Simon let his art-children strike first. Crow swept in from Saul’s right. Vulture prowled closer on the left.

  Saul threw himself toward the lighter-framed opponent.

  She stabbed at his foot with her long blade. He narrowly avoided the strike and swung an oven rod overhand. The edge of the rod connected with her skull, but she barely seemed phased. Even so, she retreated before his greater weight.

  He stumbled, off-balance from his wild swing.

  Crow’s blade went just over his head.

  His hair rustled with the weapon’s passing. Shit, that was close.

  Saul looked over his shoulder at Crow. With the large frame of George at his disposal, Crow loomed over Saul, casting a shadow across both him and Vulture in the light from the broken window. He hefted his sword for an executioner’s stroke.

  “Nat!”

  They hopped. For a second, Saul did not know where he was, though the floor was similar to the carpeted hall outside.

  The room was small, darkened by pulled curtains. A mattress sat on the floor under the darkened window. A closet door stood open on Saul’s other side. In the shadowy space, he made out the shapes of an arsenal of tasers and stun guns hanging on hooks beside an ironing board. He was in Olivia’s apartment.

  The doorway stood open in front of him. Olivia backed into his view under the flickering hall lights. She ducked into the room, then, slammed the door and locked it. “That should buy us a few minutes,” she said. “Crap. All three of them, and Simon too.”

  “He’s probably just as dangerous as each of the others,” said Saul. “He’s bonded to an art-child.”

  “Any idea what he can do?”

  “Other than throw those damn razor blades? Not really.”

  The door rocked with an impact against its other side.

  Nat said, “Saul, Hush is asking to compare.”

  “Let him.”

  Nat’s fur prickled into spikes as it always did when he used his abilities as a comparator.

  Irene’s voice spoke from Nat’s mouth. “You fool. Where are you?”

  “Five blocks from the coffee shop,” said Saul. “Believe me, I wish you were here.”

  “Your cyclops thinks he can find you. Just tell him to let us come help.”

  “You may be a bit late.”

  Olivia grunted. “Better late than never.” She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for another impact. In the moment the enemy would break through. Yet, the first blow was not repeated.

  Saul said, “Bantos, let Irene and Morrie go. Use that passage blade and get everyone here as quickly as you can.”

  He did not hear if the cyclops replied, but there was a momentary pause. Irene spoke again, “Good. Hold on, Saul. We’ll be right there.”

  Nat stopped comparing. His fur went soft again. Saul turned one of his oven rods over in his hand. He looked at the electric weapons in the closet. “Mind if I borrow one of those?”

  “Go ahead. Not like I’ll be able to use them if we die here.”

  Saul ducked into the closet and retrieved a stun gun. He figured less than lethal would be best against a human frame, and oven rods were nothing if not deadly.

  Olivia held a taser in either hand and trained them on the door. Saul realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to let it out, then inhale. Breathe.

  “Know any misdirections that could help us?” he asked.

  “Sleight of hand won’t let us vanish. Nat, on the other hand…”

  “This room is dark. Nat, can you take us back downstairs?”

  Nat wheezed, exhausted. “Give me a moment… No. Someone hit all the lights down there. I will look further out. Give me time.”

  “Damn,” Saul said. “They thought ahead.” A rasping sound came from the doorway. Footsteps thudded on a floor somewhere overhead. He scowled at the ceiling. “Sounds like someone is really moving.”

  Olivia’s teeth went on edge. “And someone else is picking the lock.”

  A click came from the doorway. It swung inward. Saul held back. Olivia’s first taser shot hit Crow in the chest. Electricity coursed through his frame and he shuddered freezing in his tracks.

  The glint of a razor blade flashed past Crow’s stunned form and stabbed into Olivia’s other taser between its prongs.

  She dropped both guns. Her collapsible cattle prod emerged from one sleeve. A stun gun jumped into her other hand. Simon stepped around Crow as the art-child stood just

  inside the entryway, twitching. Simon must have detected Saul’s taph because he kept Crow between himself and Saul perfectly.

