Catington appeared at sunrise.
At first, it looked like another mountain range.
Black shapes crowded the horizon where the sea should have ended. Towers. Chimneys. Bridges. Masts.
Then the sun climbed behind us, light spilled across the coast, and the mountains became a city.
Xavier stopped breathing.
I understood why.
Catington had been built by men who considered modesty a personal failure.
Stone walls stretched along the coast for miles, interrupted by six enormous harbors. Ordinary ships crowded the water below—merchant cogs, military cutters, fishing vessels, long black transports riding low with cargo.
Above them floated another harbor.
Airships.
Dozens.
Some were little more than wooden hulls hanging beneath inflated mana-sails. Others carried metal armor, rune engines, rotating fins, and enough artillery to make the Sierra look like something constructed in a forest by an injured lunatic.
Which, unfortunately, was accurate.
The city climbed inland behind the ports.
Factories occupied the lower districts, their chimneys pouring red and gray smoke into the morning. Farther uphill, stone buildings grew cleaner, taller, brighter. Bridges crossed artificial canals. Copper roofs glittered.
And beyond all of it, built against the northern heights, I saw several white towers.
Too far away to distinguish properly.
But one complex dwarfed everything around it.
Xavier followed my gaze.
"Nexus?"
"Probably."
His hands tightened around the helm.
Elisabeth's voice came through the speaking tube.
"What do you see?"
"Trouble," I said.
A pause.
"That describes most landscapes according to you."
"A very large city."
"How large?"
Xavier answered.
"Large enough that Raymond has finally stopped pretending he owns the horizon."
I looked at him.
"Your confidence has become unpleasant."
"I had an excellent teacher."
Mira stood with her front paws against the rail.
Wind flattened her fur. She stared at the city with complete concentration until a flock of seabirds passed beneath the ship.
Then civilization ceased to matter.
Rex remained beside me.
He watched the airships.
Better priorities.
The Sierra had been flying for four days.
Four increasingly educational days.
We had learned that the forward stabilizer hated rain, the galley chimney hated crosswinds, and Xavier hated sleeping while the ship moved.
Elisabeth had learned that nausea aggravated the venom output in her right hand.
I had learned that my ribs still objected violently to ladders.
The island had disappeared behind us.
Ahead waited the first problem I could not solve by knowing where the poisonous plants grew.
"Signal," Xavier said.
A flash of blue light rose from the harbor.
Then another.
Three airborne vessels detached from a circular tower near the coast.
Patrol craft.
They approached in formation.
Small.
Fast.
Armed.
"Don't do anything dramatic," Xavier said.
I looked at him.
"You continue saying that as if it has ever worked."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
Elisabeth climbed onto the deck before either of us could stop her. She wore a dark coat over her travelling clothes, the poisoned hand hidden beneath a heavy glove.
She leaned against the cabin wall rather than letting Xavier see how much the climb had cost her.
He saw anyway.
He said nothing.
Progress.
The patrol boats spread around us.
One above.
One port.
One starboard.
A brass speaking cone on the nearest vessel amplified a man's voice.
"UNIDENTIFIED VESSEL. REDUCE FORWARD PROPULSION. HOLD ALTITUDE."
Xavier glanced at me.
"Do it."
"You're the pilot."
He muttered something and reduced thrust.
The Sierra slowed.
"DECLARE VESSEL NAME, PORT OF REGISTRATION, NATION OF ORIGIN, CAPTAIN AND CARGO CLASSIFICATION."
Xavier looked at me again.
This time with considerably less confidence.
Our nation of origin was an island that technically belonged to no recognized government.
Our port of registration did not exist.
Our captain was a reincarnated criminal carrying documents from a dead alchemist.
And our cargo included enough monster anatomy to make several zoologists reconsider their professions.
I lifted the speaking cone.
"Vessel Sierra. Independent research vessel. Captain Raymond."
"PORT OF REGISTRATION?"
"None."
Silence.
Xavier closed his eyes.
Elisabeth whispered, "Excellent start."
The patrolman returned.
"REPEAT."
"Unregistered."
Another silence.
The three patrol vessels shifted.
Weapons turned toward us.
Mira growled.
Rex stepped forward.
"Sit."
Neither did.
"Both of you."
Rex sat.
Mira remained standing.
Xavier pointed at her.
"Mira."
She sat with all the dignity of someone being publicly betrayed.
The voice returned.
"UNREGISTERED FOREIGN AIRSHIP. YOU WILL FOLLOW ESCORT TO QUARANTINE BERTH NINE. ATTEMPTED DEVIATION WILL BE TREATED AS SMUGGLING OR HOSTILE ENTRY."
