Catington allowed us ash at noon.
Naturally, it charged us for the privilege.
The permit was a square of red paper stamped three times, signed twice, and threaded with a strip of copper that apparently proved we had paid enough money to remain suspicious in public.
I turned it over in my hand.
"Beautiful."
Xavier adjusted the collar of his borrowed coat. "It says we can enter two districts."
"Luxury."
"And return before the seventh bell."
"Freedom with office hours."
Elisabeth sat beside the gangplank while a dock clerk inspected the wheels of her chair as though they might conceal a small army. Her right hand remained inside the treated glove. A dark sleeve covered the silver lines on her forearm.
The clerk tapped the glove.
"What's under that?"
"A hand."
"I need to inspect—"
"No."
He looked at me.
I smiled.
He looked at Xavier.
Xavier smiled less pleasantly.
The clerk decided administrative curiosity had limits.
Rex stood behind us on the Sierra, head level with the man's shoulder. Mira sat between his forepaws. Neither had received a shore permit.
Rex was displeased.
Mira had already chewed the corner off one quarantine notice.
I crouched beside them.
"Guard the ship."
Rex's ears flattened.
"No eating officials."
His tail struck the deck.
"Unless they become exceptionally unreasonable."
"Raymond," Xavier said.
"Fine. No eating officials under any circumstances."
Rex looked away.
I scratched the fur beneath his jaw.
"We'll be back."
That earned me one irritated breath through the nose.
The Sierra remained chained to Platform Nine, sealed against commercial unloading. Until the biological assessors finished valuing our cargo, nothing could leave the hold.
Including two manticores.
Possibly for the best.
Catington already disliked us at a bureaucratic level. There was no need to make it personal.
We entered the quarantine market through an iron gate.
The city changed immediately.
From the air, Catington had looked like wealth stacked uphill.
From the ground, it looked like everyone beneath that wealth had been hired to carry it.
Porters moved under crates marked with guild seals. Fishmongers shouted beside alchemical sellers. Steam rolled from food stalls and mixed with coal smoke, salt, sweat, hot metal, sewage, perfume, and animal fat.
Every ten steps, someone tried to sell me something.
A charm against shipwreck.
A cure for baldness.
A knife that supposedly cut ghosts.
Three maps of the same district, none of which agreed.
I bought the maps.
Xavier stared.
"You know they're fake."
"One of them is."
"How do you know?"
"I don't."
"Then why buy all three?"
"To discover which liar has the best cartographer."
Elisabeth laughed.
A boy carrying a basket of glass vials nearly ran into her chair. He apologized without stopping.
She watched him disappear into the crowd.
"Children work here."
"Children worked on the island," Xavier said.
"Not like this."
He followed her gaze.
The boy entered a warehouse marked with a silver wheel.
Above the door, a woman in silk shouted at three laborers for dropping a crate. Her gloves probably cost more than all three men would earn that week.
Xavier's face closed.
There were parts of royalty he remembered without wanting to.
I noticed.
Said nothing.
We reached the first appraisal stall.
The sign read:
CERTIFIED QUARANTINE BROKER
MONSTER PRODUCTS — ALCHEMICAL GOODS — FOREIGN RELICS
A broad man sat behind a counter protected by iron bars.
He smelled faintly of clove oil.
"Ship?"
"Sierra."
His eyes sharpened.
"The strange copper one."
"I prefer distinctive."
"Inspection says you brought predator stock."
"Inspection talks too much."
"Scales?"
"Yes."
"Glands?"
"Yes."
"Cores?"
"Some."
He looked past me at Xavier and Elisabeth, then lowered his voice.
"I can clear the lot today."
"How generous."
"Cash."
"How generous."
"Thirty-two percent of certified market value."
I smiled.
He smiled.
Xavier leaned toward me.
"That's robbery."
The broker shrugged.
"That's quarantine."
I picked up one of the sample price cards on his counter.
Serpent plate, standard grade.
The number printed there was six times higher than the rate he had just offered.
"Thirty-two percent."
"Immediate risk."
"What risk?"
"Contamination. Fraud. Seizure. Guild rejection."
"All of which remain my risk until you purchase."
"Exactly."
I put the card down.
"Who certifies market value?"
"Beast Materials Guild."
"Where?"
"Upper trade district."
"Our permit doesn't include it."
"No."
"Convenient."
He smiled again.
"Catington rewards preparation."
I liked him less with every sentence.
That usually meant he was useful.
"What if I join the guild?"
The broker laughed.
Not cruelly.
Worse.
Professionally.
"You need a sponsor."
"What if I pay?"
"You still need a sponsor."
"What if I pay the sponsor?"
"Then you understand Catington."
Elisabeth spoke.
"How much do you make selling this information to stranded foreign merchants?"
The broker's smile disappeared.
I turned toward her.
She looked innocent.
Poorly.
The man folded his hands.
"You're new here."
"Yes."
"Careful."
Her left eyebrow rose.
"That sounded almost like free advice."
