Ken's Blog

With Clay laid out on the couch, an ice pack over his forehead, Francesca found herself on her own. She sat at the table for a long while, allowing the clues to shift around in her mind, trying different configurations. Something crucial was still missing. Looking over the table, her eyes landed on the fake ID tag she had made for Clay. “Ah,” she smiled to herself, “There is more than one way to scare a cat!”

It took very little time to change the name on the ID card. Forgery was one of the useful skills one acquired up in the Movement. Soon she found herself in front of the office of records. It was a rather drab buildling. Perhaps, she supposed, looking over the worn stone facade, it had been magnificent in its time. But that time must have been long ago indeed. Now it was almost a forgotten edifice, a sad building behind a sad stone facade, in a part of town that was not what it once was. How ironic, she mused — a department of records in a buildling that time forgot. Ah well, she shrugged as she entered, none of us are as we once were.

She looked idly around after ringing the bell. The interior must have been beautiful in its day. The high walls with their ornate faux columns spoke of a sense of grandeur one no longer generally encounters in the offices of government. The clerk, when he finally came to the outer desk, appeared to be a young man in his twenties. He barely glanced at her identification before waving her over to the stacks and quickly removing himself back to his office. She marvelled at how eager he was to return to work, impressed by his dedication and focus. Looking briefly into his doorway on her way to the stacks, Francesca got only the briefest glimpse of the image upon his computer scene. She blushed at the sight — the young man appeared to have decidedly unmunicipal interests.

The records were a bit of a jumble, with various volumes out of their proper order. Clearly the young clerk’s mind was otherwise engaged. Methodically she began to go through the thickly bound tomes, placing each in turn in its proper order, until a sense of organization had begun to emerge.

She was almost all the way through before she found what she was looking for. The birth records, at least, were reasonably well organized. It took her very little time to find the name — Bianca Renford. The girl had been an orphan. Renford was apparently a name given to her by the Sisters. Her mother was unknown. There were not many details, but there was a written addendum to the record that clearly referred the reader to a later volume — a record of deaths. “At least,” she said to herself, “Here was a clerk who showed some interest in the job.”

She took down the volume in question and laid it on the table, standing over the heavy wooden tabletop. It was quite a bit larger than the first. The region had grown in population in a few short decades. Flipping to the correct page, she ran her finger down the small print of the column until she found the reference at the very bottom of the page. “Hmm,” she mused, “it seems the birth father was eventually identified after all.” Turning the page, she saw that the girl, now a young woman, had been a victim of homicide, but the details were not provided. She made a mental note that she must later look through the news reports from that day and week.

Francesca read on. Three years before her untimely death, Bianca had borne a child. The father of the child had been recorded as well. It also seemed that at the time of the her demise, Bianca’s own birth father had at last been identified, and had been duly recorded as her child’s grandfather.

It was all quite neatly entered, but in exceedingly small print. The name of the child was Noir LeFevre. The last name was apparently that of a man Bianca had married and then rather quickly divorced. But it seemed that this man had not been the boy’s actual father. The biological father was identified as “Clayton Adam Terransky”.

Francesca didn’t know what to think. What could possibly have happened that would have caused Clay to have retain an odd and traumatic memory of Bianca, and to have had no recognition of the name of his own son? Is it possible she had simply not told him he was a father? Francesca tried to place herself in the position of this young woman.

It was possible the grandfather would know something — she could perhaps find him and the mystery would be cleared up. She looked to see the name of young Noir’s grandfather, and then Francesca had to sit down. It was not clear to her, in that moment, whether her legs would have continued to support her. Bianca’s father was identified as one “Frederick White”.

That night, the twins slept on the couch, curled up next to each other in their clothes. Noir had offered them a room and nightclothes, but they declined – obviously, they were far from trusting him. And they probably still didn’t believe his story, either. He made an effort to walk on the creaky parts of the stairs when he went up to bed so that they would sleep comfortably with the knowledge that they would hear him if he came back down. Now, he padded silently down to the foyer and into the living room. He sat down in the chair across from them and watched them sleep.

They looked peaceful. He wondered what he looked like when he slept, if he looked troubled or as contented as they did, cuddling up together like that. Umbry didn’t even look like she was in pain from her injury. He sighed as quietly as he could, smiling to himself as he realized it sounded similar to when Umbry did it out of habit.

Julia wrinkled her nose and then her eyes opened, and she glared at him. He stared back at her, forcing her to look away.

“I knew you’d try something,” she hissed.

“I’m not trying anything,” he retorted. “And shouldn’t you be quiet? Your Umbry is sleeping.”

“She won’t wake up for a while.”

He stared at her for a second and then grinned when it dawned on him. “You slipped sedatives into her water, didn’t you? Where’d you get them?”

“The hospital.”

“Did you steal them?”

“Does it matter?” She straightened herself up, softly lowering Umbry to the pillows of the couch. Umbry’s sleeping form didn’t even react. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but obviously you will when you find it profitable.”

“I won’t tell if you take a walk with me,” Noir offered, standing up.

Julia stared at him. “At night? Is it safe?”

“I own this entire island, and my guards know every family of squirrels that live here. We have every square meter covered by cameras. Is that safe enough for you?”

She dutifully got to her feet and followed him out the door.

“Of course,” he added, slowing down so she’d catch up, “That isn’t saying that you’re safe with me, but that’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.”

