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them. Zeah headed for one of the closer
buildings, one marked Admeta March, milliner.
    There was no bell above the door, like any
store that Zeah would have shopped in. Inside, it didn’t look like
a store at all. There was a couch and there were several chairs, a
coffee table and several end tables with lamps—all made of very
dark wood and a material of the most horrendous shade of pink. Zeah
had been here before and knew just what to do. He sat down. After a
few minutes, a thin pinch-faced woman wearing a dress the same
horrendous shade of pink came in through a closed door of the same
very dark wood.
    “ May I help you?”
    “ I’m here to pick up a hat for Miss
Dechantagne.”
    The woman nodded and left. Zeah sat back down
and waited for what seemed an inordinate amount of time to get a
hat, but at last she returned. She had a box, a hat box naturally,
but it had not yet been tied shut with the usual bow.
    “ Would you care to see it?” the
woman asked, opening the lid.
    “ Um, no.” Zeah turned and stared at
the horrendous pink wallpaper.
    The woman shrugged and went back out through
the door. Zeah had never looked at any article of clothing that he
had picked up for Miss Dechantagne, and he wasn’t about to start
looking now. It wasn’t that there would be any impropriety. It was
simply that, as Zeah’s luck ran, there would be something wrong
with the hat. Not having much in the way of fashion sense, of
course, Zeah would have no idea that there was anything wrong, and
even if he did, he wouldn’t know what that something was. When Miss
Dechantagne found the flaw in the apparel, she would ask Zeah if he
knew anything about it, and he wouldn’t be able to say that there
was no way that he could know anything about it because he had
never seen the article in question before. He had seen it. All in
all, it was better if he didn’t.
    Taking another trolley, one that had many
passengers though none of them soldiers and none of them odd
looking men in brown bowlers, Zeah arrived at Avenue Boar near the
banking district. The Prescott Agency was here, occupying the same
columned, white building that they had occupied for more than fifty
years. It was the job of the Prescott Agency to place top quality
servants in the wealthiest and most important of Greater
Brechalon’s homes. Zeah was at least as well versed in the protocol
here as he was in the millinery shop. He walked up to the second
floor to Mrs. Villers’ desk and told her what he needed.
    “ I’m afraid that won’t be
possible,” said Mrs. Villers.
    “ Wha… what?”
    “ I’m afraid that won’t be
possible.”
    “ Wha…why not? You don’ t have
anyone to place?”
    “ Oh, no. It’s not that. We have
people to place, but you want someone with experience.”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Well, how can I put this? None of
the experienced people want to work for her. They’ve all heard the
stories.”
    “ The stories are, um… well, not
exaggerated exactly… but still.”
    “ I understand,” said Mrs. Villers.
“You are the head butler and I would be shocked if you spoke ill of
your house. I certainly wouldn’t want you to. But you see my
dilemma. I have several very promising looking
newcomers.”
    “ Um.” Zeah stopped and examined the
ceiling for a moment. “Yes. Send them around.”
    He looked back at Mrs. Villers.
    “ Mr. Korlann?”
    “ Yes?”
    “ Was there anything
else?”
    “ Um… no.” Zeah turned and headed
for the stairs that led him down to the first floor and out onto
Avenue Peacock. All in all, he thought it might have been better if
there had been a flaw in the hat.

Chapter Four: Memories
    Nils Chapman looked through the small window in
the armored door at prisoner eighty nine. The warden was once again
away from the island and Chapman was happy to note that Karl Drury
was gone as well. Chapman had spent the previous weeks trying to
find out anything he could about the lone occupant of
Schwarztogrube’s north wing. He