The Yarn Thread

[Ceidon]

Open to all at any timeChapter 1: Kings of Leon

“And that’s about it…” Ceidon Lore, the recently ordained leader of the Order of the Golden Dawn, finished his proposal.

As he caught his breath, Ceidon took a long look around the room. Surrounding him was a group of dregs. Some of the finest, or so he’d been told by the proprietor of the Golden Autumn Inn in Radasanth. Despite the urgency of his message, most of them were laughing, puzzled, or simply uninterested in the scholar’s outlandish proposal. Perhaps the dusty library wasn’t the best starting point for a mission of such dire importance. Maybe he should have gone to the King, or at least the Ixians. Royal decrees tend to rally the masses a bit better than an overzealous librarian in a fedora.

“Let me get this straight,” one of the ruffians finally called out, breaking through the muffled laughs. He spoke slowly, accentuating each ridiculous syllable, “You want us to help you fetch a ball of yarn from a cat-person who may or may not exist in order to kill a giant world eating moth that absorbs powers and apparently killed your girlfriend.” He snorted.

“Well…” Ceidon started. Technically, they were to go on a mission to retrieve Leon’s yarn, the weapon made famous by the legendary anthromorph Leon Timyon. Little did Leon know, but his special fibers were actually an ancient item of extraordinary power. It was able to capture any type of energy and render it incapable of interacting with the physical world. They needed it because the giant moth was actually a spirit that was capable of assimilating the abilities of others. After hours of research, the only entity that even remotely resembled this being was the one that reportedly killed Lillian Sesthal in Ettermire. She was Ceidon’s inspiration – his biggest crush – but hardly his girlfriend. No one had seen her in over two years. Still, if the two incidents were related, Ceidon could not only save Althanas from a most horrible demise by trapping this evil spirit forever, but also rescue the hottest young scholar to walk the earth. If she was still alive, of course.

Rather than correct the mercenary, realizing he must sound drunk, Ceidon merely shrugged his shoulders and said as seriously as he could, “Yeah, pretty much. So who’s in?”

[Alydia Ettermire]

"Leon Timyon's yarn exists, and it is powerful." A woman sat toward the edge of the rabble, her back resting against the sturdy spines of old, leather-bound tomes and her face toward the door. She was slight, barely coming up to to the rambling adventurer's chin and weighing maybe half what he did. Her skin was pale, her eyes were hazel, her hair was light brown. Her features were blandly focused, as though neither anything said nor anything in front of her was particularly interesting or important.

There was a mug of tea in front of her, barely touched, and in her hands were a sheaf of papers and a quill. She hadn't seemed to be paying attention to anything said, and had been present and working when the meeting started. There was no reason she should be in among this lot, and there was no reason that she should not. Many people worked and relaxed in places of edification, whether said place was in Knife's Edge, Ettermire, Scara City or Talmhaidh. There was no reason Radasanth should be any different.

"Years ago, he was known to take on any and all comers with it. Or have you all forgotten your recent history?" Well, she could hardly blame them for forgetting distant recent history, when recent recent history was so intensely dire and all-consuming.

"I have interests in Ettermire. I can help you with research and resources on this end. Paige Turner." A scratch, a scribble, a mark, a note, a flip of a parchment, a moment of eye contact. That was her offer.

[Taste of Treason]

It didn't really seem like the kind of thing I would be good at. I was far from an adventurer. I had every intention of walking away as soon as this meeting ended. I had only promised to listen. The man spoke his piece and I tried to follow along, but my mind wouldn't stop repeating Leona's words.

"True temperance comes not from a lack of experience in the world, but from overcoming its obstacles without losing yourself." It seemed like something from a novel. A quote someone worked entirely too hard on in an effort to look smart. And yet, for some reason I fell for it.


I had ended up in this library surrounded by strangers at the request of a woman I barely knew. She knew me though, from the moment she appeared the stranger spoke as though we’d been friends forever. I still wasn’t quite used to having friends, and one that showed up out of nowhere with intimate knowledge of my past was more than a little odd.


The strange woman had popped up, seemingly out of nowhere and asked me a dozen or so riddles. I'd played along, mostly believing Astarelle would soon pop out from behind a street corner laughing at her joke. That moment never came though. The strange woman wasn’t part of the sand princess’s games.