Julia took one last look at sweet Umbry, still sleeping soundly on the couch, lit by the moonlight coming in from the window, and hesitated a moment. Then she hurried to stay next to Noir and they left the building, emerging into the humid night air.

They walked silently for a long time. Noir seemed to know his way around. Julia watched him as carefully as she could, but when he turned to look at her she’d always pretend she was looking at something just past him. He would look at her for another second and then turn back to the path. Then she’d look at him again after a few seconds. This repeated a few times. Finally he gave up on catching her eye and just looked off into the distance.

They reached the edge of the water. The moon was big now – Julia recognized it as a waxing gibbous moon. Noir stopped and squatted in front of the water, submerging one of his hands to touch the sand.

She wanted to say something, but what he was doing seemed rote. She squatted down next to him, watching as he made a handprint in the sand and returned his hand to his lap. He watched carefully as the water lapped over the handprint, which slowly disappeared, one grain of sand at a time. “It’s different when the moon’s different,” he said. “Sometimes it goes away faster, and sometimes it evn stays there overnight.”

“Do you come here every night?”

“Almost. I don’t really sleep much.”

“Oh.” They fell silent again, and she felt like maybe this was the best time to ask. “So, uh, was all that stuff you said about–”

“Bianca?”

“Yeah. Was that all true?”

“Every word.”

She bit her lip. “It sounded so awful. I just wondered if it was exaggerated at all. But I guess not.”
Noir nodded. “Does it sound familiar at all?”

“…I can’t say it doesn’t sound familiar,” she said after some thought. “But some things are just like that.”

“Hmm.” He stared at her until she was uncomfortable. It took longer this time. “You’re not afraid of me anymore?”

“I still am,” Julia assured him. “It just feels like I’m not.”

They stood up and he continued to walk, drying off his hand on his shirt. She was deep in thought for another minute, and then finally spoke up.

“You made Umbry jump off that roof, didn’t you?” She asked, looking down at the ground instead of at him. “She usually has excellent balance.”

“I had a hand in it,” Noir admitted.

“So you can control us.” She glanced at him. “You control Umbry’s logic, and my emotion. That’s why I don’t feel as afraid of you as I did before.”

“You know, Julia, you’re pretty smart in your own right.” He smiled at her, watching with interest as she tried to avoid looking at his face.

“Well I know you can control her better than you can control me,” she said softly, “and if you ever do anything to her like that again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

He didn’t reply to that. They were quiet again for a long time, but she thought he’d gotten the picture.

After a while they started heading back uphill.

“You know,” Julia finally said, “When I met Umbry I thought we were soulmates, like everyone says. But now that this whole thing is happening with Clay, and with all of this stuff about Bianca, I really wonder…”

“I thought you and Umbry always knew each other.”

“We have.”

“But you just said…”

She stared at him blankly, and then her eyes grew ground. She fell to her knees with a sob. He watched quietly as she knelt on the ground, shaking, her head clutched between her hands. Finally she got a hold of herself. “It … hurts … I shouldn’t think about these things …”

“But don’t you want to know?”

The headache persisted. “Y-yes, but…”

“I want to know.”

She looked at him. “You…?”

“Yes, Julia. It’s very important to me that you remember.” He spoke slowly, and with conviction. “Because I–”

They were quiet for a while.

“…I just need to know.”

She hesitated and then looked up at him.

For the first time, she really looked into his eyes, past the emptiness. It hurt, but she looked.

And he was sincere, so she closed her eyes.

It was a full moon… no. It wasn’t just that. It was an eclipse when they first met – a solar eclipse, one of the few that had happened in that area. That was why they were SunMoon.

And it was in the darkness. They hadn’t seen each other at first. They were blind – being blinded? – and their hands touched. It was the warmest she’d ever felt. Then she looked at Umbry for the first time.

One eye? No… she remembered the other eye, the one that was hidden now. Sometimes she forgot that was there, but in this memory it glowed in a strange way. It was different, somehow. Glossy and brittle – like a mirror.

She felt warmth again, over her lips. Her eyes snapped open and she felt her mouth. Her nose was bleeding warm blood all over her pants and shirt.

The headache came back in full force and she collapsed.

She felt herself being picked up. Noir was carrying her. He didn’t seem strong to look at, she thought, yet he was easily able to carry her.

“…Sorry…” she mumbled, tilting her head back to keep her nose from bleeding more.

“It’ll take time.”

“…Why do you want this…? Everything was okay… before we had to remember…” she strained to stay awake. The loss of blood was making her dizzy, and she was tired.

“That’s exactly why, Julia. It can’t just be okay. It has to be better.”

She looked at him and realized something. Behind that emptiness, there were flecks of something else, like shards of something that had once been intact. Who could’ve been so cruel to do that…? Were they the same person who’d done that to Bianca?

Bianca… that poor girl. She would do anything to make sure Umbry didn’t end up like that.

Because they were so similar… even down to their smile, and the way they walked and talked and… her brain seemed to think that was too much, and she fainted in Noir’s arms.

He was tempted to look into that eye of hers, that one that right now was just barely covered by hair. But he didn’t. She would show him at some point. Instead, he looked up at the house and relaxed when he saw Umbry through the window, still sleeping like a baby.

They both looked peaceful when they slept. They had the same look on their faces, as though they were dreaming about something nice.

Noir wished he could dream.

