to die. Your people need you. Your daughter needs you... I need you..."

The unique cat cups my chin. "My child, I know the risks better than my agents. I care not whether my position is empty because of my demise." She already knows her regent for before Ghaliya possibly takes up the mantle. "I will at least know that my death will not be in vain." She is predicting how it will happen.

"And what about me?"

The High Priestess, looking content, answers, "I trust you to the right thing in your ideology and the right that Kumhep would do." That surprises me. I am more like Kumhep than Konjal? "Go to my daughter. Let her know how much you love her. Let your friend the racketeer know how much you love him, too." I nod repeatedly and hastily before standing up again.

As it is evening, I go to the cubs' quarters first, where Ghaliya is. As she is interested, I tell her what I know of the warriors from where I trained, and the history that I remember of them. I promise to give her one more lesson before I depart for the city. When I do, I will continue hunting the people of whom Jack has written.

Though dusk, I cannot wait to ring him. So, I am at the offices, using one of the telephones. The arctic fox is quick to answer the ring. "Ahoy", he says. Already, he reminds me how much I miss him. I pause, for I am also reminded of what I regret. He asks, "Is anyone there?"

"I am here, Jack", I answer.

Suddenly, his emotions are faffed as he exclaims, "Death! It 'as been too long!"

"Indeed", I reply wryly.

"So, where 'ave yeh bin I rang the Sanctuary fer yeh ten times."

"Well, most recently, I can confirm the city legend of the dungeons below Crowsridge Cathedral."

"The worst borough of the city?!" Jack barks. "I thought yeh were mad pissin' Giffard off but goin' to that wasteland filled with only corruption?!"

I respond calmly, "Well, I went to hell and back, seeking whot secret about Giffard I could use against 'im. An old logbook of 'is wos among the most incriminating secrets. The aftermath wos as difficult: natural toxin from decaying corpses. So, I wos on bedrest."

Jack bursts. "Yeh were in a toxic environment an' needed rest?!"

I interrupt, "Even the strong-willed are vulnerable."

Jack interrupts back, "Tell me about it later! I 'ave business that might need yer attention!" Now I understand why his voice has an edge. He continues, "My assistant 'as bin in and out due to excuses 'ard t-believe. Me operation's bin compromised as me latest arms deals were prevented. So, Giffard is movin' in on me men. I lost an hideout each in Roseberg and Agnarge." I already knew where to go next before contacting Jack.

I say, still calm, "If I head to Roseberg tomorrow, I might find leads to the source of yer leak."

"Giffard and Lieven were in Roseberg two days ago", Jack warns. "I 'ope y-know what yeh be doin'."

"If anyone is soon to go mad, it is Giffard", I respond.

Jack comments, "Please, come to Knightsedge soon. I know I cannot fight the Lowell House alone."

"I will", I answer. "Until then, take care, Jack."

"You, too, Lady Death. Ta." He hangs up. I then do the same, sighing. I look out the window, seeing that it is now night. I could head to the borough of production, but I cannot go back on my promises. These cubs need me.

So, I hold out that promise. I give Ghaliya a short lesson on handling the Naginata before breakfast. I also consider something. It is after breakfast, I make up my mind. I will not utilise those blooming brass knuckles. They, along with the key to the lift in the dungeons, are dropped in my chest of mementoes. However, I have inspiration. I request the blacksmith to have a new weapon forged. They will be gold-tinted brass, like the plates for my boots.

As I wait on that, I give another lesson to Ghaliya, challenging her to a duel with blunt weapons. I hold back on my strikes, so I can see what she can do. The High Priestess's daughter has been training well. She more properly handles her version of the Naginata. How she reminds me of myself when I first learnt to use a spear. However, a more real duel will have to wait.

I brush up on my knowledge of the Kadorikyo style. I perform every complex motion I remember and every precise move I remember. This catches many a cub's attention, awed by my feats. Long before I run out of breath, I see them. When I stop my personal training, I speak, "Sorry to say, it will be a while before y-see that again. Also, I believe my old instructors will be better at teaching the moves than I." I ruffle the crown of one cub before I walk past.

It is late afternoon when my particular order is ready. I try them on in the forge. They are fingerless leather gloves with metal plates over the knuckles and the back of the hand. I do more than confirm that they fit. I perform a series of jabs, hooks, and chops. The blacksmith, a silver female cat, comments, "Impressive."

I reply, "The use counts as much as weight and density."

She responds, "Of course. Only a wolf such as yourself can handle gauntlets such as those."

"And they will go to good use." I present the stack of bills that I have also promised. Compliments of wanted criminals and the bounty hunts.

I know all too well how the cubs feel when I depart the Sanctuary. They know I go on dangerous missions like the spies do. So, they are afraid that it will be the last time I ever see them. Ghaliya and Themba get the longest looks at my visage. I have donned my grey pinstripe suit. A trunk is at my side. I put on my eyepatch again. I must conceal my identity. Only on the ride to Crowsridge, up to the ride back to the Sanctuary, I could be myself the whole time. Now, I must hide again.

It is when I board the train taking me to Highcond this evening, I feel the disturbance. I look around. I smell something that I have never thought to distinguish before. Among the aristos, I smell not just a worker, but one carrying the stenches of tobacco and whiskey. I narrow my eyes and scowl. Jack's favourite liquor is whiskey. Jack's men must be trailing me... but how long have his men been following me? I have to be pushed, to snap out of my thoughts of dread. Only two people working for Jack MacNiadh know the other image of Lady Death. Both of them are on his direct payroll.

My ride in a first-class coach fails to ease me. I look out the window, the crowd and then the city blocks getting farther and farther out of my sight. Not even the oranges of the sunset soothe me. All that I feel right now is dread. My eyes narrow, for I expect the one conspiring against Jack to make his move on me. They could be on the same coach, maybe in the compartment behind me... They have to come from my right. If the conspirators attack, thinking that I am half-blind, I will know the kind they are. The longer I hear only the rattling of the wheels against the rails, the tenser I get. Where I will be next, Giffard will know.