Apparently Leona believed she could maintain true neutrality in the world by gathering a certain group of people together. I suppose I can understand wanting something so badly you believe it, but the next part was a bit much even for me. For some crazy reason, she thought I was one of them. Temperance, that's what she insisted on calling me. As though I had some special gift. I was fully aware of my tiny place in this giant world. I wanted nothing more than to walk through the streets unnoticed, so long as my belly was full. So why did I listen and jump in to this silly adventure?

I asked myself that question at least a dozen times before I heard a woman speak. I half listened.

She confirmed the existence of the artifact, but how did I know she wasn't crazy too? What if Leona, the man who wanted the yarn ball, and Ms. Paige Turner were all a bunch of lunatics? What if the adventure led to a cold death in the Salverian tundra?

The leader of the Tarot Hierarchy's voice filled my mind once again.

"I'll help too, " I spoke over her last few syllables, hopefully loud enough to be heard.

I might as well see where this adventure led. Leona wasn't going to shut up otherwise.

[Sulla]

One Day Earlier

“A recluse you say?” Behind the confessional booth, Sulla sat in smug content to hear the details of his latest quarry. Bright white light crept through the cracks of the drawn curtain, and the booth attached to his had a screen to to block both repentant and strangely not.

“Aye.” His client's voice was more a whimper than actual words. “Rashmilan doesn't leave his estate too much.”

The killer tugged at his robes with a listless fervor, and toyed with the holy symbol around his neck. Hermits were terrible marks at times. Though habitual by nature, they tended to know every nook inside that one place they occupied until the slightest disturbance would be cause for alarm. “Does he ever have guests?”

The pause was so long Sulla could practically hear the rest of the people in the church. Conversations of family dinners and how quickly children were growing up added a sickening symphony that rolled into the killer's ears and churned his stomach.

“He has scholars over for tea on occasion. But these are men of some renown.” A wicked smile stretched Sulla's lips that let the gods above know that the devil was home.

“Payment as discussed. I'll contact you when the deed is done. Go now, slowly, and tell the next parishioner the priest is ready for them. Someone has to remind these people that there's something greater out there watching.”


The Present

The library was a mess of dusty tomes and moth-eaten drapery. A dampness took the air and brought fresh blasts of mildew with every breath. Through sheer, dingy curtains, an occasional beam of sunlight found its way to worn oak tables in chairs. It was a blessing there was so little light in such an ugly, with such ugly people.

Sulla stood near the back with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He let the hecklers chuckle and the daydreamers let their minds wander, as he kept silent. But behind the book he only perused, the killer hung on to every word. He had heard of catboy and his exploits in tournament and song, and knew very well that behind myth and legend there was always some story to explain it all. As Ceidon and Paige Turner spoke their piece, he moved from the back and placed his cup on an uneven table. A satchel hung over his shoulder and bounced against his hip with some eagerness. A clean white shirt and thin black tie, a taught sweater vest in deep blue over that; he looked all the part of a school boy.

“A most intriguing venture,” Sulla chimed in as he stepped in front of a window, his silhouette nearly dancing with glee. “I can't say I've read too much on Leon Timyon, though.” He'd change that. He'd read every tome, scroll, and damned newspaper clipping if it meant knowing more about what he was getting into. “Though you,” he smiled at Ceidon, “and Mrs. Turner seem to be a wealth of information.”

[Tankita Bananas]

After the initial people volunteered their services, somebody finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“How the hell did that thing get in here?” a spectacled, long sleeved adventurer said as he pointed at the giant mechanized thing that sat amongst the crowd as if it were one of them. Unfortunately, nobody else weighed over a ton, or was a steampunk tank. The gun of the vehicle moved up and down as if to nod that it too wished to participate in the endeavor.

“I want to help!” the ‘girl’ shouted excitedly into the head of every person in the room, which caused the majority of them to cover their ears in a futile attempt to protect their brains. The idea of a ball of legendary yarn, and the thought of another large creature on par with herself intrigued Tankita. She hoped that maybe she could talk the world-ending bug into not being so world-ending, and then everybody could go away happy.

“I am Tankita Bananas, and I would be happy to throw my aid to you, Ceidon!”

[Void]

He was not in the library. Yakob hated books. Or rather, he did not see their purpose. Why read something when you could just learn it from someone's mouth? All the information he needed in life was how to get a life, if life was a thing at all possible anyway. Sticking someone with a knife usually gave you what you wanted, and killing them afterwards made sure that they did not reveal your sins once you were gone.