After they had subtracted out the letters from the third box, Clay and Francesca found themselves looking at a much smaller set of letters – some black and some white. In alphabetical order, the black letters were:

eeefilnorrv

and the white letters were:

aabcdefinor

“Well,” Clay said, “you’re the expert. See any patterns?”

Francesca shook her head slowly. “I see no obvious words here. Perhaps it is a letter substitution code.”

“Or maybe,” Clay suggested, “one of these people is Norwegian.”

“Norwegian?” Francesca looked puzzled.

“Yes, you know, Mr. Eeefil Norrv from Flekkefjord, international man of mystery,” Clay grinned.

Francesca laughed, and realized it was the first time she had truly laughed in days. “My dear Clay, I think perhaps you have been staring at letters for too long.”

“You could be right,” he grinned. “What got you started as a cryptologist anyway?”

She smiled inwardly. “You ask an interesting question. It is quite a story, my dear, quite a story indeed. And like many stories, this one has a rather obvious beginning. Let us just say that there was a young man. He showed up in my life quite unexpectedly. At the time I was, with difficulty, hiding my roots, so worried that my fellow students at the University in Milano would discover they were in the presence of a peasant.

“I forbade my parents or brother to visit — young and foolish I was then — although they had scraped together everything to send me there. I was the one with promise, `La Lumina’, my mother would call me. My brother never was given such opportunity. Someone needed to keep the farm going you see. And yet, I forbade them to visit.”

Francesca’s face took on a mournful look, an air of sad regret, and Clay realized once again just how beautiful she was. He hated to see such sadness upon her lovely face. “You said there was a young man?” he prompted helpfully.

“Ah yes, Giovanni, dear sweet Giovanni,” she smiled. “Late nights we would share cheap cigarettes and even cheaper wine, and discuss liberal philosophy. He saw through my pose right away. Giovanni loved the intellectual in me, but he loved the peasant girl also. I never had to pretend with him, you see.”

She looked up at Clay, to see whether he understood. He nodded, marvelling at the way her eyes flashed as she spoke of Giovanni, as though she were a girl of sixteen. “Go on,” he said.

“He introduced me to the others, the Movement — everyone was so young then — but we two had something more. We shared a passion for the ideals of equality,” she explained. “A belief that things could be better. Eventually — eventually we shared more.” Francesca looked down and blushed.

“You loved him very much,” Clay said.

“Yes, I loved him, but I was the idiot. The trusting idiot.”

“I don’t understand,” Clay said, looking puzzled. “Did he leave you for another?”

Rather than answer, Francesca stood up and turned away. For a long moment she remained silent. When at last she spoke, it was in a quiet voice. “I learned from others in the group that he had been discovered to be a spy for the Neofascists. They were infiltrating, waiting for the right moment to strike, all at once.”

“Of course at first I did not believe. How could one believe such a thing? But there were documents, there were — photos. Giovanni had not known he was under suspicion, so he had not been careful. And of course, as it happened, I was not the only naive young girl in the Movement. Giovanni was, you see, something of the specialist in this area. Oh, how I longed to go back to the innocence of not knowing,” she said bitterly.

“What became of him?” Clay asked quietly.

“I told the others I would take care of it. Of course I wanted my Giovanni back, the dear sweet man that I had loved,” she explained without emotion. “But he did not exist. Soon the other Giovanni did not exist either.” She looked steadily at Clay.

“I see … What happened then?” he asked.

“It was after this that I began my interest in cryptology. To look at what is false, and find the hidden truth, this became my obsession. It was, as you say in your country, my therapy.”

“Is that how you healed? What about other men? We aren’t all such bastards, you know.” he smiled.

“Oh yes, there were other men, one after another, but each time I felt nothing. The trust was gone. Eventually of course I made my little arrangement with Frederick. Dear sweet Freddy, my darling harmless Labrador. We became inseparable, but not really lovers in the way you and everyone thought. Fortunately he also was not looking for a lover. We were a perfect match, you see.”

“”You never loved another?” Clay asked, astonished. “I mean, as in, well you know…”

Francesca laughed. “Oh yes, there have been quite a few. I was well and done with men, but fortunately they are only half of the human race.”

“But how … oh,” Clay said, turning a little red. “I had no idea. I always thought of you and Frederick…”

“A very convenient little lie,” she shrugged. “And harmful to nobody. I have not lacked for lovers through the years. It is remarkable how easily some truths can be communicated under cover of a lie, to those who know how to look.” She smiled.

Clay returned her smile. “Thank you Francesca.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For telling me something true about yourself — something you clearly don’t tell the entire world. I am honored that you count me as someone you can trust.”

“Of course, my dear Clayton,” she laughed. “I have always trusted you. If a man were what I was looking for, I would have found my way to you long ago.”

Clay blushed, and quickly changed the subject. “What about our Norwegian friend, Mr. Norvv?”

“Ah,” replied Francesca, “while we were speaking of things past, it appears that the back of my mind was working. I have an idea about him.”

Clay went over to the table and looked down at the letters. “What’s your idea?”

“The constructor of this puzzle,” she explained, “he was very fond of the themes. We look for the words that contain the theme.”

“And what is the theme?” Clay asked.

“Why, isn’t it obvious?” Francesca said. “The theme is black and white.”

“Hmm,” Clay said, “I don’t see the word ‘black’ anywhere in Eeefil Norrv.”

