Ghist is a typical town of the Dextral plains, and the Seventh Folly is a typical tavern, cheery with local camaraderie but not so isolated that strangers stand out. It's a good place to meet your friends for a drink, and also a good place to find a group of villainous rebels interested in plotting vile treason against Earth-as-in-Heaven to gather. Thus: Ba'alabeth and her team, in plain clothes, gathered around a couple of tables and scattered along the bar.

  They'd found the man at the other end of the courier route. He'd confessed, as implanted meta-tumors shredded his organs, and given up his contacts. Redmask's people are rigorous about compartmentalization, so that didn't give Ba'alabeth more than another rung on the ladder. But one rung at a time is how you get to the top.

  Now she's watching a table full of rebels talking and laughing over a meal exactly as though they were ordinary people with no terrible intent. Any one of them might have spoken to Redmask. Second's hell, any one of the women might Redmask. Except, Ba'alabeth supposes, for the tiny redhead on the end, who's a head too short.

  The urge to call in the local authorities, to have everyone at that table thrown in a cell and to extract what they know with steel and fleshcraft, is almost overpowering. How they continue to live normal lives while plotting the downfall of the divinely mandated order? But scooping up a handful of rebels, however sweet it would feel, is not what the Prefect wants from her. He wants Redmask and her whole organization, and Redmask is nothing if not cautious. Bag too many of her people too obviously and she'll go to ground, vanish like sand trickling through a broken sieve.

  No, this isn't the time for indiscriminate arrests. This is the time for subtlety, for following the links in the chain without so much as a whisper revealing to their prey that she's in their grasp --

  "Boss," Uzamian hisses. "Front door. Fuckin' ."

  Uzamian is a good man, utterly loyal to the Prefect and calm in a crisis. The note of panic in his voice therefore puts Ba'alabeth instantly on edge, but not so much that she makes rookie mistakes. She waits a couple of heartbeats before draining her mug -- a local brew made with boilfruit and rockwater, really quite good -- and signaling to a server for another. The gesture happens to turn her toward the front door, coincidentally giving her a view of --

  A short young man with slick blond hair, wearing the red-and-black uniform of the Princeps' Navy with the silver accents of a mid-ranking officer. No one who would come to the Seventh Folly, under ordinary circumstances. He's sticking out like an infected boil, and from the way he's looking around he's searching for someone. Ba'alabeth has the unpleasant feeling that it's her.

  "Abort, abort, abort," she whispers, her expression remaining pleasant. "Extract everyone. Someone take that idiot in hand before he blows us all."

  Uzamian yawns, his fingers twitching in covert hand signs. On the other side of the room, a big man in a load-shifter's dirty coverall rises from his bench and stumbles drunkenly into the Navy officer, who gives an unmanly shriek of surprise. After an intoxicated apology, the bewildered officer is piloted to a table to share a drink in recompense.

  Too late to salvage tonight's mission, though. The rebels have long since spotted the Navy man and are making their exit, just slowly enough to avoid attracting attention. The little redhead gives the room a last look as the others slip out the back door, her eyes lingering on the men drinking with the officer. Ba'alabeth makes a mental note that Cradius and Glarot are off the surveillance roster for the operation; can't risk them being recognized in another context.

  Then the rebels are gone, and all that's left is to make her own exit. She signals Cradius as she leaves, while the rest of the team stagger their extractions to avoid notice. Five minutes later, she and Uzamian are waiting in an alley around the corner when Cradius brings the Navy man.

  "-- this is absurd," the officer is saying. "Do you have any idea who -- Aha, !" His eyes narrow as they light on her. "Ba'alabeth Ebecrezzar, I assume?"

  She grabs him by the collar and pulls him close.

  "What the do you think you're doing? This is a very delicate operation, which you wandered into like a bull roach in a fleshcrafter's lab. If you'd gotten any closer to me the whole might have been made, and Third knows when we'd have gotten another lead --"

  The Navy man, reddening under this assault, draws himself up and interrupts. "I am Lieutenant Second Grade Gallimimas , madam, and I am under direct orders to find you as soon as possible. Orders, I may say, that come from my uncle,

  Zacharias Silokete."