Currently, he sat in the shadows outside of the provincial, across from the library. His right arm, the one that had long since been forcefully amputated and then replaced with a metal contraption, rested on his lap, and his left scratched at his nose. Crosslegged he looked like some sort of tiny mis-coloured drow beggar, and some even threw money at him. Of course, Yakob being Yakob, he threw it back, despite what Philomel had told him earlier was polite.

"Just take it," she had said, "Take it, and if you don't want it, give it to me. I will be more than enough happy to use if it you won't."

Right now she was off on her ship, celebrating its maiden voyage. They had come back from the Salvar plains after she had introduced him to the assassin group she blabbered on about all the time, and then he had been dumped here. Alone. Not that he blamed her. He was used to being alone. At least she let him use her basement to sleep in, a place that was cold and damp and nice.

Right now, sitting here in the sun, he did not really like it. Sun was not dark, and therefore it was not nice. Yet, he was here anyway, waiting for a baby dragon to return. He found it strange how many people were walking into the library across the square from him, but he did not get up yet to go question it.

Instead, he waited. Waited for something new to happen, for a time when there might be shadows, or when Delath, Philomel's pet young dragon, returned with dinner. Then adventures could begin.

[Alyssa Snow]

Alyssa sat beside the timid girl known as Cellar. Leona called her "Temperance", but Alyssa failed to see how this girl embodied a major arcana; she barely embodied that skinny frame of hers. So far, the trip had soured the mage gunner's view on both her and Leona. Only a few days after getting the living tar kicked out of her on some god foreseen flying fortress, the seer told her to accompany Cellar on this new venture. Alyssa was created for militant purposes, but she was still just a young girl. Her body needed decent hours of rest, relaxation, and the occasional pampering.

Or at least that's what she thought normal girls needed.

Regardless, the blonde sat at the table with hair tossed up on a frazzled bun, cheeks pressed up between the palms that supported them, and legs swinging freely from the edge of her seat. She tried to wrap her head around the man's announcement, but found herself more interested in twirling a stray wisp or watching passerby's pick out various tomes from the shelves. She needn't sweat too many of the details, for they didn't matter to her mission. Leona wanted a report on Cellar and to keep her safe should she need it.

Besides, who took this ball of yarn and giant moth story seriously? Alyssa just helped knock a four mile long piece of rock, deadly monsters and all, out of the sky to save countless numbers.

What can a moth do? Eat holes in your clothing?

"Rubbish," Alyssa muttered with attention away from the group. She took in a deep breath, then let out an exacerbated sigh.

"I'm with her and she says she's in," Alyssa continued in more audible tones than her timid Tarot tag-a-long. Meanwhile, she never truly gave any one particular member of the group her attention and continued to divert it until they would eventually depart.

[Ceidon]

I bunnied names to save time. Please let me know if you'd like to edit to an alias! Ceidon was simply tickled by the positive responses to his request, particularly given that the participants would receive no reward except the satisfaction of saving Althanas. Of course, the scholar might have left out that point during his rant.

One by one, Ceidon greeted the “volunteers”. “Paige Turner, huh” Ceidon said, immediately recognizing the name. “You’re the Editor in Chief of the Radasanthian Reader!” Her hazel eyes and bookworm persona were admittedly appealing to the young adventurer. “You know, I always thought Paige Turner was just a pen name for William Pullhearst, but I’m very pleased to see I was mistaken,” he said with a gleam. However, his attempt to flirt was interrupted when the dirty blonde young man approached them. “More than you know,” Ceidon replied after the young man finished. The man introduced himself as Edward Black. “Glad to have you,” Ceidon said, placing his hand on Ed’s shoulder.

Next, a young girl softly expressed her interest as well. Another one! Ceidon thought with glee. Where were these women when he wasn’t trying to save Althanas, he wondered. This one was a bit rougher than Paige, but still lovely. She had darker hair with obvious wear. It was clear from her eyes that she had seen a lot in her short lifetime. However, before Ceidon could greet the worn teen, a strange thought entered his head. It seems another had accepted his offer. The scholar looked around the room, trying to find the source of the telekinetic affirmation, but no one claimed responsibility. After a moment, a random adventurer pointed at the steampunk tank that was situated in the middle of foyer.

