The first calculation gave me sixty-three days.
I stared at the number for almost a minute.
Then Balthazar said:
"That's wrong."
There are few things more unpleasant than relief interrupted by competence.
We were back inside Abraham's restricted archive before sunrise.
Devil's Deceptions lay open beneath three lamps.
Marduk's recovered pages sat beside copies of lunar observation tables from Nexus and Celcium, along with two older records Abraham had pulled from storage sometime during the night.
Nobody looked rested.
Xavier had brought coffee.
Elisabeth had brought patience.
Balthazar had brought the ability to make me dislike mathematics.
I pointed at the calculation.
"The intervals match."
"No. The symbols match."
"That is generally useful when reading."
"You're treating this column as absolute degradation."
"It is degradation."
"Yes."
Balthazar dragged the cipher strip toward him.
"But Marduk changed the category mark here."
He tapped the recovered page.
Tiny stroke.
Barely visible.
The kind of detail one misses when concentrating on the fact that an ancient lunar prison may be approaching failure.
I leaned closer.
"He used that mark for correction."
"He used the earlier version for correction."
Balthazar shook his head.
"This one is relative change."
I said nothing.
He took my pencil.
I disliked that too.
The observation tables recorded the same phenomenon across different years.
A distortion around one narrow region of the moon.
Not something visible with an ordinary eye.
Through calibrated mana lenses, however, the lunar signal arrived slightly out of phase with the surrounding field.
Marduk had cross-referenced it beside the third anchor.
Not proof that the anchor caused the distortion.
A correlation he considered useful enough to record.
His early notes treated the changes as roughly linear.
His later pages did not.
Because once the second anchor degraded, the interval between measurable shifts began shortening.
Balthazar rewrote the calculation.
First interval.
Second.
Third.
The later observation from Celcium.
Then the newest verified Nexus reading.
My sixty-three days became forty-six.
Then forty-one.
Balthazar stopped.
Xavier leaned over his shoulder.
"That's it?"
"No."
I hated the answer immediately.
Balthazar pointed at the final observation.
"This record is six days old."
Silence.
He subtracted.
Thirty-five.
Then frowned.
"Calibration margin."
He compared the Celcium table.
One unit differed.
Not enough to invalidate the trend.
Enough to widen uncertainty.
He wrote a range.
Thirty-four to forty-one days.
No one spoke.
Outside the archive windows, Catington was beginning to lighten.
Morning carts rattled over distant stone.
A bell rang somewhere below.
People were opening shops.
Bakers were lighting ovens.
Dock crews would already be cursing cargo manifests.
Somewhere, a man was probably arguing about taxes.
The world remained offensively ordinary.
Xavier tapped the page.
"So which number?"
"Forty-one if the favorable interpretation is correct," Balthazar said.
"And thirty-four?"
"If it isn't."
Elisabeth looked at me.
I already knew that look.
"Raymond."
"I haven't said anything."
"You have a planning face."
Xavier almost laughed.
I ignored him.
Marduk's own notes gave us no verified current state of the third anchor.
The lunar distortion was a proxy.
The model was incomplete.
Maybe the third anchor remained stronger than the observed phase suggested.
Maybe weaker.
Maybe the relationship had changed after Pandemonium shifted.
Chessmaster arranged every version.
CONFIRMED:
The observations changed.
The later intervals shortened.
Marduk stopped trusting his original fixed-rate model.
PROBABLE:
The third anchor was degrading.
SPECULATION:
Exact rupture date.
Thirty-four was not truth.
Neither was forty-one.
They were boundaries placed around ignorance.
I circled thirty-four.
Balthazar looked at me.
"That doesn't make thirty-four correct."
"I know."
"Then why circle it?"
"Because I'm not planning an expedition on the assumption that Marduk was wrong in the convenient direction."
He returned the pencil.
No argument.
That worried me more.
---
Abraham arrived twenty minutes later.
He looked at the number.
Then sat.
No greeting.
"When did Marduk make his last direct observation?" I asked.
"Before his final return to the island."
"How long before?"
He gave me the archived date.
Old enough to be useless as a current measurement.
Useful only as a baseline.
"You knew his estimate depended on the third anchor."
"I knew he lacked a later reading."
"That isn't what I asked."
Abraham looked tired.
"I knew."
Xavier moved slightly behind me.
Elisabeth did not.
Balthazar kept reading.
Everyone had become remarkably skilled at allowing other people to have uncomfortable conversations.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Until yesterday, you did not have the pages necessary to understand what the value represented."
"That is an excellent explanation for not explaining it."
"It is also true."
I hated answers that remained correct after insult.
Abraham touched the recovered sheet.
"Marduk believed he had more time."
"So did I."
"Yes."
"He destroyed the observations that could have corrected him."
"Yes."
"And you helped bury the expedition."
"Yes."
No defense.
That removed several of my prepared sentences.
"How much of this is your fault?"
Abraham was quiet.
Then:
"Enough."
Not useful.
Human, perhaps.
I was beginning to discover those were different standards.
He continued.
