"Are you the cough-guy?" asked a voice from nearby. Jack whirled about, having to dodge a small cloud of seamen headed towards the ship he was on the docks adjacent to. He found himself face-to-face with a woman of his height, dressed in a blue denim shirt and tan slacks that would look more at home on a college campus than the expedition he was going to depart on in three days. She lowered a slim pair of sunglasses down from her blue eyes and gave him a measuring look. "Yeah, you're him." Snapping a piece of chewing gum and reaffirming a bag's position on her shoulder, she dodged two more pieces of human traffic on the docks before getting close to him. "Aide James Van Huizen?"

"That's what my birth certificate says," Jack replied, finding himself liking her despite her condescending attitude. "You're part of this farce, too?"

"Profesora Victoria Kahlt," she announced primly. Her accent put her from the north side of the State, turning her Profesora into Prrofethorra and Victoria into Bictorria. "Vickie will do."

If Jack were alone, he would have beat his head against a wall. He managed to insult one of the people he'd be working with closely for the next six months in the second sentence he spoke to her. "Ah, well, then, you probably don't consider this much of a farce."

She rolled her eyes. "It's an insult. I don't know what the Prime Minister was thinking, but this is a circus, complete with lion tamers and acrobats." She looked down the docks and said "Yes, I consider it a gargantuan farce."

On a hunch, Jack asked "Do you speak Avaloni?" in Avaloni.

Taken aback, she stared at him for a moment. "Of course. Didn't you read the files handed to you?" She had switched languages as well, but her Avaloni wasn't quite as good as his.

"I've only got so many hours in a day, and reading the files of the 320 people on this little jaunt wasn't high priority. All I know about you is that you're our leading expert on Berek," he decided to throw in a compliment to ease the mood, "you're much prettier in person than your file picture."

The faintest ghost of a grin crossed her face. "Mother told me I should never stick my hair in a braid. Your file didn't say anything about you speaking Avaloni."

"It's something Ive only had cause to use recently. And you can call me Jack."

"Thank Theus, I was wondering how long it was going to take you to say that."

Jack shifted his balance from one foot to the other. "Have you met the Captain yet?"

"Not yet. Is this the man?" she asked, fishing a picture out of her satchel.

"That's him," Jack confirmed, having just looked at the same picture not long ago.

"I need to find him as well. Theres some sort of misunderstanding about my quarters."

"You've been on the boat?"

"Seemed like the best place to start looking for the Captain." She paused, making the mental equivalent of a manual transmission shifting gears. "You're close to the Prime Minister. You must know more about this 'mission' than I do."

"I do. After a fashion." Carolina's face appeared in Jack's mind.

"I know I'm being blatant about fishing for information, but youre a bureaucrat, I can't imagine that you had a nondisclosure agreement shoved under your pen. What's going on here?"

"I wish I knew to tell you. Im going to be in the dark for a while longer myself. Not by choice, I assure you." Jack hoped he was better liar than he was a few weeks ago.

Kahlt didn't appear fooled, but she decided not to pursue the matter further. "Well, if you hear anything, feel free to pass it on. You can call on me any time." She fished out a rectangle of white cardstock embossed with the following:

Doctor-Consul Victoria Lucia Kahlt

University of San Quandis

In Castillian, as well as a phone number. "That's my cellphone's number. You can call that at any time and reach me." She slid the sunglasses back up on her nose and tried unsuccessfully to make her exit graceful.

Jack watched her go, then his eyes fell to the card again. History, Philosophy, Economics, and Law? Intellectual by anyone's definition, he thought.

"Are you the PM's aide?" a voice asked from Jacks side. Jack looked up to see a man a head taller than him. The State of the Coast's navy was not particularly known for standing on ceremony as the navies of some other Thean nations were, but this man wore his uniform like he was an emperor addressing court. Immaculately clean and fitted perfectly, Jack could have sworn the uniform was his second skin. A strong and callused hand was held before him, fingers curved slightly, clearly beckoning for something. Jack, not breaking eye contact with this giant, immediately began rooting for the packet of forms he was supposed to present to the officers of the ship he would be on. He had no idea who was addressing him, but if the man wasn't an officer, Jack was a sea bass.

"Are you Captain Kanheim?" Jack asked, finally producing the documents in question.

"Yes," he answered, icy blue eyes falling to the papers as soon as he had them. "I heard you calling earlier. Not many men have the temerity to walk around shouting for someone." He looked up as he turned the first sheet over. "Smacks of a certain disrespect for trite social mores."