“Nor do I,” Francesca said. “But I am quite convinced it is there.”

“Is it ok if it’s french?” Clay asked. “I see the word ‘noir’. Does that count?”

“Why yes!” Francesca replied, “That most definitely counts. ‘Noir’ — the night — what image could better describe the essence of the black spiral?”

“That leaves us with black letters for … eeeflrv,” Clay said. “That the hell kind of word does that make? Fleever … feveler .. refelve.”

“Refelve?” Francesca asked, dubiously.

“It’s like when you’ve already felved,” Clay explained, “and now you need to felve again.”

“There is such a word in English?” Francesca asked. “I have never heard of this.”

“OK, no, I was just making that one up. Sorry.” Clay grinned sheepishly.

“Oh dear,” Francesca laughed, “if I were still interested in men, you would be at the very top of the list.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, what could this mean? ‘Fleever noir … noir feveler …”

“Wait,” Francesca said, “That last sounds familiar. I’ve heard something like this before.” She thought for a moment. “Where are the files from the case where SunMoon exhonerated my Freddy?”

Clay looked around the room at the massive piles of loose papers and files. “I’m sure they’re here, but it might take hours to find them.”

“Never mind then,” Francesca said. “They will be on the computer as well. We must search for the word ‘noir’.”

Clay sat down at the console. “Shouldn’t be so hard. The case files are sorted chronologically in this folder. Here it is. OK, let’s see what comes up…”

“Noir LeFevre” Francesca read off the screen. “That’s it — the name I remember. But it is impossible. He was a mere infant at the time, and would be but a boy now.”

“How did this child fit into the case?” Clay asked.

“Ah, it is a grim story indeed. I think perhaps one sad story is quite enough for the moment. Let us decypher the white letters, and see what they spell out. I strongly suspect the answer will lie in the way two names fit together.”

They went back over to the table. “A word that means white…” Clay mused.

“Aha, I see it!” Francesca said.

“What do you see?”

“A woman’s name, again from another language.”

“Sorry,” Clay said, “I don’t see anything. Funny, I’m usually so good at these things.”

“Why it is obvious, my dear,” Francesca exclaimed. “Bianca!”

She turned to Clay excitedly, but was surprised to see him stand there, stunned, the blood slowly draining from his face. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, and dashed out of the room. He just barely made it to the bathroom in time to be violently sick.

“Ah bella,” Francesca smiled, looking down at the letters. “So Bianca is her name. I believe finally we are going someplace.”

There was a long silence in the room. Julia and Umbry both tried their best to regain their composure, while the boy – Noir – watched with interest and bemusement.

“You’ve been searching for us?” Umbry inquired.

“Your whole life?” Julia asked, at the same time. They both looked at each other, a litle startled, both having expected the other to say the same thing. Umbry then turned back to Noir, albeit reluctantly, but Julia kept staring at her partner. This boy seemed capable of splitting their thought processes up. They had never tripped up before. And those eyes…

“You heard me correctly. I’ve been searching for so long, so it’s quite nice to finally have the both of you here…”

“Then, it’s not us you’ve been searching for,” Umbry observed. “If you’d been searching for Julia and Umbry, the detectives, you could easily have gotten our address. Were you searching for the music box we possessed?”

“No, Umbry.” The tone in his voice was suddenly cold. Umbry got the hint and stopped talking. “You are right, however, in deducing that I was looking for something of yours that could not have been defined at face value.”

He smiled at Julia, who was still trying to figure him out. “Although I knew the first time I saw you on the television that you were the ones I was looking for. I just needed to wait until everything was in place for you.”

“How did you know we were the ones you were looking for?” Julia finally asked, biting her lip.

“Your eyes.” He looked straight into her – straight through her. She gulped and looked down. “Just like you read people by looking into their eyes – or try to – I can see a lot from how people look at me. Take now, for example. The two of you are assessing me in completely different ways. Umbry, you are assessing my posture and checking to see my reactions to things, and cross-referencing them with common disorders and associated personality traits. Julia, you’re trying your best to look into my eyes and see what you can see – and failing, I might add. You two normally come to the same conclusion about people, do you not?” He smiled at them, beckoning a challenge. “What do you see about me?”
The partners cast nervous glances at each other. Finally, Umbry spoke up.

“You’ve been alone most of your life. That much is obvious. And I doubt you’ve had a prominent parental figure. Your clothes are too big and your hair is messy. I suspect that none of your maids or bodyguards know you well enough to buy clothes of your size. Of course, that’s only if you don’t buy clothes for yourself, but you live so far out here that it would be illogical to go out in the open to buy clothes when you could stay here in the safety of your house. Anyway, you’re exceptionally smart, and have a lot of time on your hands. You’ve bought all this art here, so you must be very confident in the security of this house. Otherwise you’d trust the bank more, but instead you’re investing in material possessions that you could easily sell for more money.” She paused to sigh and then looked at Julia. She didn’t know why she was buying into this, but this boy seemed to have some sort of manipulative control over her. Somehow he was making her do it.

Julia swallowed as she took in the information Umbry gave her. She realized Noir was staring at her, but she refused to stare back.

“Julia?” He asked, somewhat impatiently.

“You’re empty.” She stared pointedly at his feet. “That was my first impression.”

“Empty?” Umbry asked.