"I authorized access to records he should not have had. When he returned, I helped remove the route from circulation because we believed another expedition would repeat his mistake. When he destroyed part of the raw observations, I did not stop him."
"Why?"
"Because I had seen what came back."
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Xavier asked:
"What came back?"
Abraham looked at him.
"Not today."
I nearly objected.
Then stopped.
The next arc did not need a speech.
We needed facts.
"If thirty-four is our planning window," Abraham said, "what do you do?"
I closed Devil's Deceptions.
"Count."
---
Marcus had already counted.
Of course he had.
He arrived aboard the Sierra with three ledgers and the expression of a man about to ruin someone's afternoon with arithmetic.
We sat in the lower cabin.
No celestial maps.
No ancient seals.
Money.
Much more frightening.
Marcus opened the first ledger.
"Personal liquid holdings."
Smaller than I wanted.
The Baronna stabilization had consumed capital.
Sierra maintenance had consumed more.
Research consumed money with the enthusiasm of a small war.
The Furnace had helped.
Celcium's stipend helped less.
"Receivables?" I asked.
Second ledger.
Debts owed to me personally.
Some reliable.
Some political.
Some valuable only if collected slowly.
Some could be sold to another creditor at a discount.
"How much if we convert within ten days?"
Marcus gave me a number.
I stared.
"That discount is criminal."
He looked at me.
"Would you like a moment?"
"No."
Third ledger.
Personal equipment.
Claims.
Deposits.
Nonessential inventory.
Future distributions from the organization that belonged to me after operating obligations were met.
Marcus had separated everything.
Good.
Then I saw another column.
La Baronna reserves.
"Add—"
"No."
I looked up.
Marcus had never interrupted me like that.
Interesting morning.
"No?"
"That money isn't yours."
"Technically—"
"No."
He turned the ledger toward me.
"Payroll."
Next line.
"Protection contracts."
Another.
"Medical reserve."
Another.
"Transport."
Another.
"Emergency compensation."
He tapped the final total.
"You built rules so this place could survive you."
"Yes."
"Then survive being told no."
I leaned back.
Marcus waited.
Elisabeth stood near the cabin door.
Traitorously silent.
"If I take only the surplus—"
"There is no surplus until Korr and the operating side close the current quarter."
"Future distributions?"
"Yours."
"Fine."
Marcus nodded.
A victory for governance.
A loss for my wallet.
"Éthérite budget?"
Balthazar answered from the stair.
"No."
I turned.
"Do people knock anymore?"
"I live here often enough."
"You absolutely do not."
He placed his laboratory notebook on the table.
"Éthérite money stays with Éthérite."
"We have twenty series."
"And an unresolved mana-state discrepancy."
"We need expedition supplies."
"And I need standardized field control before anything becomes safe enough to sell."
"I didn't say commercialize."
"You were about to redirect the budget."
He knew me too well.
Unfortunate.
Balthazar sat.
"If you take it, the project pauses."
"I could pause it."
"Yes."
No fear.
No begging.
Just consequence.
Seven years.
We did not know that yet.
Not truly.
But Marduk's notes already suggested time behaved badly in Pandemonium.
If I disappeared for months—
years—
Éthérite could not remain a half-finished recipe only Raymond understood.
"Keep the budget," I said.
Balthazar blinked.
"That easy?"
"No. Everyone is using that phrase against me."
Marcus smiled.
I pointed at the personal ledger.
"Sell the short-term receivables."
"All?"
"Everything that doesn't create a future obligation larger than the discount."
Marcus wrote.
"Nonessential inventory?"
"Sell."
"Tournament stipend?"
I looked at the Celcium band around my wrist.
If I left regular Academy activity immediately, competitive payments stopped.
Scholarship status would need formal leave.
Another stability abandoned almost as soon as I had acquired it.
"End it."
"Training allowance?"
"End it."
"Sierra emergency reserve?"
"No."
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
Growth.
Painful.
"Minimum operational reserve remains untouched," I said. "Same for crew wages and structural maintenance."
Elisabeth spoke from the door.
"Good."
I looked at her.
"You've infected Marcus."
"He was healthy before meeting you."
Cruel.
Marcus wrote another line.
After conversions, discounts and reserved obligations, the amount available for Pandemonium would be substantial.
Not unlimited.
Not enough to buy certainty.
Enough to become poor intelligently.
"When do you start selling?" he asked.
"Today."
"That commits most of your personal liquidity."
"Yes."
"If we reverse after settlement, we lose money."
"Yes."
"Say it properly."
I stared at him.
Marcus waited.
He had earned this.
"I understand the sale is difficult to reverse."
He nodded.
Then began signing transfer notices.
Thirty-four days had become expensive.
---
Elisabeth found me on the upper deck afterward.
Catington was fully awake.
Laundry between buildings.
Smoke from kitchens.
Market bells.
Nothing looked like the end of an arc.
That was probably healthier.
"You're not coming," I said.
She leaned against the railing.
"I didn't say that."
"You were going to."
"Yes."
I waited.
"I'm staying."