  Ba'alabeth presses her lips into a thin line. With the Prefect's authority behind her, she certainly outranks this fool, and there's a case to be made that even an admiral of the Navy falls under her jurisdiction. Asserting the latter, however, would involve revealing her true status and a great deal of tedious confirmation with the City. Still.

  "Well, you've found me," she snaps. "Let's have the message, errand boy."

  His chest inflates, like a puff-bug blowing itself up to deter a predator. Ba'alabeth has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

  "My uncle," Gallimimas grates, "summons you to attend him aboard his flagship, the , currently waiting just outside of town. It is a matter of great importance."

  "My job is a matter of great importance," Ba'alabeth says. "What's going on?"

  "That will be explained when you arrive," Gallimimas says grandly.

  "He didn't tell you, eh?" Ba'alabeth sighs. "Tell your uncle that I'll drop by in the morning. I've got to untangle the mess you've made first."

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  The lieutenant blinks. "He would prefer I escort you back at once."

  "Only the gods always get what they want," she says. "If it's that urgent, he can come and see me himself."

  "But --"

  "We're done here."

  She waves to Cradius, who takes Gallimimas' shoulder and pulls him firmly away. The lieutenant tries to object, but Cradius is twice his size. Ba'alabeth turns back to Uzamian.

  "Find out who told that idiot where I was and bust them down to mopping guts off the interrogation room floor," she says.

  "Understood."

  "Have we got eyes on the rebels?"

  "Most of them. They split up and we only had a few people in place."

  "Fuck." She shoots another poisonous glare at the lieutenant's retreating back. What a disaster. "All right, let's see if we can salvage something."

  ***

  The next morning, as the eleventh sun rises above the edge of the world, Ba'alabeth speeds in a Navy groundcar across dusty fields towards the towering steel flank of the . The battleship looks bigger than the town, wedge-shaped and ugly, with two enormous triple-barreled gun turrets taking up most of its upper deck. Smaller weapons line the rails and protrude from ports along the side. Drab-uniformed sailors on long ropes hang like dangling spiders along the cliff-like hull of the ship, polishing the dust off her steel armor plates. Ba'alabeth cannot imagine a more pointless task, since all the work will be immediately ruined once she starts moving, but apparently Admiral Silokete places stock in appearances.

  She did some digging in the files the previous evening. Zacharias Silokete is a moderately ranked member of that moderately influential family, a lifer who'd chosen to remain in the Navy after the usual tour. Reading between the lines, she suspects it's because no one back home could stand him, least of all the wife he's not laid eyes on in a decade.

  The car pulls up into the ship's launch bay, and a lieutenant -- not Gallimimas, thankfully -- conducts Ba'alabeth through the echoing steel corridors to a lift into 's upper reaches. Here the floors are carpeted and the walls are paneled, though the thrum of the great engines can still be felt through the deck. Finally her escort knocks at the door to the admiral's office, and is answered with a curt summons.

  "At last," Admiral Zacharias Silokete growls at the sight of her. "Was my nephew not clear when he spoke to you? The situation is urgent."

  "I had urgent business of my own," Ba'alabeth says. "Count yourself lucky I'm here at all."

  "'Lucky' isn't the word I'd use," the admiral says. He waves away the lieutenant and stands up behind his desk. He's a large, impressive man in a large, impressive uniform, running only a little to fat in his late middle age. "I'm under orders from the palace to pick you up before addressing our little situation."

  Pick me ? Ba'alabeth suppresses the urge to snap at him. Someone back home thinks it's worth pulling her off the Redmask operation entirely? If that someone isn't the Prefect of the Inner Court, there's going to be Second's hell to pay. But if this isn't just a local commander throwing his weight around, she has to play things more carefully.

  "Perhaps you should explain the 'little situation', then."