“The eyes,” Julia said, refusing to look at them. “He’s right. I look at people’s eyes to see what they’re like. But with him it’s just like trying to look into the eyes of a hurricane. I can’t make sense of it. Empty.”

“But that wasn’t your most recent conclusion, was it?” Noir prodded, leaning forward in his seat.

“…No. I think you’re telling the truth when you say you’ve been looking for us. And I think… maybe you’re looking for…” she stopped herself.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. It wouldn’t make sense.”

Noir opened his mouth to dispute her claim, but instead wrinkled his nose. Julia was stubborn, but she’d say it to him at some point. Later. For now…

“That’s quite impressive, you two, although I must admit at this point that I like Umbry better. You’re more communicative, I think.” He looked up at the ceiling, tilting his head. “Is that why Clay kissed you, I wonder?” He mused.

There was a long pause.

“What?” Julia finally asked.

Umbry sighed. “Julia, let’s not get into this.”

“You could at least have told me.”

“It’s not a good time.”

“Of course. It’s never a good time for me, is it?”

“Can’t you see, Julia, he’s trying to get us to argue!”

“Yes, I am,” Noir chimed in, shutting both of them up. “You two are awfully easy to control, aren’t you?”
They both calmed themselves down, but Julia gave one last look at Umbry before continuing. They would go over this when they had time alone. Until then –

“Why did you bring up Clay?” Julia asked.

“He has the last music box, so he’s involved, isn’t he?” Umbry added.

“…In a way, yes.” Noir stroked his chin. “He’s the last piece of the puzzle and the odd one out.”

He looked down at them, the two girls who had been so hotheaded a minute ago that were now staring at him obediently. “I’d be insulted,” he sighed, “if you didn’t know about her.”

Umbry nodded. “I saw the files.”

Julia also nodded, to Umbry’s momentary surprise that she’d read the files. Julia understood this reaction and shook her head. “It’s obvious there was a woman in his life at some time in the past. He’s so depressed all the time.”

Noir nodded in agreement. “He was definitely better in the past. But you two only know the bare minimum, don’t you? Would you like me to tell you more?”

“What will you gain from it?” Julia asked.

“The pleasure of your company,” he taunted, smiling at the fact that she’d actually expected a real response from him.

“We will be here for a while, though” he added, half-seriously, looking outside at the afternoon sky. “You see, this is an island, and in about half an hour the only bridge to the mainland will close for the night. It won’t open until about nine tomorrow morning.”

Umbry scowled. “So we’re stuck here with you.”

He nodded, his smile turning to one of – excitement? although his black eyes didn’t betray any emotion.

“In the meantime, girls” he said, beckoning for the bodyguard to turn down the lights, “Why don’t we hear a scary story about Bianca Renford?”

“No matter how I piece the words together, the totality makes no sense,” Francesca frowned. “Every combination produces only a string of nonsense phrases. I’m afraid, my dear, that I am defeated.”

Clay was pacing around the room, feeling exhausted and at wits end. “Let’s go over it one more time. Maybe there’s a clue we’ve missed. How about the infrared photos Julia took of the desk?”

“I transcribed all of the letters,” Francesca sighed. “Unless some letters were physically removed, I do not see what we could have missed. And it would have made no sense for our opponent to assemble his message without the use of all of the letters in the third box.” She reached over to one of the many stacks of papers in the room, picking up a file labeled “infrared photos” and handing it to Clay.

He looked through the images one at a time. “There’s something here, I’m convinced of it. Something we missed… Wait — did you say the third box? Where is the box in this picture, exactly? I see the two empty boxes — Sun/Moon and Earth — but I don’t see the box that contained the nouns.”

Francesca came over and peered over his shoulder, as they both went through the pages again. “Here,” she said, pointing with one long slender finger. “It is dark, but one can just barely make out a rectangular shape. This must be it.”

Clay peered down at the page where she was pointing. “Yes, I agree, but it’s almost impossible to see. Let’s have a look at Julia’s original downloaded images.” They went over to the computer, and soon they were staring at a dark and indistinct image on the screen. “Here you can see, when I zoom in, that it’s definitely a music box, the same size and shape as the others,” Clay said. “Only dark in color — very dark. I wonder what happens if we enhance the contrast way up, setting the cutoff shade down around here…” He fiddled with the sliders for a few moments, and then sat back in his chair. “Voila!”

“Yes,” Francesca nodded. “The image is grainy, but it is unmistakeable. The lid contains an image of a black spiral. It is like a smoothed out version of the Black Sun of Wewelsburg.” She pronounced this last word with a distinctly German accent.

Clay looked at her, puzzled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she explained. “You are too young, and that is your good fortune. The infamous black spiral sunwheel was originally an occult symbol, believed to have arisen during the great Allemanic migration period, around fifteen centuries ago. It was later adapted as the symbol of the Obergruppenführer of the Third Reich — the elite inner circle of generals who answered directly to the Führer himself. In my days of struggle against the ever arising forces of fascism I have come upon the black spiral many times. The Sonnenrad can denote great power and even greater evil. And yet its meaning is often ambiguous, changeable. This version of the dark symbol is particularly curious — the smoothed shape suggests that there is something else at work here, some other influence.” She looked at Clay.

“The other two boxes are Sun/Moon and Earth.” Clay mused. “What is the connection? Does the black spiral have any astronomical meaning?”