Jack, once he remembered what 'temerity' meant, realized that Kanheim was very correct. A month ago, Jack would have 'asked around' or simply waited until someone realized he was out of place. Walking down the docks shouting for someone was far outside his character. At least, he thought it was. "I've heard the military appreciates screaming from time to time."

Kanheim smiled. "Not an undeserved reputation." Once he was finished with the sixth page, he leafed it all over and tucked it under one arm. "See Lachelow for your quarters." He made to leave, but hesitated. "I will tell this to everyone on my boat eventually, but I'd like to drive this point home to you with particular severity, Aide Van Huizen. You are not special. While you are on my ship, you fall under the Maritime Temporary Indenturement Act just as every other civilian does. This means two things. It means you are not the Prime Minister's errand boy when you're on the bridge, you are my advisor. It also means you have my authorization to deal with any misconduct you meet while on board. And yes, I do speak of Ms. Kahlt."

Jacks brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Captain, I don't understand. What about Ms. Kahlt?"

"Though the government's loathsomely inefficient little program of integrating men and women in the navy is making progress, it is not yet perfect. If Profesora Kahlt gets herself into trouble she can't sort out, you will not be held responsible for whatever actions you take to prevent others from" He let the sentence dangle intentionally.

"Will that be a problem?" Jack asked, slightly mortified.

"Theus willing, no. But it is not impossible." And with that, he did depart.

<(_-|-_)>

Though Bonifacius Vehl had to hire another man just to find the men he was looking for, he was thus far from dissatisfied with the results from either. The team of mercenaries he found seemed by all indications to be very competent in their profession, even offering, for an extra few thousand theas, the ability for Vehl to communicate with them while they were in the midst of accomplishing the work he needed done by way of a tiny fiber-optic camera mounted on the head gear of the 'intruders.'

Vehl liked the idea of being able to watch his employees in action. It conferred the feeling of control to him. And Vehl liked being partially in control of a situation. Not completely, but partially. He bought that particular extra without hesitation, as well as the ability to remain in radio contact with the leader should adjudication part of the way through the mission become necessary.

Vehl spent an anxious three hours waiting in the dead of night in his office at the top of Vehl Tower, preparing for his hired team to drop down from helicopter at the address his inquiry with the Avaloni government had turned up. The original intent was to land by the MacGowan household in the very early morning, but some of the Trade Sea's legendary foul weather had delayed the drop by a few hours. They would not arrive as early as intended, but it would still be seven in the morning Avalon time; a very rude awakening for these Highlanders.

The initial drop went smoothly, Vehl marvelling at how quiet one could make a helicopter. The MacGowans were also obliging by living in an undensely populated portion of Reymoor. Their neighbors, being two hills over, would not learn of what happened or alert the authorities until it was far too late.

Vehl was also impressed at how efficiently the mercenaries fanned out and 'secured the grounds,' making certain that there were no unpleasant surprises waiting for them. Once that was certain, they entered the house stealthily, perspective-cameras swinging about and revealing the interior as a quaint but well-appointed home for kidnappers.

The first problem was the woman they found in the kitchen. She was the same age as Vehl, and was quite frightened to see armed men entering her household. She seemed to have an even head on her shoulders, though, and didn't do anything foolish like scream. Once four guns were trained on her, she backed away from the small parade of mercenaries filing through the doorway, coming to a stop only when she reached a counter, her hands still frozen in a dishtowel as she was drying them.

"You are not in danger," the leader of the mercenaries announced firmly. "We only need Donata Corelli."

Perhaps wisely, the woman said nothing as the leader herded her into the dining room with a wave of his hand. A man, presumably her husband, conveniently appeared a moment later, just finishing the tying of his tie. Like the woman, he froze in surprise, but unlike the woman, his expression was an open book. Vehl could tell, even through the grainy blue-and-black video feed he was getting from the perspective cameras, that this man would gladly rip every one of the intruders limb from limb if he could. He, however, allowed himself to be herded as well.

The mercenaries began a sweep of the first floor much as they had the grounds, searching for their target. Vehl couldn't help but feel powerful as his eyes danced from one TV screen to another, following the movements of one mercenary or another, seeing the house as they did. He almost cackled with delight as the thrill of power, long unfelt writhed at the base of his brain again. He felt like a king, not a businessman.

Then, when he changed his perspective for the fifth time, he saw his quarry. The audio channel chirped with the mercenary's voice: "Target sighted!"