  Olivia stared at the guardian. “You really think you can kill us and no one will notice?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “That is the standard procedure. Eventually, anyone can be forgotten.” Simon’s eyes gleamed. “But this fight is not over, I can tell.”

  Crow’s hand reached down slowly, with obvious stutters and jerks. He grabbed the taser prongs on his chest. Olivia’s eyes widened.

  Saul charged out from the closet. He jammed his stun gun at Simon. The guardian wheeled. A razer appeared between two fingers in Simon’s free hand. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the blade flying at Saul.

  The blade sliced into Saul’s chest. Blood bloomed with agonized slowness. It pulsed out from between two buttons of his shirt. The material around them turned dark red.

  He staggered to one side. The stun gun fell from his fingers. Saul swayed and sank to his knees. His head felt light, but his sense of his own taph told him the razer had missed his heart and lungs.

  “Sorry, Burton. Orders are orders,” said Simon.

  “Nat,” said Saul. “Get Olivia out of here.”

  The art-child flitted from Saul’s collar to Olivia. The two of them vanished into shadow.

  An instant later the window to Olivia’s apartment shattered, and light spilled into the room. Saul sagged on his knees.

  Simon looked down at him. “You know, it would be a shame to kill you, Burton. You have talent as a maker, if not as a warrior. Crow. Carry him.”

  Crow wrapped an arm around Saul’s abdomen. He passed out as the art-child lifted him.

  * * *

  Saul awoke, dazed, in a chair at the head of a long table. He appeared to be in someone’s dining room. His winter coat hung on another of the nearby chairs.

  Late afternoon sunlight filtered through a large window with Venetian blinds. Those blinds reminded him of the shutters on the old passages between worlds, just they went side to side instead of up and down.

  His chest ached, but with nothing like the pain, he had felt when Simon’s razer had cut through him. Simon. The razer. Damn it, they had him now.

  He grimaced and leaned back in the chair, feeling impossibly tired. He could scarcely lift his arms or legs, though he could feel them there. Useless lumps, they were now.

  How long before they kill me, and relieve me of my powers? Then, how long will I be imprisoned on Hidria before my second death? Saul’s stomach roiled at the thought, and his head felt light again.

  His world needed him. Olivia. Irene. He even wished he could help Morrie and the other students. But Saul doubted he would be helping any of them again. Not from here, at any rate, he thought. Where ever here was.

  He figured he was still on earth, both because of the sense of time, which was sketchy, and because he could not sense the multitude of empowered taphs that went with the maker home world. He struggled against exhaustion to turn his head. With effort, he looked from one side of the room to the other. A slender form sat by a door leading to an adjoining room.

  Vulture’s wrinkled gray mask turned toward him. “Oh. You’re waking.”

  Saul grimaced, but could not muster the strength to speak. At least everything seemed to be working internally. He looked down at his bloodstained shirt but found no wound in his chest. No wound, but plenty of red evidence one had been there.

  “The master used his bond to channel your taph and heal you.”

  Saul fought to stand up but could not move his legs. His arms only twitched.

  Vulture continued, “Councilmember Creek insists you be returned to Hidria to stand trial. I do not know why, but the master agrees.”

  “That’s nice of them.” Saul’s voice came out as a rasp.

  “I obey my master.”

  Saul found the rest of his voice lost in the back of his throat. “Then go, find a human to talk to me.”

  Vulture glared at him, eyes looking pale behind her mask.

  “Simon says go, you go, right?”

  “The master will question you.” Vulture sat back in her chair. Her eyes closed, and she went completely still.

  Less than a minute later, Simon marched into the room, followed by a maker woman Saul did not recognize.

  She was built athletic, a bit taller than Kari, and wore ordinary clothes to fit with local exiles. She had a fierce expression on her face, definitely the kind that belonged to crazier guardians. She folded her hands behind her back and stood by the door near Vulture.