“Ah, of course!” Francesca said, excitedly. “More recently the symbol of the black sun has been adapted by some as the symbol for a cosmological black hole — a star that powerfully absorbs rather than emits light. It is a concept that of course did not exist at the time of the Third Reich.”

“So the symbol actually represents not so much a presence,” Clay said thoughtfully, “as an absence. Intriguing, but where is this going?”

“I see it now,” Francesca’s eyes flashed in sudden understanding. “You have provided the key. It is, as you say, not a presence, but an absence. This was the element that I had failed to grasp until now.”

“Sorry, I still don’t get it,” Clay said, shaking his head.

“These letters, which form the nouns of many origins, they are not meant to be added to the message my dear, they are meant to be subtracted!” Francesca said triumphantly.

“I see,” Clay smiled. “The black hole completes the answer, but in a negative way. Although it seems to take something away…”

“…It is actually providing what was missing!” Francesca completed the thought.

“Ok, then,” Clay said, now finding himself newly invigorated. “Let’s take away these letters and see what the message says!”

When Umbry woke up she was in a car, speeding down an unfamiliar road. She was lying down without a seatbelt on, and when the car came to a slightly sudden stop, she was jolted into stronger consciousness. She felt heavy, as though she’d been given a sedative. She saw it was daytime now, so it must have been a long time since she had fallen off the roof.

The roof… What happened? She remembered being with Clay, and waiting for Julia, and…

a voice.

She needed to get out of here. She needed to get up and get back to Julia and Clay and Francesca. She needed to get out of this car, even if that meant breaking a rib. Whatever she did she wouldn’t talk to him again.

She tried to sit up and pain shot through her leg. The sedative must have been for pain, she realized. It had been a long fall, and she had probably sprained her ankle at the very least. She settled for lying down across the car seats, and decided that she would make her escape when the car stopped. She tried to see where they were, but the landscape was too generic to make out. They were going through a forest, but the road was smooth and often-traveled. She tried to pick out the types of trees. White pines…? They weren’t common anywhere near the city, so she was probably at least three hours away. She tried her best to sit up and look for moss on the trees, to find which way was north. The forest was thick, but on the right side of the road there was a steep hill leading down to a very blue lake. The car turned a sharp left and went uphill, and eventually they slowed down. The trees were replaced by tame grass and flowers, and then they came to a very sudden stop, which jerked Umbry from her position and left her lying in pain when the driver and passenger came to get her. She glared at them but didn’t say anything, and when they offered her a hand she instead used the car door and limped toward the door of the mansion in front of them.

It was huge, she realized. In a house with this much space around it, it wouldn’t be possible to slip away and find help – besides, in her condition, running through a forest would be unwise. It didn’t seem like there was anyone else living nearby, so she assumed the land was privately owned, meaning that there might be cameras and there would definitely be guards. She limped as fast as she could, trying to see if maybe she could get inside and make a phone call or send some sort of message before anyone could stop her.

She heard a car pull in next to theirs, but didn’t stop until she heard the footstep land on the ground. Then she stopped and turned around, and gasped.

Julia.

Julia had already seen her — ran to her, embraced her, and for a second Umbry was too shocked to respond. When the pain kicked in after that she almost fell over, but returned the hug, holding Julia there even when she tried to pull away. “Why are you here?” Umbry whispered into her ear, using her long veil of hair to conceal the exchange.

“I knew you were hurt.”

“You shouldn’t have come. This guy, he’s–”

“It’ll be okay, Umbry. I’m here.”

Umbry sighed. How could she have thought there was a problem? Julia was always able to deal with people, even ones as scary as this one seemed. When Umbry failed because of her inability to deal with emotion, Julia could handle it with ease. So this enemy of theirs was obviously no match.

Julia put an arm around Umbry once they released each other and walked her to the door. The guards offered to help them, but Julia declined with a kind smile.

And then they entered the mansion.

The foyer was huge, with a large chandelier in the middle twinkling brightly and refracting light to create rainbows all across the room. The furniture was old but well-kept, and from the looks of things there were obviously maids in the household. They took off their jackets and shoes and proceeded, at the guards’ request, past the foyer to the right and into the living room. A large fire was going in the fireplace and the room had a very homey atmosphere, despite the extravagant decorations and art (was that a Van Gogh? Julia wondered) that lined the walls. Out the window there was a beautiful view of the lake. Umbry took all of this in as she sat down on the couch, quickly followed by Julia. Umbry was still a little scared, especially in her current state, so she moved closer to Julia, whom she was sure would protect her. Julia noticed her nervousness and gave one of her smiles, the kind that always helped Umbry calm down. It worked this time, to perfection, and Umbry even found herself smiling back a little bit.
They waited a few more minutes and finally heard creaking of stairs. Umbry felt herself becoming nervous again, just a little, and even Julia looked a little concerned. The creaking was slow, but by no means unhealthy – the one walking was slow because he wanted to be.

“Hello, Julia, Umbry.” His voice was smooth and cold, and Umbry found herself shivering a little.

And then he emerged at the doorway.

Long, unkempt black hair half-covered both of his eyes. Long and bony fingers held tightly onto two music boxes, each kept carefully half-open. Tall and gray-skinned, he seemed to float across the room into the chair across from the couch. Finally his eyes were close enough to see clearly as he stared at them, unblinking and unmoving now in the silent room.