This Donata Corelli was not all that impressive looking, but he chalked that up to her dimensions and current clothes (a white T-shirt several sizes too big and khaki trousers). She was only recently risen, as was obvious from the sleep she was still rubbing from her eyes. She was slim girl, and not very tall either, perhaps a meter and two-thirds. A head of long, straight, lustrous black hair had not seen brush nor comb yet this morning. Eyes as dark as her hair widened when she saw the men invading the MacGowan house, and she turned to dash up the stairs without a moment of hesitation.

Vehl immediately switched his perspective to follow the head of the mercenary who sprang after her, almost feeling the movement as the man knelt and shouldered a rifle loaded with tranquilizer darts. For the briefest of moments, Vehl glimpsed a form at the top of the stairs beside Donata, presumably one of the MacGowan brothers. There was a flash of reflected light, and suddenly Vehl was staring at the still quivering hilt of a broadsword, which had just buried itself in the shoulder of the mercenary he was currently 'looking over the shoulder of.'

Vehl nearly cackled. For once, it looked like something in his life was going to be difficult.

<(_-|-_)>

The Penta Primadon of Ussura swivelled about in an office chair and stared out the window at the warming skyline of spring come to Pavtlow. "Ah, for the old days. A strong U.U.R.A. meant domestic enemies and predictable opposition," he lamented, sighing heavily. "Where are you, Kolami? I would trade even half my fortune to face the Owl again."

A swing back to his desk banished his thoughts of the past three decades. The report detailed what looked to the untrained eye like dozens of transactions misfiled and mishandled that somehow all wound up in the same place. To Rachanov's highly trained eyes, it was the unmistakable tracks of Domingo Zepeda, one of the needlessly ambitious Castillian dons who sought a higher place in Artidenot, regardless of his countrys unimpressive place within the world's economy. That was the perception of the other dons, at least; Ussura had little to offer the world as a whole save a surplus of destitute working-class citizens desperately seeking employment. It was only that Ussura was so large, even after the splintering of the U.U.R.A. that anyone took them seriously. That and the fact that the weakened government could do little to control Rachanov.

The problem with the report was that it was apparently a trumpeted endorsement by the Vodacce dons (pawns of Trilliani to the last), for Don Zepeda to take off on some absurd treasure hunt. Not that Zepeda himself would go on such a jaunt; Rachanov remembered quite keenly the man's painful limp at the last convocation the dons had. While the money flooded into the Harlequin account was considerable, it was far from an expenditure large enough to draw the attention of anyone other than Rachanov, who was looking for such a thing. What could they be rooting around for?

One conundrum frustrated him, so he turned to another. Ordering his agents in Vendel to monitor Vehl had almost been an afterthought. Rachanov's initial thought that the Vendel businessman's relentless persecution of Artidenot in his sphere of influence might be personally motivated, but it turned out to be nothing more or less than professional jealousy. Vehl, like Trilliani, was borderline obsessive-compulsive when it came to his money. Not that anyone in Artidenot wasn't, Trilliani was simply particularly acute in his affliction. Vehl, though, Vehl was the curiosity.

Due to the man's steady witch hunt for Artidenot agents, Rachanov only sent his best to keep an eye on Vendel. This led to a standard of work the Penta Primadon highly favored. So when Rachanov picked up this most recent report, he expected his agents to preface their words with what new measures Vehl was employing to elude them. What he got instead was nothing short of shocking, as Vehl made no effort to cover his tracks when he hired (at great expense) a company of mercenaries for a task his agents were unable to determine. They were airdropped to the Highland Marches using a legal, civilian service, probably paid a great deal of money to keep quiet about what they saw. Probably tied into that mysterious ten million pounds that disappeared out of Vehl's account and appeared in Avalon later, Rachanov mused.

Rachanov skipped forward in the report and found that digging deeper turned up Vehl's inquiries about mercenaries. The first went to Lucent Avion and his band of yes-men, but they were engaged in Montaigne, on something the employer had paid dearly to keep quiet, even from Artidenot. Not an unusual occurrence, but the name of the employer sparked Rachanov's interest. Deschaine. Certainly familiar, but he couldn't place it or the company, Reiseker. A mystery for another day.

The doors to Rachanov's office swung open, and his hand dove for a firearm he kept under his desk at all times. His heart skipped another beat when he found it gone. There was another on the bookshelves to his left, but it would take some doing to get to that one, a time during which an assassin competent enough to make it all the way to Rachanov's office would have plenty of time to kill him.