  Saul doubted this maker woman could match the art-child’s fierceness. That hardly mattered. From where he sat, Saul saw no chance of escape. He could only hope to save some of the others with what he said.

  Simon walked to the far end of the long table and sat down. His fingers drummed on dark wood.

  “Vulture told me she informed you of your situation.”

  “The council will want me executed you know.”

  “Sent to Fanar. I know.” Simon folded his hands in front of him. “It’s a shame, given your talents. However, considering your recent behavior, I cannot help but agree with them.”

  “Hey, at least you didn’t kill me here.”

  Simon shrugged. “It takes legwork to locate a soul newly arrived in Hidria. I was being efficient.”

  “Efficient. Right.” He managed to raise one arm and set it on his chest. The blood on his shirt was still damp. That confirmed it could not have been long since he had been cut.

  Simon leaned forward. “Petulant to the last. You know, it’s that attitude of yours that brought you here.”

  “My attitude looks a lot like your big goon.”

  “Like I said.” He rolled his eyes and then looked at the woman. “Elise,” he said. “Prepare my instruments. I’d rather not have to talk to him.”

  The woman nodded. She stepped out of the room. Saul listened to her footsteps recede for a moment.

  “You saw Apahar,” said Saul. “Why am I still such a threat?”

  “You have exposed knowledge of Hidria to multiple exiles. That crime is enough for a death sentence.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it is. I guess I’ll see you in Fanar, Simon.”

  “Who can say?” Simon turned over one hand.

  “If you don’t do something about Apahar, I’ll bet you won’t be far behind me.” Saul tried to move his legs again. He felt the energy there but realized belatedly his ankles were tied to the chair legs.

  “Your opinion does not matter to me.” Simon rose from his end of the table. He approached Saul. “So, you can either tell me what you know about the location of the world you and Irene Chambers made, or I can dig deep and find it on my own.”

  Given the situation, the proposition sounded absurd to Saul. A hysterical laugh burst from him. He snorted and shook his head.

  “This is not a laughing matter.”

  Saul giggled. “That’s another place you’re wrong, Simon. See, I really don’t know where my world is now.” He snorted again. “Maybe I would tell you, but I honestly can’t even guess.”

  “I will find a way to locate that world. What sort of taphic signature resonates within?”

  “That’s all Ancient Escalan to me, Simon. I never studied world tracking.”

  Elise returned, carrying what looked like an antique manicure kit. Right behind her, came Abigail Creek. The pale-skinned worldmaker walked to Simon’s side. She looked down at where Saul sat, tied to the chair.

  “Your interrogation technique is unusual. You employed humor, Simon?”

  “No, Abigail.” He grimaced. “I’m about to begin the real testing of his defenses.”

  Elise brought the box to the table and set it down in front of Saul’s chair.

  “Regardless, we have a problem,” said Abigail. “There is something in one of the passages.”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Burton stole a passage blade earlier. Is it possible his friends—?”

  “We do not know what it is,” said Abigail. My troops will hold the passage, but as far as we can see it will be difficult to get to Hidria for the moment.”

  “For us.” Simon nodded to Saul. “But we can still send him along.”

  Abigail’s brow bent into a dark scowl. “I will not risk losing track of him, given the chaos going on between.”

  “Alright.” Simon took a breath. “Let us discuss what to do away from the prisoner. Elise, Vulture, watch him.”

  “You need two people to watch one prisoner? I feel special.”

  “Quiet, Burton,” said Elise. “You may have been a challenger once, but now you’re nothing.”

  Simon and Abigail left through the doorway. Vulture’s eyes lit up. “Simon wishes us not to make a mess,” she said.

  “Fine,” said Elise. She looked at the box on the table. “I can’t say I won’t open any wounds, just not big ones.”

  She reached for the box and cracked the lid.