His eyes were pitch black, with no visible pupils. Umbry felt that if she stared at them too much, she might get sucked in and cease to exist. So she stared down at the ground instead, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

Finally, she looked over at Julia, trying to find some sort of comfort.

But Julia was shaking too, her one visible eye wide with a terror Umbry hadn’t seen before.

Those black eyes, and that shivery-cold voice… was this man even human? “W-who are you…?” Umbry managed to spit out.

“I’m no one, Umbry,” he answered curtly, as if what he was saying was common knowledge. “But you’re looking for a name, I suppose, which means I’ll have to give one.”

He smiled at Julia, seemingly pleased with her reaction to him. Umbry wanted to defend her, but when he turned back to her she found herself once again unable to move. And so he continued.

“I’m Noir LeFevre. And I’ve been looking for you two my entire life.”

“You make an excellent espresso,” Francesca lied. Clay knew she was lying, but he graciously accepted the false compliment. She had wanted to make the espresso herself, but he had insisted, trying to continue the tradition begun by Julia – to keep some sense of continuity. He understood that he was no replacement for Julia, but there was no reason to belabour the point.

“Have you made any headway with the nouns?” he asked.

Francesca frowned. “It is difficult. I sense there is something about your language, some subtlety that I miss. In Italian it is so simple. Our language comes down to us from the Latin — we are children of Romance. But English, it has so many roots — words have different meanings. And I sense that there are meanings here which are beyond my ability to see.”

“Let me take a look,” Clay suggested. His eyes scanned down the several dozen words on the list, allowing each one a chance to jump out at him. “Interesting. ‘caper’, ‘count’, ‘date’, ‘gin’, ‘pen’, ‘quarry’…. Indeed, an odd assortment of words. But they do have one thing in common.”

“What is that?” Francesca perked up.

“Each word on this list is has two completely different meanings, with each meaning derived from a different root. They sound the same, are spelled the same, but they are not really the same word. Take ‘quarry’ for example.”

“But my dear,” Francesca objected. “Surely you don’t mean that the two meanings of ‘quarry’ in your language are so different. Whether it is the thing one hunts or the place from which one takes the marble, the two must be in some way connected.”

“Actually, no,” Clay said, shaking his head. “‘Quarry’ in the sense of ‘the thing that is hunted’ comes from quirre in the original Anglo-French, the entrails of a deer given to hunting dogs to reward their success.”

Francesca looked at him in astonishment. “How do you come to know such a thing?”

Clay smiled sheepishly. “Not really sure. The origin of words is something I just seem to know — it’s always been a gift, something my mind does without really thinking.”

“And the other meaning?” Francesca asked, now intrigued.

“Ah, that’s pretty much straight from the Latin — quadrare — ‘to square’. The quarry has always been the place where excavated stones are squared.”

“Most remarkable!” Francesca exclaimed with genuine delight. “Is this the case for all of these words?”

Clay looked over the list one more time. “Yes,” he nodded, “I’m fairly certain of it. In each case we are actually looking at two different words. Same spelling, same pronunciation, but two different words derived from two different languages.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “It is like the frog and the toad.”

“Excuse me?” Clay looked confused.

“I remember learning, as a girl, of a species of frog and a species of toad that look absolutely identical. Except they are genetically quite different. Both species have adapted, over time, through the forces of Darwinian selection, to a similar environment. Now they look the same in every way, and yet have extremely different DNA.”

Clay nodded slowly, lost in thought. “It is a sort of message — not by what it says in words, but by what it says about words. Strange as it seems, this reminds me of nothing so much as SunMoon. Umbry and Julia always insist that they are not related, and yet they seem like sisters. ”

“Closer than sisters,” Francesca agreed. “Could this be a message about them?”

“But what are we talking about here?” Clay looked puzzled. “The letters were placed in the three boxes long before either Julia or Umbray was born How could it be possible that the message is about them?”

“I believe we must explore the possibility,” Francesca said, “that we are looking at a prophesy.”

There was a strange moment of tension in the room as Julia stared at Francesca, a look of pure admiration on her face. Then, seemingly, she snapped out of it, and returned to putting her camera back in its case.

“The guards switch places periodically,” Francesca explained as they walked down the hall. Where Julia would have gone straight, she felt herself being yanked sharply to the right. Francesca showed her the map and she looked at the changes Francesca had made to it. “But… at this rate…!”

“Yes. We cannot get to the exit.”

“When does the next shift start?”

“Another two hours.”

Julia sighed. Far too long. “…So what do we do?”

Francesca smiled. “You have not forgotten my words about action, have you? I trust you can defend yourself properly.”

Slowly, Julia turned to look at her, and then she nodded with a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

The guard wasn’t looking at them when Julia jumped at him. He fell to the floor full force. Julia held his head down and took the gun from its holster on his belt. Francesca kicked his foot lightly and he didn’t move. “You knocked him out,” she observed plainly.

“Was it too harsh?”

“Not at all.”

They turned the corner on two more guards, but this time they were looking at them, so Julia raised the gun she was holding. “Don’t move, any of you! Against the wall! Now!”

They all started to obey her orders, and for a couple seconds she began to relax.

And then they stopped.

Julia had just a moment to stare at them with confusion and a little bit of fear before Francesca pulled her out of the way as the men started to shoot… The sound was loud and she held her head, but Francesca pulled her down the other hall around the corner. Finally Julia stood up and they ran together, managing to go fast enough that the guards lost sight of them.