We left without selling anything.
Outside, Xavier said, "We need money."
"We have money."
"We paid almost half our liquid coin in bond and fees."
"Temporary."
"If the inspection decides our cargo is illegal?"
"Then we have a different financial strategy."
"What strategy?"
"Crime."
Elisabeth sighed.
"At least he's consistent."
We continued inland.
The quarantine market had borders without walls.
You could see them in the paving.
Near the docks, stones were cracked and wet with fish water. Two streets higher, the road became fitted black brick. Another street and the gutters were covered.
People's clothes improved at roughly the same speed as the drainage.
Then guards stopped us.
Not city guards.
Private ones.
Their coats bore a silver wheel.
The same mark as the warehouse where the child had disappeared.
"Permit."
I handed mine over.
The guard read it.
"Quarantine district ends here."
"I can see the pavement became expensive."
"You need Trade Ring authorization."
"Central Registry is in the administrative district."
"Different road."
He pointed left.
A narrow lane descended before curving uphill again.
Xavier frowned.
"That adds half an hour."
"Yes."
"Why?"
The guard looked at him as if the answer were obvious.
"Authorized traffic uses this street."
Xavier's jaw tightened.
I took the permit back.
"Thank you."
We turned away.
After twenty steps, Elisabeth said, "You gave up quickly."
"I'm injured, not stupid."
"You usually argue longer."
"He wasn't guarding the street."
Xavier looked back.
"He was standing in the middle of it."
"He was guarding the people allowed to use it."
Elisabeth understood first.
"The guild."
"Probably."
I opened the Blacklist while walking.
Under CATINGTON, I added:
Silver Wheel — warehouse / private guards / privileged road.
Function unknown.
Do not assume one organization merely because symbols match.
Xavier looked over my shoulder.
"You wrote that last part because of Chessmaster."
"Yes."
The skill had already tried to connect the warehouse, guards, broker, and road into one neat structure.
Too neat.
Cities encouraged false certainty.
Ten thousand people could wear the same symbol for ten thousand different reasons.
Uniforms.
Employment.
Religion.
Fashion.
Fear.
Chessmaster wanted pieces.
Catington gave me crowds.
At the next corner, three guild runners stood beneath colored awnings, each charging a different fee to carry the same stamped document uphill. A dock porter asked the cheapest one for work. The runner looked at the man's boots, noticed the salt cracks, and doubled the registration price.
The porter walked away.
A noble's servant arrived thirty seconds later and was waved through without paying.
Xavier watched the exchange.
"You still think the system is honest?"
"I said it tells you the price. I never said the price was fair."
Elisabeth looked at the porter disappearing downhill.
"And if you can't pay?"
"Then someone else buys the right to profit from your need."
She stared at me.
"That sounded personal."
"It sounded economic."
"Same thing, with you."
She was improving fast.
We reached the administrative avenue by the long route.
Here, the city stopped pretending poverty was necessary.
White stone replaced black brick. Trees grew from square planters. Water ran through decorative channels clean enough to drink.
A carriage passed us carrying one woman and six guards.
The wheels were silver.
Xavier stared after it.
"I know that crest."
I looked at him.
"You do?"
"Not the family. The structure. Merchant nobility."
"Explain."
"In Arcachon, old houses prove status with bloodlines. Here, merchant houses buy charters from the crown. Enough taxes, enough ships, enough loans to the state, and eventually your grandchildren become respectable enough to pretend the money never mattered."
I smiled.
"You've described nobility beautifully."
He did not smile back.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That means something."
He looked toward a row of servants waiting outside a bakery while nobles ate beneath a glass canopy.
"I used to think our court was complicated."
"It was."
"This is worse."
"No. This is more honest."
Elisabeth snorted.
"The people uphill don't look honest."
"The system is. It tells you the price."
A bell rang from somewhere beyond the towers.
Fourth bell.
Three hours before our permit expired.
We entered Central Registry.
The building had forty windows and only six open desks.
A masterpiece of government design.
We waited forty-seven minutes.
I counted.
At desk four sat a young clerk whose eyes had died several years before the rest of him.
"Purpose?"
"Visitor authorization for Nexus Academy."
"Academic applicant?"
"Possibly."
"Guild representative?"
"No."
"Noble invitation?"
"No."
"Religious order?"
"No."
"Government service?"
"No."
He looked up for the first time.
"Then no."
Xavier leaned forward.
"We crossed an ocean."
"Congratulations."
"We have business with the Academy founder."
The clerk stared.
"With Abraham Dubois."
"Yes."
"Personally."
"Yes."
He looked at me.
"Appointment?"
"No."
"Correspondence?"
"Yes."
"Registered?"
"No."
"Then submit it through academy post."
I smiled.
"No."
His expression did not change.
"Then you do not have correspondence."
"I admire administrative philosophy."
"Next."
A woman behind us stepped forward.
I did not move.
The clerk sighed.
"Sir."
"I require a temporary visitor permit."
"You require a sponsor."