I smiled.
Xavier saw.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"That is worse."
The patrol vessels turned.
We followed.
As we descended toward Catington, the city swallowed the horizon.
The smell reached us first.
Coal.
Salt.
Hot metal.
Fish.
Spices.
Sewage.
Smoke.
Bread.
And, beneath all of it, money.
Money had no smell, technically.
This was one of science's many failures.
Catington smelled of it everywhere.
Ships unloaded crates onto moving platforms powered by mana crystals. Dockworkers shouted beneath cranes ten stories tall. Merchants stood beside warehouses arguing over parchment while armed guards watched them argue.
A convoy of polished carriages waited near one private quay.
Their passengers never touched the mud.
Two streets away, children carried baskets twice the width of their shoulders.
Xavier stared downward.
His face had become difficult to read.
I knew that expression.
Recognition without comfort.
"You've seen cities like this," I said.
"Yes."
"Arcachon?"
He nodded.
"Not this large."
Elisabeth looked below.
"The rich districts are uphill."
"Flood protection?" Xavier asked.
"No," she said. "Smell."
I smiled.
"I like her."
"I'm your sister."
"I wasn't speaking to you."
The quarantine harbor occupied the least attractive corner of the airborne docks.
Naturally.
Platforms hung from thick chains anchored into four stone towers. Several suspicious-looking vessels waited there under guard.
One had no mast.
Another had scorch marks around half its hull.
A third appeared to be transporting an animal large enough that only one yellow eye could fit through the cage window.
The Sierra settled beside Platform Nine.
Docking clamps locked around the hull.
For the first time since leaving the island, another authority physically controlled our ship.
I disliked it immediately.
Six officials boarded.
The first wore blue and gray.
The second carried ledgers.
The remaining four carried weapons.
The senior inspector was a narrow man with excellent boots and the expression of someone who had monetized disappointment.
He looked at me.
Then Xavier.
Then Elisabeth.
Then Rex.
He stopped.
"What," he asked, "is that?"
"Rex."
The inspector stared.
"I asked what it is."
"He seemed sensitive about being reduced to taxonomy."
Rex showed teeth.
The guards raised their weapons.
Xavier stepped between them.
"Don't."
Every head turned toward him.
The prince came through in that one word.
Not royal identity.
Training.
Authority.
He noticed and softened his posture.
"Manticore," he said. "Bonded familiar."
The inspector looked at Mira.
"And that?"
"Mira."
"Also manticore?"
"Yes."
"You imported two live manticores without declaration?"
"We were asked for cargo," I said. "They object to that classification."
The inspector did not laugh.
Unfortunate personality defect.
He opened his ledger.
"Unregistered vessel. Foreign construction. Two Class-Three dangerous familiars. Unknown biological cargo."
His pen moved.
"Possibly Class Four," one guard whispered.
Rex turned toward him.
The man stepped backward.
"Three," Xavier said quickly.
The inspector looked at Elisabeth.
"And you?"
She smiled.
"Human."
"I can see that."
"Your observational standards are improving."
I looked at her.
Perhaps I was a bad influence.
Wonderful.
The inspector pointed toward her gloved right hand.
"Injury?"
"Yes."
"Contagious?"
"No."
"Magical contamination?"
Elisabeth paused.
Too long.
The man noticed.
So did I.
Chessmaster stirred.
I let it open one fraction.
Not power.
Observation.
Inspector.
Middle-aged.
Government insignia on left collar.
Dock Authority badge.
Expensive boots, cheap coat.
Ink stain on right index finger.
Three keys at belt.
One signet ring worn inward.
Guards watched him, not me, before making decisions.
Administrative authority.
Possible pressure point—
Stop.
Too little information.
I closed the skill.
Blacklist existed because assumptions required evidence.
I stepped forward.
"She underwent alchemical treatment after an injury. Stable. No infectious symptoms."
"Documentation?"
"No."
"Licensed alchemist?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Raymond."
He looked at me.
"Registration number?"
"None."
His pen stopped.
Xavier covered his face with one hand.
The inspector exhaled.
"Let us discuss the ship."
We spent forty minutes discussing the ship.
I would have preferred dental surgery.
He wanted construction certificates.
We had none.
Lift-engine certification.
None.
Cargo manifests.
I produced mine.
He stared at the first page.
"Mutated serpent scales?"
"Yes."
"Quantity?"
"Forty-six intact plates. Eleven damaged."
"Manticore ocular specimens?"
Rex growled.
"From unrelated manticores," I clarified.
The inspector looked at Rex.
Then back at me.
"Preserved predator glands?"
"Yes."
"Monster cores?"