  He looks at her like he's eaten something sour, but nods and taps some papers on his desk.

  "It involves the Edge Mines. A cousin of mine is commandant there, as it happens. The transect center in the City reports a … somewhat frantic message, the gist of which is that the prisoners have somehow not only escaped but taken control of the fortress and a ship. The message was cut off, and attempts to contact him afterward received no reply."

  "How is that possible?" Ba'alabeth says. She's seen the plans for the mines -- with the prisoners never brought up to the fortress level, no rebellion could get farther than the lifts. "Did they have outside help? What sort of ship?"

  Admiral Silokete spreads his hands. "You now know as much as anyone on this side of the Divide. We believe the ship in question is one of ours -- was due to arrive around now on its regular run. She's a light cruiser."

  Ba'alabeth's brow wrinkles, her mind already working. The admiral takes her silence as leave to continue.

  "Naturally a response is in order. As was already nearby, the Prefect of the Outer Court ordered me to move at once to Carnisa Pass and take command of the squadron at the fortress there, then to proceed to the Edge Mine with all haste and reestablish control. No sooner had we gotten underway, however, then further orders arrived to divert to Ghist and collect . I understand you belong to the Inner Prefect's organization?"

  No wonder he looks sour. The Prefect of the Inner Court has a broad remit, and one major part of it is ensuring the loyalty of every other branch of the Princeps' forces. Placing her aboard the is as good as saying that Silokete's judgment is suspect. She wonders how much angrier he would be if he knew she wasn't simply a member of the Inner Court's staff but reported directly to the Prefect himself.

  "I assume," she says primly, "that some instructions for me were included along with these orders."

  "Indeed, if you can make heads or tails of them."

  With bad grace, he hands her a page of densely typed gibberish with her name at the top. Ba'alabeth immediately recognizes the Inner Prefect's cipher, one of several used to communicate with his agents without the rest of the security apparatus listening in. It provides all the authentication of his orders she needs. She closes her eyes for a moment, calculating, then reads:

  "Beth -- there are some distressing coincidences here, rumblings from the Utmost Eye. Stay with Silokete and advise. Situation may evolve rapidly. If you need to, take command. Move as fast as possible. I'll send someone else to handle Ghist.

  S

  P.S. According to records, your mark Chiroptera was on the for delivery to the mine. Another coincidence? Or not the dead end he seemed?

  P.P.S. Remember to eat properly."

  The Utmost Eye is the personal residence of Earth-as-in-Heaven himself, accessible only to his Exemplars and his fleshcrafted personal servants. Ba'alabeth isn't sure why problems at such a distant outpost should merit a response from the highest level. Either there's more here than meets the eye, or one of the less stable Exemplars is causing problems on a whim.

  "Well?" the admiral says. "Anything you want to share?"

  "Not at this time." She gives him a cold smile. "I will accompany you and provide counsel."

  "Lovely," he grates. "Exactly what I hoped for. How long do you need before we can leave Ghist?"

  The Prefect has said to move quickly. Ba'alabeth shrugs. "You can depart now. I'm ready." There's nothing personal back at her base in the city, and her most vital bits of gear never leave her person while she's in the field.

  This seems to take the admiral by surprise for a moment. He spins back to his desk and picks up a phone.

  "Engine room, power up. Helm, execute course for Carnisa Pass at best speed."

  As a new vibration thrills through the ship, Ba'alabeth considers the note's postscript. Chiroptera had been a bust; he'd been named as a close connection to a rebel cell, but after weeks worming into his confidence Ba'alabeth had discovered that any such links were long since dried up. He was a criminal, but a shallow one, and those were as common in the City as bloatflies. She hadn't even bothered to interrogate him properly before tossing him to the mercies of the Outer Court's justice.

  That apparently resulted in him being sent to the Edge Mines aboard , which had somehow been seized by escaping prisoners. Coincidence?

  Almost certainly. In all probability the fool is dead by now.

  But, she decides, worth keeping an eye out all the same.