“Erm, you're alive?” Ceidon asked. He thought the tank was simply decoratory when he entered the library. He’d seen similar designs in his father’s workshop as a child, but this one seemed a bit older. The tank thought in the affirmative, causing Ceidon to rub his chin. There were so many questions –How can a tank think? How did it come into being? How did it fit into the library?—but those questions would have to wait. “Well, good to have you Tank..ita.” Ceidon said. I suppose every adventuring party has a tank, Ceidon punned to himself.

Eventually he made his way to the young girl. However, before he could introduce himself, he was interrupted again, this time by a commanding female voice. Ceidon turned and stopped. His jaw literally dropped. Before him was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen on Althanas. Blonde, with her hair in a bun, this woman was simply divine. Suddenly fearless, easy going Ceidon was rendered speechless. “Uh, hi,” He eventually managed to sputter. Two lovely women and this goddess—Lillian suddenly had some competition for Ceidon’s affection.

-----

Some time passed with Ceidon and the volunteers exchanging pleasantries while those who were not interested in saving Althanas exited the library. When the dust cleared, Ceidon was joined by Paige Turner, the nerdy writer, Sulla, the spry warrior, Tankita, the sentient steam tank, Cellar, the mysterious teenager and Alyssa, the goddess. It was quite the motley crew.

“So, I have a confession,” Ceidon finally admitted. “I’m not 100% sure where to go from here. Where does one go to find a legendary spool of yarn belonging to a neko that hasn’t been seen in years?”

[Void]

Rude interruption.

That was what it was.

No sooner had those that did not wish to go after a ball of yarn exited the library, than they were set upon by a small black infantile dragon. It was five feet from nose to tail tip, and it flapped its wings uselessly, neither fast enough to lift it into the air or slow enough to just cause a relaxing breeze. It assaulted the fellows from the air, maw first and body second, tumbling from the low roof of the entranceway that had been covered in shadows. Of course, it was all Yakob's fault. He had been waiting, and not at all looking properly. Instead he only noticed at the last second that the dragon he was looking for was detatching itself from the dark roof and pounced the people like he was hunting rabbits.

Delath landed on the ground, though his tail caught the legs of a man with a thud, sending him sprawling. Tongue lolling out he turned and greeted them all, complete with a little spurt of fire, wondering what they thought of his hunting skills. Their reactions, however, was not at all what the baby dragon expected. Voices yelled out, screams were raised and various weapons were thrust towards him. Yelping, the small and agile beast tried to slither away but he only got a pierce to his fragile wing.

Darting forwards, Yakob ran with all the spirit within him. He raised his right arm, using the pressure and power of the Void to swing it up and roll the first bolt into place. His hand folded into a fist, wooden arms of a small crossbow rose up and slotted into formation. With his other hand he pulled an iron blade from his side, opening his mouth to raise a battle cry as he sped forwards to save the small dragon.

"Delath!" he screamed.

And charged. Right into the centre of the crowd. They parted before him, not really wanting to get in the way of this small dark-skinned creature. Their opening came to the library entranceway, and it was into here that the void halfling tumbled, followed closely by the baby dragon. Hissing and spitting came from both, and a bolt over the shoulder by Yakob gave some form of distance between them and the dragon. He ran into the library, and turned right around the doorway to duck inside. Delath skittered over the floor, his claws scraping, but overall the two of them got in safely. From there the midget slammed the door shut, summoning up what little strength he had in his small muscles, and in that moment the dragon was safe.

And yelping. Burping fire. In a library full of books.

[Taste of Treason]

If the whole adventure seemed strange, and it did. Then, the next moment was pure chaos.

A dragon, yes, a dragon ran into the library and began to set the shelves ablaze. The poor thing seemed more scared than malicious, but that didn't make the whole scene any less terrifying.

My first thought was to hide behind a shelf. That was quickly replaced by the desire to pee in my breeches. Finally, the flight part of fight of flight kicked in and I ran for the back entrance. I didn't even know for certain if there were a backdoor, but it seemed logical and at that point worth the risk. I blazed across the carpeted room with only the tiniest laugh at how loud a place usually reserved for silence could be when a dragon interrupted.

The dark room beyond the doorway was actually a flight of stair, which I very nearly fell straight down. Somehow I managed to catch myself on the wall and force my frame back upright, only to stumble again the moment I reached the dark landing below. A hall stretched outward directly before me, but a glass door to my left seemed to offer some light. After a moment of indecision I opened the door and rushed into the room. It was some sort of supply closet.