"Yes."
"Alchemical reagents?"
"Many."
"Unknown plants?"
"Unknown to you."
He put the ledger down.
"This entire vessel requires biological inspection."
"Wonderful."
"And valuation."
"Less wonderful."
"And import duty."
"Predictable."
"Hazard levy."
"Creative."
"Foreign-vessel assessment."
"Of course."
"Airspace entry tax."
I stared at him.
"You tax air?"
"We maintain the air lanes."
"The sky seemed remarkably self-supporting."
Xavier coughed.
Elisabeth turned toward the window.
The inspector remained impressively dead inside.
"Docking fee."
"Fine."
"Quarantine fee."
"You ordered the quarantine."
"Yes."
"So I pay because you prevented me from entering?"
"You pay for the service."
"What service?"
"Preventing you from entering."
I stared at him.
Something warm bloomed in my chest.
Admiration.
Small.
Unwanted.
But real.
Catington was magnificent.
"Who designed your tax code?"
The inspector frowned.
"Why?"
"I may want to meet him."
"You won't."
"Pity."
He continued writing.
The bill arrived twenty minutes later.
Xavier read it.
Then reread it.
Then turned the parchment upside down as if the numbers might improve from another angle.
"This is theft."
The inspector looked almost offended.
"This is a preliminary assessment."
"That makes it worse."
Elisabeth took the document.
Her eyebrows rose.
"How can inspecting two animals cost more than docking the ship?"
"Dangerous-species protocols."
"Mira weighs less than he does."
She pointed at Xavier.
"Thank you," Xavier said.
"Your weight has become useful."
The inspector extended his hand.
"Payment or secured bond before shore access."
Xavier looked at me.
I looked at the port beyond him.
A gold-trimmed air yacht descended toward another berth.
No patrol vessels surrounded it.
No quarantine markings.
A man in white stepped off before the ship fully stopped.
The inspector assigned to his platform bowed.
No cargo inspection.
No familiar inspection.
No questions.
A servant handed someone a small envelope.
The yacht's passengers entered the city.
Three minutes.
I looked back at our inspector.
"Different regulations?"
He followed my gaze.
"Diplomatic vessel."
"No flag."
"Registered merchant-prince exemption."
"There it is."
"What?"
"Civilization."
The inspector's expression hardened.
"If you object to Catington law, Captain Raymond, you are welcome to return to wherever issued your registration."
Xavier looked ready to answer.
I raised one hand.
"No."
He turned toward me.
I smiled at the inspector.
"You misunderstand. I adore laws."
Elisabeth became suspicious immediately.
"They tell you exactly which crimes were profitable enough that someone powerful wanted exclusive rights to them."
One guard almost laughed.
The inspector did not.
I took the assessment from Elisabeth.
"Bond."
He quoted the amount.
Painful.
Not ruinous.
More importantly, temporary if we passed inspection.
I paid.
The man stamped our entry papers.
Red ink.
PROVISIONAL — QUARANTINE DISTRICT ONLY
"No commercial sales until valuation is complete. No monster products removed from the vessel. Familiars remain aboard unless separately licensed. Crew may enter the quarantine market and administrative district."
"And Nexus Academy?"
"No."
Xavier frowned.
"Why?"
"Restricted visitor permit."
"How do we obtain one?"
"Central registry."
"Where?"
"Administrative district."
I smiled.
Xavier saw it.
"What?"
"We wanted to enter the city."
"This is barely entering."
"That is often how cities work."
The inspector gathered his papers.
Before leaving, he looked once at the Sierra's rootwood ribs.
"Ugly vessel."
I put a hand over my heart.
"Now you're simply being cruel."
He left.
The guards followed.
The docking barrier closed behind them.
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Then Elisabeth said:
"I miss the monsters."
Xavier dropped onto a crate.
"We've been here two hours."
"Exactly."
Rex sniffed the red quarantine seal fixed to the rail.
He sneezed on it.
Reasonable criticism.
I went to my cabin.
Opened the black register.
Under CATINGTON, I added:
Dock Authority.
Below it:
Information insufficient.
Then:
Rules are sold differently depending on the buyer.
I paused.
Added one final line.
Never pay the same tax twice.
Outside my window, Catington spread uphill in smoke, towers and impossible wealth.
Somewhere beyond those roofs stood Nexus Academy.
Somewhere inside it waited Abraham Dubois.
And somewhere inside this city, someone knew what Marduk had hidden from me.
But Catington had already taught me its first rule.
On the island, if something wanted your blood, it showed its teeth.
Here, it handed you a receipt.
I closed the Blacklist.
Then smiled.
I was beginning to like the place.