"Who may sponsor?"
He recited without emotion.
"Recognized guild officers, nobles of charter rank or above, senior clergy, academy staff, government officers grade six or higher, registered foreign diplomats."
"Excellent."
"Which are you?"
"None."
"Then next."
I placed three coins on the desk.
The clerk looked at them.
Then at me.
"Attempted bribery of registry staff carries six months."
I removed two coins.
"How refreshing."
Xavier covered a laugh with a cough.
The clerk pushed the remaining coin back.
"Next."
I put the sealed envelope on the desk.
Not across the line.
Just where he could see it.
"Would academy post preserve this seal?"
The clerk's eyes dropped.
Nothing.
Then moved to the name.
ABRAHAM DUBOIS.
Still nothing.
Then to Marduk's wax impression.
Something happened two desks away.
A pen stopped scratching.
Tiny sound.
Almost nothing.
Chessmaster caught it because I was already looking for reactions.
Not the clerk in front of us.
An older registry agent at desk five.
Gray collar.
Thin spectacles.
Ink on both thumbs.
He did not turn his head.
That was the interesting part.
People who recognized nothing usually looked.
People trained not to react became very still.
I covered the seal with my hand.
Desk Five resumed writing.
The young clerk in front of us frowned.
"That seal is unregistered."
"I suspected as much."
"If the contents are for Founder Dubois, academy post will deliver them."
"Eventually?"
"Three to twelve working days."
Xavier stared.
"Twelve?"
"Peak enrollment season."
Elisabeth leaned toward me.
"We have three hours to reach the ship."
"I know."
The clerk pointed toward a stack of forms.
"You may request expedited delivery."
"How much?"
He quoted a fee.
I laughed.
He didn't.
"I'm beginning to think this city dislikes money changing hands without witnesses."
"Do you want the form?"
"No."
"Then next."
I took the envelope.
We moved away.
Elisabeth waited until we reached the central staircase.
"You noticed him."
"Who?"
"Don't."
Xavier looked between us.
"Who?"
"Desk Five."
He turned his head.
The older agent was gone.
His chair sat empty.
A blot of fresh ink marked the page he had been writing.
Xavier's posture changed.
"He left."
"Yes."
"After seeing the seal?"
"Perhaps."
"Follow him."
"No."
Both siblings looked at me.
I enjoyed that.
"You're not curious?" Elisabeth asked.
"Desperately."
"Then why not?"
"Because he knows this building and I don't. Because our permit expires soon. Because Rex and Mira are locked on a foreign dock. Because the Sierra contains most of our wealth. And because a man who leaves after recognizing Marduk's seal is far more useful if he believes I didn't notice."
Xavier looked annoyed.
"That was sensible."
"I have unfortunate episodes."
We exited the Registry.
Outside, a different city waited.
Not physically.
Informationally.
Official Catington charged entry fees.
Guild Catington controlled access.
And somewhere underneath both, people noticed seals they pretended not to recognize.
We took the long road back.
At the quarantine market, the clove-scented broker was speaking with a thin woman in a brown coat.
He saw us.
Stopped talking.
The woman walked away.
I noticed a black thread tied around her left wrist.
The same thread hung from the handles of three nearby stalls.
Not silver wheel.
Something else.
Xavier followed my gaze.
"Another guild?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Guilds put symbols where officials can see them."
Elisabeth looked at the three stalls.
"And criminals?"
"They put symbols where the right people can."
One shopkeeper saw me staring.
He covered the black thread with his sleeve.
Interesting.
I opened the Blacklist.
Black thread — quarantine market.
Possible protection network / informal tax / smuggling marker.
Do not name until verified.
Elisabeth read it.
"You're enjoying yourself."
"Immensely."
"We're trapped in quarantine."
"For now."
"We can't sell the cargo."
"For now."
"We can't reach Nexus."
"For now."
"Someone may be watching us."
I closed the book.
"That is the first encouraging thing you've said all day."
She stared at me.
Xavier shook his head.
"We should go."
"Yes."
We reached Platform Nine before the seventh bell.
Rex was waiting at the edge of the deck.
The moment he saw me, he stood.
Mira shot past him.
She hit Xavier in the chest hard enough to nearly knock him backward.
He caught her.
"Missed me?"
She licked his chin.
Rex approached more slowly.
I expected irritation.
Instead, he sniffed my coat.
Registry dust.
Market smoke.
Clove oil.
Then the envelope beneath it.
His body went rigid.
A growl began deep in his throat.
Not at me.
At the letter.
Again.
Exactly as on the island.
I rested one hand against his neck.
"I know."
Behind us, high in the administrative district, Desk Five's older agent entered a narrow communications room.
He locked the door.
Removed his gray registry collar.
And placed a small crystal against a brass receiver.
The crystal flashed once.
A voice answered from somewhere else in Catington.
The agent looked down at the note in his hand.
Three words.
MARDUK'S SEAL. ALIVE.
He swallowed.
Then said, "Tell them the boy has arrived."