It reminded me quite a lot of my old room at the shop when I first journeyed to Radasanth. I considered making myself at home at least until the chaos stilled upstairs, but decided getting outside would be a far better idea. A small window was just out of reach above my head, but perhaps with a little muscle I could move a shelf against the wall and make my grand escape. I tried an empty shelf that sat near the corner.

Nope, that wasn't going to happen. That was when I saw the books. I smiled as I began to carry stack after stack to form a pyramid below the window. This would not be the first time books had saved my life. I climbed them as quick as I could without knocking them over and opened the window. Then, I pushed myself through and right onto the stone sidewalk outside the library.

Thank Thaynes for Literature.

This adventure hadn't quite started off the way I imagined.

[Alyssa Snow]

"Uh hi," he said.

The man's words were directed toward Alyssa. She was busy watching this couple smile and flirt with one another at a distant table, but the blonde felt him addressing her. It felt... creepy.

With her cheek still pressed on her palm, she turned to Ceidon and affirmed her suspicions. His sad attempt at a warm greeting and a smile looked a little... "rapey". Alyssa's lips curled, her head impulsively jut back a smidgen, and her nose wrinkled as if she smelled rotten food. Though the man had a certain handsome ruggedness to his chiseled features, his execution lacked finesse.

"Yeah... hi?" she muttered back. Without further interaction, she cocked her head back toward the couple and slumped it back on her palm. The remaining adventurers continued chatting, barking, and laughing. Alyssa drew in a deep breath and sighed.

Moments passed, others had come and gone. Until, finally, Ceidon raised his tone to snag their attention. Alyssa halted mid hair twirl and looked up from her blouse that she could not seem to get this one button to stay. To her dismay, the gentleman gathered this ensemble of unlikely friends to declare he had not the faintest idea where to begin the proposed journey.

Alyssa scoffed. Were she in a better mood today, the next words would have actually provided some sound advice.

"Have you tried the pound?" she mocked.

The screams that followed her snarky response raised the girl's brow. She leaned to the side to get a better view past an apparently sentient war machine. Her stomach flopped at the sight.

A dragon whelp no taller than a dwarf skittered through the grand entryway. People scattered left and right to avoid the tufts of fire that bellowed out with each terrified yelp. Its wings fluttered, books scattered, and dried tomes caught fire faster then tinder. Behind it, a dark skin hafling in a similar state of panic.

"For the love of..." And then Cellar, the Tarot of Temperance, took flight like the scared little mouse Alyssa feared her to be.

"Damn it..."

Whilst everyone scampered in reaction to the growing flames, squawking reptile, and panicked civilians, Alyssa pressed her face into her hand. She shook her head.

What a lovely morning...

"Cellar!" Alyssa finally resolved to shouting. "Get back here!"

The mage gunner kicked her chair to the marble floor as she stood. She looked through the chaotic sea of bumbling bodies and caught s faint glimpse of the girl disappearing down some steps.

"Damn it, Cellar!" Then, Alyssa took flight to give chase. He elbowed, shoved, and squeezed through the disheveled patrons. She shimmied down the steps and lost track of the Tarot member in the dark hallway. Alyssa heard a door shut followed by scraping and hollow thuds. She jogged to the source and when Alyssa opened the door to the closet, she only saw a foot disappear to the Radasanth streets.

"Crap..."

Meanwhile, the flicker of flame and screams of fleeing civilians trickled down the hallway.

[Tankita Bananas]

Tankita was very confused as to what was going on now. First, their leader decided that he was clueless on the first step into their adventure. Next, a dragon seemed to enter the library and quickly started setting things on fire like some reptilian arsonist. One of the machine’s allies panicked and took off like a scared raccoon in the night. Another new friend followed without a moment’s notice. The sentient sentinel knew that if the lizard continued his fiery rampage, there would be nothing left of the library or her company.

“Come here you cute little thing…” she said with a sweetness to her ‘voice’ as though she were a human that just beckoned a puppy. The hatch to her interior opened up as the dragon’s head started to jerk around in an attempt to locate the voice. The beauty of the Aleran machine was that her telepathy was universal; even something as savage as a young dragon could understand her.

She continued to summon the beast with sounds akin to a lip smack. The beast quickly wandered over to the hatch and dove in. The hatch immediately closed and a loud roar could be heard from the interior of the tons of fun titan. “You’re just so cute I thought you deserved a hug! Oh! Hey! That tickles!”