In from the doors stepped a swarthy man of Vodacce descent, disturbingly plain-featured and unremarkable except for the quality of the suit he wore, which was excellent if not obviously designer. He strode forward, towards Rachanov's desk as though this were his office. Before the stunned Penta Primadon could page security, he said in perfectly accented Ussuran: "Do not trouble yourself, Penta Primadon Rachanov. I would not have walked in here if I was not certain I could walk out again. I am here to deliver a message from my lady." He produced a business card by way of explanation who this mysterious lady was, and Rachanov took it to find no words written on it at all, but only a wheel surmounted by a spider. "My message comes from the Centrara, Artidenot dog. Stay out of Trilliani's business. You meddle in affairs you do not understand."

With that, he turned and left, leaving a stunned Rachanov holding a business card in his wake. After a moment, Rachanov snapped out of his state of disbelief, and smashed a frustrated fist into his desk. "Doubly-damned Ruota!" he cursed, crushing the card. What does this mean? he asked himself mentally. Are they earnestly warning me, or is this a provocation for me to act? A thousand curses on those witches and their cryptic messages.

After considering for a moment, he mashed the keys on his telephone for a number in Vodacce.

<(_-|-_)>

Hugo looked down at Bran and did his best to look surprised. "Him? No, he just followed me in."

"Sir, you can't have animals roaming free in here," the employee continued as though Hugo had claimed responsibility for Bran.

"So do something about it. He's not mine." Which was true, the relationship between Hugo and Bran was more that Hugo was Bran's human, not Bran being Hugo's cat.

The employee stiffened, the typical reaction of someone unsure of what to do when presented with an unusual situation. He bent down to reach for Bran, who immediately eluded him with the agility of a stray who spent years dodging much faster and more experience pursuers. Hugo considered just walking off, but recognized the makings of a merry chase and stopped, watching the proceedings. After about two minutes of following Bran across the floor, over two counters, between travelers' legs, and through two baggage trains, the idea lost its novelty and Hugo continued. He reflected on how he'd miss Bran, but the cat had ably provided an excellent distraction.

Hugo marched up to the nearest ticket counter and bought a one-way ticket to Avalon. It was time to give Norda a merry chase, and he was damned if he was going to make it easy for her. The money he spent wasn't his.  As he discovered with surprising speed, being a Porté master made you a proficient burglar so long as you did a bit of legwork beforehand. He skimmed money for the most part, a few bills here, emptying a coin dish there, but on occasion he scooped a whole drawer into his bag. Usually those latter victims were ones he was particularly upset with, but necessity was always the prime motivator for his larcenies.

He sat down in a lobby, intent to take a nap before his flight, which departed in another six hours. The chairs weren't particularly comfortable, but Hugo was very used to sleeping in odd places. He tugged his hat over his face and leaned back.

Three hours into his nap, a sound like soaking-wet canvas being torn apart jerked him awake. He knew instinctually the sound of a Porté hole coming open; he could hear the sound whether he was right in front of it or a kilometer away. It was a small hole, but it was near him. He was unready for this, but it was not a completely unpleasant surprise. Norda's appearances were always quiet, nearly undetectable unless he was listening. Whoever made this hole was a Porté sorcerer, like him.

Pulling his beaten fedora back on top of his head, Hugo stood, eyes roving over the people nearby. Business as usual here in the airport, no one seemed to know something was amiss. Shouldering his bag, Hugo started off, carefully watching everything around him, waiting for the other sorcerer to make him- or herself evident. Then he would clock them right between the eyes for potentially revealing his location to Norda. Hugo already took a risk on the way here by stashing his gun in a Porté locker on the Walkway. He was not going to get himself caught because of someone else casting in his general area.

Hugo had few advantages in his search. He knew only that whoever it was would be his age or younger, since his was the first batch of children the Resisekers created that were somewhat successful. The Reiseker scientists determined successful as reaching adulthood without major psychoses or disappearing spontaneously. At his current distance, he couldnt make out specifically where the hole occurred without sticking his head in the Walkway, which would probably bring Norda running. So he just had to wander and hope (and yet not hope) that they did it again.

He stopped at a café in the airport and bought a sandwich to assuage his rumbling stomach. What are the chances that another sorcerer would be here at the same time as me? he pondered. Is Norda trying to herd us? No, she's not that clever. And doesn't like that sort of a hunt. She probably doesnt know where I am. Yet.

Just then, another disturbance in the Walkway caught his attention. Head snapping up, he looked around. That one was much closer. He could tell it was from outside the building he was in. Turning around, he looked down at the sea of automobiles in the parking lot. People moved between them occasionally. He stared through the huge window he now stood beside as though his gaze would reveal the culprit.

