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longer among the living before putting his pistols away and asking, “Lord Silskin?”
    “I’m fine, as always, Mister Jenny,” said the old man as he took off his blood-splattered hood and cloak, and dropped it on the floor. “No matter how many times we do this, my nerves always get rattled by the noise.”
    As Mister Jenny’s men entered the room to start cleaning up, one handed him a neatly folded red-hooded cloak with gold embroidery on it. Then Mister Jenny, with head bowed, presented it to Silskin.
    “Thank you,” Silskin said, putting it on. “That feels better. I hate those common things, but there’s no point in ruining the real thing.”
    “So what now?” asked Mister Jenny, concerned that he might be about to face the fate he’d dished out.
    Lord Silskin smiled and put a hand on Mister Jenny’s shoulder. “This meeting was the last one of its kind, and you need not worry. Your assistance has been instrumental in the past few years, helping the Fare move in the Pieman’s shadow while we’ve started to strike at him. Now, that phase will conclude and the aftermath will come. We’ll need to root out pockets of resistance, the remnants of the Pieman’s forces, and whatever factions of the Tub dare to raise a hand to us. You will be key then, Mister Jenny, once again. You can trust the Fare. We know who our enemies are.”

CHAPTER FIVE

A Great Fall
     
    The frigid night air roused Abeland with a coughing fit. He blinked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his manacled, dirty hands. He tried to get comfortable. His thoughts drifted to how different things had been a year and a half ago.

    On the walk up to the towering gates of the Great Palace of Karupto, Abeland took his time, enjoying the wildflower-covered rolling hills. He always made a point of trying to find some element of nature to clear his mind and settle his soul before taking on a regime. 
    As the gates opened, revealing soldiers lining both sides of the street, he accepted that it was time to get down to business. The soldiers formed a corridor all the way to the throne room, where Abeland and his party would be officially received.
    Abeland studied the body language of the mix of soldiers as he walked past them. It was clear they’d been told to take the slightest excuse as a sign of hostility and attack. Several times, he stopped and observed the crowd peeking out from behind the soldiers. The soldiers in his line of sight would start getting anxious, and each time, just before things boiled over, Abeland moved his gaze and started walking again. At no point did he or his entourage seem to be the least bit concerned.
    He’d had similar treatment recently in the neighboring kingdoms of Genouia, Perguntia, and Beleza. His arrival had become almost mythical, like a great demon descending upon a regime and asking a hefty ransom or else the land would face its own apocalypse. 
    The glowing ring of Abeland’s monocle was usually the first sign of things to come. He’d often stand outside a city’s gates in the wee hours of the morning and activate his monocle’s glow. He’d stand there for hours, allowing for rumors and panic to spread throughout the capital city, as he waited for them to finally open the gates and allow him entrance.
    He was flanked by five members of his personal guard, the Order of the Pieman’s Trust. They were well-trained, ruthless, and permanently at the ready. Each was armed with an array of weapons, from firearms to blades.
    When Abeland and his entourage stepped into the castle, the soldiers had weapons drawn. “That’s more like it,” he said, bringing about some snickers from his men. “I thought they just had fake ones like in… where was it that most of their soldiers had fake weapons?”
    “Beleza,” replied Francisco. “That’s the one on the coast, west of Roja, right?”
    Abeland smiled and nodded. “Odd little place,” he mused, bringing about chuckles from the two that had been there