Tankita’s gun lifted upwards away from any innocent bystanders as she began to laugh. The laughter itself sounded more like two gears grinding against a chalk board than anything remotely human. Most of the people that remained in the library covered their ears and screamed in pain as the mechanical telepath continued to laugh and finally fired a large blast of magical energy straight towards the upper wall of the library’s entrance.

Debris littered the ground, as well as dust and what seemed to be bird feathers. If Tankita had eyes, they would have been widened. “Sorry! I’m good now! Everything’s fine guys!”

[Sulla]

By nature, a serial killer tends to work best alone. Solitude is, in equal measures, a weapon, armor, and cloak against whatever hurdles may come his way. Lacking ties to others allows a freedom of movement unparalleled, prevents emotional attachments from being used against him, and allows an anonymous facade to hide in plain sight anywhere. If Sulla ever needed a reminder of the bliss of working alone, he'd only have to think back to this day. From the moment Ceidon finished eye-banging the banal blonde, a madness of uncertainty and amateurism had gripped the room. Like a building with only its top planned out, they had no foundation to go on and find Leon's mythic item.

And if its ill-prepared beginning wasn't bad enough, a wretched little creature had burst its way into the building and begun to set fire to every piece of dry paper it could. Even the omnipresent mildew couldn't stem the lick of flames that took to tome in no time flat. What was left of their group seemed to give into their baser instincts for survival, some fleeing and others running around with no plan at all. Sulla kept perfectly still, debating for longer than he liked on an appropriate course to take.

”Second story window. One of these chairs should be solid enough to shatter it, and I could safely fall. But the cobblestone outside could pose problems. Might sprain something.” He moved to avoid a falling ember that had once been a treatise of the elven concept of self. ”Edward Black is not that swift, I think. Should I cower? Would anyone notice?” He jumped back a bit to avoid the fire gecko as he scampered passed him, and into the chassis of the massive sentient tank he mistook for decoration when he'd first arrived.

The mechanical beast began to laugh with the furious screams of hell. The killer felt the back of his eyes as if tiny claws tore at them. His skull rang with an unholy pitch, and he thought that at any moment it might split like a ripe melon. Through gritted teeth he spit a savage series of curses, his tongue flicking faster than the damned lizard that started the chaos. But through the blinding pain, he caught the golem's massive cannon raise skyward, and knew from plenty of military histories what would come.

Clutching his ears, he rolled under the nearest table, only to see Ceidon's legs nearby. A brilliant and brief idea caught him then, as distracted as he was.

“Ceidon, down!” He shouted with an unfamiliar vigor and attempted to grasp at the scholar's leg to get him in cover.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Paige Turner rubbed the bridge of her nose, jaw set and teeth grinding against the sudden and unwarranted chaos that had unleashed itself in her safe haven. She was standing roughly where she had been seated, not having felt imperiled enough to get the hell out of dodge. As such, she was dusty and dirty, her ears rung a little, but she was completely unharmed.

At least when a certain Alerian comes to town, she doesn't demolish buildings. Thayne only knew how the tank had fit into the library, or who thought it was a good idea to bring a dragon into Radasanth given just how many had recently erupted from seemingly nowhere to make mischief and eat people. Add to that people running every which way, and in her estimation, this group's chances of success had gone from a starting point of 'unlikely' to 'hilarious failure.'

Fine soot and alabaster dust floated through the air. Fires crackled on shelves, and sunlight streaked through the wreckage. Shell-shocked library assistants looked around for guidance.

Perspective. This is not the first time I've had to guide some wet-behind-the-ears adventurers to a common goal and purpose. And patience. Not everyone can come to a meeting with three dozen plans drawn up and ready for implementation. At least if they fail hilariously, I will have a good story for my readers.

"Don't stand there gawking," she snapped at the library workers. "Save the books and the building! Get those fires out and find an engineer to check the structural integrity of the ceiling. And you." She singled out a young man from the dusty wreckage and beckoned him forward, writing a note on a blank slip of paper and handing it to him. "You know where to take this."

The editor looked into her tea cup, sighing at the plaster mud. She brushed her arms off brusquely, attempting to clean herself of the evidence of carnage. "To the best of my knowledge," she said, sounding for all the world like she was teaching a class of junior journalists, "Leon Timyon never left Corone. I should have more precise information within a few hours."