Another use jarred him. Because he was focusing his attention more intently, he pinpointed the location instantly. A large, white van was issuing forth a small group of people of varying descriptions, two of whom stood out beyond the others.

The first was a slightly taller-than-average man with the dashing look of a cinema hero, evident even from this distance. The light spring breeze raked through his black hair, heightening the image. He spoke to everyone present, who gave him infinite deference, nodding agreement occasionally. Unlike his fellows, he was wearing a casual suit that looked expensive, without a tie, the top two buttons undone. He made two magnanimous gestures with his arms and those listening dispersed, spilling out across the parking lot.

The second was a woman, not particularly tall or short, with a long mop of brown hair that she repeatedly brushed out of her way. What caught Hugo's attention was her attire. First and foremost, she was muzzled. A sculpted mask of ventilated metal covered her face from her nose down, ending in a synthetic cloth that draped over her shoulders. The rest of her outfit was of the same material, giving her a plastic look. Metal covered her knees, elbows, and boots, making her seem still more to be an artificial being. Around her waist another length of the fabric was belted, which stopped shortly above her ankles. For a perverse moment, Hugo was reminded of Cardinal Montvay, whom he saw on television once, though the cardinal's robes were red. It seemed she was bizarre, metallic version of him, a priestess to a machine god.

Hugo shook his head, still skeptical of her appearance. Seeing she had not disappeared, he realized she might be the Porté user he felt before. Cursing through clenched teeth, he debated on what to do.

<(_-|-_)>

"There is a reason for everything, my dear Eisen bodyguard," Pietro Trilliani replied. "I believe what you mean to ask is: will I tell you the reason?"

"Ah, yes," Ernst replied, being of mixed feelings about the snubbing he just received.

"I see no need not to," the Primadon continued. "You are, after all, my chief of security. As I have told you before, these days, in the financial arenas of the extralegal, there are three names everyone bows to: Trilliani, Rachanov, and Vehl, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, someone has just decided to put a fourth name on that list. A rather irritating gnat has decided to start buzzing in my ear again, and for that reason, I am taking precautions."

"Who is this fourth?"

"The Ruota." It was stated flatly, as though the most powerful consortium of fiscally advantaged sorceresses in the world was an unwelcome guest who popped by for tea.

"Why is the Ruota involving themselves in your business?"

"Probably because I invited the hags," Trilliani spat. "Allow me to explain: the Ruota and Artidenot have an unusual relationship. Most organizations that Artidenot deals with have a weak link: in the end, they are composed of people. They are not an entity in and of themselves, they are merely an amalgamation of many parts constituting a whole. If you can ensnare one part, then you also have all the parts under it as well, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. The Ruota is unique because of that damned sorcery of theirs. They are notoriously difficult to infiltrate, given that they can perceive the bonds of fate with their abilities. The most I can hope for is to get an agent in whose goals run alongside those of the Ruotas, because the witches are less likely to jump on such a plant. Unfortunately, the mitigation necessary often defeats the purpose of such an agent."

Ernst remained silent, waiting for his employer to continue.

"Likely something I have done in the last few months has put their hackles up. Traditionally, they're forthcoming about that sort of thing, but their recent meeting with Vehl and the disappearence of a Raggia in Ussura are probably related. I have never known the Ruota to be preemptive," he smiled grimly at his bizarre joke, "but if I did not know any better, I'd swear they were overreacting to something they didn't expect. And flattering thought it may be, I think they might suspect Artidenot of being responsible for outstepping them."

<(_-|-_)>

"Buongiorno, Lina," Tadicia greeted, smiling. "How are you?"

"I will be better when Donata is found," the Castillian woman replied from her own office in Barcino. She leaned back and rested her jaw in an L-shape formed by her thumb and index finger. "Have you heard anything?"

"She called me and left a message."

"Did you call her back?"

"No. I was too shaken to trust any reading I made, so I did not bother to see if talking to her would do any good. I opted to err on the side of caution."

"Clearly. It is probably best, but that doesn't make it any easier, no? The challenges of being both mother and Raggia."

"I want very much to tell her it will be all right, but I do not know that. Pacification is not always useful," she said, reciting an obscure Ruota maxim.

"Have you given any more thought to the tremors in the strands of late?"

"I've barely had time to think this last week, Lina. After three months, nothing, and then this! I don't know what to do with myself."