No apology.
No explanation yet.
I let her continue.
"Éthérite needs medical monitoring if Balthazar reaches controlled testing."
"Yes."
"La Baronna's clinic transition is unfinished."
"Yes."
"Celcium and Nexus now both know our name. Someone should remain where letters can actually find us."
Reasonable.
"And," she said, "I have my own work."
There.
The most important reason.
I nodded.
"You think I should argue."
"I expected it."
"I'm trying something new."
"That sounds dangerous."
"I've been told."
She looked toward the city.
"If you disappear, Raymond, I am not spending years preserving everything exactly as you left it."
I turned toward her.
"La Baronna changes, it changes. Éthérite changes, it changes. People leave. People join. I'm not freezing Catington until you come back."
My first instinct was objection.
Chessmaster almost built a list of structures that needed preservation.
Then I understood what she was actually telling me.
If I returned, I would not return to my belongings.
I would return to lives that had continued.
"Fair."
Elisabeth glanced at me.
"You hate that."
"Yes."
"Good."
I almost corrected her.
Let it live.
---
Xavier waited until evening.
He had packed nothing.
That was deliberate.
"I'm going," he said.
Not *Can I?*
Not *Should I?*
I looked at him.
"You don't know what we need yet."
"I know."
"You don't know how we're entering."
"I know."
"You don't know whether your affinities will behave normally there."
"I know."
"Marduk failed."
"I read the same pages."
"You could die."
"So could you."
"That argument lacks imagination."
"It worked."
I walked past him.
He followed.
"Raymond."
"No."
"You just spent an entire Academy arc learning not to decide for people."
"I resent your awareness of structure."
"I'm coming."
"You are sixteen."
"So are you."
Annoying fact.
"You have Arcachon."
"So?"
"A future there."
"So do you, apparently. You keep planning one for everyone."
That struck closer than intended.
Xavier folded his arms.
"I'm not asking tonight."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Telling you that when you make your list tomorrow, don't write 'Xavier stays because Raymond decided it.'"
I stared.
He stared back.
Behind him, Mira sat on a crate licking one paw with absolutely no respect for the moment.
Rex lay near the mast, eyes half closed.
The world refused drama whenever possible.
"I won't decide for you," I said.
Xavier relaxed slightly.
"That's all."
"I can still try to convince you."
"Of course."
"I will."
"I know."
He walked away.
I called after him.
"Your arguments remain terrible."
He raised one hand without turning.
Independent bastard.
Marduk would have liked him.
That annoyed me too.
---
I opened the Blacklist after midnight.
Several entries needed changing.
**NEXUS**
Status corrected.
Reinstatement declined.
Relationship unresolved, not hostile.
I stopped.
Then:
**CELCIUM**
Admission active.
Leave required.
Competitive stipend to cease.
Archives remain subject to agreement.
Then:
**ÉTHÉRITE**
20-series replication block complete.
No consumption.
No commercial batch.
Mana-state discrepancy unresolved.
Research remains in Catington under Balthazar's protocol.
Then:
**LA BARONNA**
Operational reserves protected from expedition financing.
No assumption of personal access to organizational capital.
Must function without direct instruction.
Marcus had already made that line true before I wrote it.
Finally:
**PANDEMONIUM**
Guide: Devil's Deceptions — incomplete, historically layered, contains known errors.
Magus: sealed disaster.
Castle: changing architecture.
Third anchor: current state unverified.
Modern lunar proxy: degradation accelerated.
Exact rupture date: UNKNOWN.
Planning window—
I stopped.
Thirty-four felt absurdly small written alone.
I thought of the first morning in Catington.
Quarantine.
Taxes.
The Sierra blocked at the port.
Vann.
Abraham.
Nexus.
The examinations.
Balthazar, Arkad, Anata, Eulalie.
La Baronna.
Adeline.
Expulsion.
The forest.
Celcium.
Xavier standing inside the ring while I stood outside it.
Marduk's handwriting correcting Marduk.
A year's worth of problems had seemed enormous while I lived inside them.
Now the moon had placed them in perspective without asking permission.
I wrote:
**34 DAYS — OPERATIONAL ASSUMPTION, NOT CERTAINTY.**
Under it:
**Do not spend what must survive you.**
That sentence looked suspiciously unlike something I would have written when we first arrived.
I left it.
Tomorrow we would begin procurement.
Antidotes for poisons whose exact nature remained unknown.
Tools for architecture that moved.
Materials.
Food.
Repair equipment.
Maps we already knew could become wrong.
Everything had to be selected under the assumption that Marduk's experience was useful and insufficient at the same time.
An excellent inheritance.
I closed the Blacklist and stepped outside.
The moon hung above Catington.
Ordinary.
Distant.
Small enough to cover with two fingers if I held my hand at the right angle.
Somewhere on it, Pandemonium was changing.
Somewhere inside that changing structure, something Marduk had called Magus remained sealed.
For how long, nobody alive could tell me honestly.
That was why I had circled the pessimistic number.
We did not have months.
We had thirty-four days.