"I have," the Castillian said. "Whoever is responsible is subtle, subtle enough to turn any of us green with envy. I am no Raggia, Dica, but I think I can pinpoint a nexus for the constant jerking and rumbling."

That had Tadicia's attention. "Where? For Theus' sake woman, speak!"

"Here," she said, holding up a heavily folded and written on map of Theah. Her finger tapped a point in the middle of the Trade Sea. "Something between Avalon and Vendel is making us dance like marionettes." She pulled the map aside.

"You're only half-blooded, Lina, your creditability-"

"Half is better than that lunatic Vincenzia's suggestions. I can speak for Aquilina and Aquilina alone, but I'm sick of sitting in a glass castle looking dumbfounded while whoever stole Donata out from under us laughs himself stupid. Sooner or later we're going to have to produce Donata, and I'd rather sooner. Can it hurt to investigate? We have to do something."

"Lina, we have the single best network of people across the world and we couldn't find my daughter, despite the fact that she is one of the Seven. Her horoscope ought to be a hurricane on the radar of any Raggia looking for it. Even if she was actively trying to stop us, she couldn't confound us all. The woman who called me sounded like she wanted very much to come home. I don't know where she learned Avaloni, but I'm going to stand with my intuition." She paused, and took a deep breath. "What is supposed to be there?"

Aquilina, who was staring at the map, looked as though she was struck by a poleaxe. "Dica, I think I know who may have taken Donata."

"Who?" Tadicia asked, baffled by her sudden change in demeanor. "We know that Artidenot-"

"No. The sidhe."

"Lina, I don't have time for faerie tales." Tadicia massaged her temples.

"They are the only creatures to ever confound Sorté utterly," Aquilina pressed. "If they wanted to take Donata off the radar, so to speak, it stands to reason they could."

"The last story of a sidhe being evident was in 1279, and that is sketchy at best."

"The Church would do anything to crush the most distant rumor of the fae. What about Queen Elaine?"

"Hokum and exaggeration. Lina-"

"No, no, hear me out. The sidhe are the best suspects so far."

"Why, Lina? That is the exonerating question. What possible reason could these theoretical masterminds have for this action?"

Aquilina did not move for a moment. "I do not know. It could not be to distract us, because we would never let this knowledge leave those who did not absolutely need to know." She turned and looked north. "But Vehl knows."

"And he could tell anyone."

"I don't think so. If Vehl is the man you say he is, he will probably guard this secret as jealously as we already do. If his motivation is entertainment, I doubt he will share his fun with anyone. I think we can trust Vehl's mistrust if nothing else."

"Bah, we chase tangents. We know that Donata is still alive. That is what is important. Theus willing, she will find us again."

"You are right, Dica. We should not worry ourselves overmuch with 'Why?' and 'Wherefore?' We must now trust to Vehl's competence and Donata's resourcefulness." She moved the map off her desk to somewhere outside Tadicia's view. "Have you done as Vehl has asked?"

"Of course. One broad Swords strand, one Cups strand, and one Staves strand, all tied to his as firmly as I could manage. His life will become very interesting very soon."

<(_-|-_)>

A thing, a great thing had answered its call. When last it was thrown back into its prisons, it had the time to let loose a mystical scream, an ever-echoing cacophony. This scream was compelling, a force of beckoning and a demand for action. Very few could hear it, though one or two had over the centuries. Most recently, a thing, not a person but a thing had answered the call, drifting towards the being, even fighting the river's current to reach it.

The thing was powerful, more powerful than the being, potentially. It was lost and hurt, though, so the being needed not worry about betrayal or destruction. The thing was lonely, and was glad to be near something like it. They were not very similar, the being and the thing, but they had a common ground in the humans they both dealt with. Both had long histories of dealing with them, but the being's stopped abruptly some time ago, whereas the thing was only recently discarded. Though it would not say discarded so much as leaving because it felt unwanted.

They talked for a time; many years, in fact. Their many experiences made for much to talk about, but eventually even reminiscing grew old after a few centuries. So they stayed silent, having little else to talk about.

Then, a scant few months ago, someone said the thing's name and earnestly wondered about it. It was a sensation the thing was familiar with from long ago. Most people considered it a joke these days, since it could not be proven to exist, it was assumed that it did not. But some people went looking for it and meant to find it. The thing exulted with joy.

"Oh, I hope that they find me!" it said.

"I do, too," the being said. "It has been so long since anyone has seen me. "I should like to meet your new friends."

And perhaps, just perhaps this whole business could have been avoided if the thing had eyes to see the being's villainous grin.

<(_-|-_)>