***

Umbry and Clay sat in silence on the roof waiting for Julia. It was taking a lot longer than it should have. Umbry was clearly anxious, but Clay just watched her – for more than one reason. He tried not to think about that now, to concentrate on the thing in his hand, twisting and turning small wires.

“What are you doing?” Came a whisper. Umbry’s bright eye was fixated on the object in his hands.

“Getting the signal on this walkie-talkie to communicate with the one the guards are hearing. It should help us.”

“Oh.” She seemed a bit skeptical, but any doubtful look she was giving was stopped dead in its tracks when he got a signal. Clay smiled triumphantly they both moved in closer to the very quiet walkie-talkie. The signal was very faint, so they found themselves cheek-to-cheek as they tried to hone their ears into the sound.

“Don’t listen to her.”

It was a soft voice, clear in its conviction but smooth and young-sounding. A young man, it seemed.

“She’s lying. She’s a weak person who won’t shoot. And she’s afraid of death. So why not give her something to fear?”

There were a couple seconds of silence, and then they heard gunshots come from inside the building. Umbry covered her mouth, and Clay whipped around, trying futilely to see through the walls. He couldn’t hear anything. Finally, he turned to Umbry. “What should we do…? Do you think she’s… do you think they…?”

Umbry didn’t answer. Her face had contorted into some wrinkled mess of horror and fear and nausea, and she was holding her mouth so tightly it looked like she might rip it off.

“Umbry, what should we do?”

“I’m afraid you can’t do anything, Clay.”

He turned to look at her, but she was still frozen in fear. Which meant that the only one who could have said that was…

“You see, Clay,” the voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie said, “Despite your idea that you can calm poor Umbry down, and despite your belief that she is emotionally stable, she won’t listen to you anymore now that she’s heard me. Now that she knows exactly how frightened I can make her other half…”

“Who are you?” Clay asked. “You can obviously hear us. So what do you want?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Perhaps, though, your Umbry would. So then, Umbry, isn’t it time you freed yourself of this high place? It might buy your poor dear Julia a little more time. And it’s not that high a fall, is it? Do the calculations if you need to.”

Clay watched helplessly while Umbry made the calculations. She gave him one last look – defeated, shocked and confused – and then he lunged at her and everything went blurry.

But he wasn’t fast enough. She slipped off the edge of the roof, and fell with her feet down. She landed in a small heap on the ground below him, in front of the guards.

Clay ducked away hesitantly, and watched from the shadows as the men noticed her and surrounded her. He flinched.

“And what will you do, Clay? Try to help her? Or find me? I can’t wait to meet you. Have no doubts, we will meet.”

Clay paused for a second, and then his hand balled up into a fist. “I’ll see you,” he growled.

He didn’t even skip a beat.

“In hell.”

***

Julia and Francesca were still running through the maze of the building when Julia suddenly fell. Francesca ran to her side. “Are you okay, dear?”

But Julia wasn’t okay. There was a look of terror on her face. She paused for a second, holding her head, and then looked up at Francesca. “They have Umbry.”

“What?”

“I’m going to get her back.” She stood up and turned the corner so that they were out of sight. Then she checked to see that her gun was loaded and handed it to Francesca. “You know how to use this, right? And take the camera too. I’ll see you in a couple of days, maybe sooner, depending on whether I’m lucky or not.”

“Julia, I do not follow.” She took the gun and camera, but didn’t take her eyes off of Julia. “You say that they have taken Umbry? What gives you that idea?”

Julia paused. “She’s my partner, after all. I just know these things. Now run. Figure out that puzzle with Clay, and then come find us.”

“Julia, please, think this through–”

“Think?” Julia smiled. “Thinking is what Umbry’s good at. I just make the espressos.” She needed a way to shut Francesca up, and honestly, she’d been wanting to do this for a while. So she kissed her. It felt pretty damn good.

Before Francesca could react, Julia ran out the other way and threw her hands up, yelling out at the guards that she knew that they had her partner and that she wanted to negotiate. Francesca darted into the shadows, not hesitating – she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight Julia’s decision once it had been made. She listened, though, and relaxed when she didn’t hear gunshots.

All the guards were gone from the hallways after that — escape was easy. Still, Francesca worried that Sun and Moon had fallen straight into their enemy’s trap. She and Clay would need to solve the puzzle quickly — there would be time later to think — to think about the kiss.

It looked like any other old abandoned warehouse by the waterfront at three in the morning. The three black-clad figures blended in with the moonless night, almost impossible to see. The alley was still slick from an evening rain, and a dead silence filled the chill air.

Slowly Clay and Umbry made their way up and across the roof, careful not to make any noise. When they had reached the appointed spot Clay touched Umbry lightly on the shoulder, and she paused, waiting.

Meanwhile Julia eased her way around the building, her rail thin body pressed flat against the wall, only inches from the laser beams of the alarm system. She tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, to not think about the possibility of being caught. She willed herself to remain calm as she slowly inched nearer to the corner of the building.

Clay worked silently at the roof air vent, methodically going through his toolkit until he found the proper phillips head screw driver. Once he had the correct tool, unfastening the four retaining bolts was quick work. Slowly and carefully he lifted the cover and placed it silently on the roof beside him.

At his signal Umbry eased her slender body down into the darkness of the narrow shaft. When she was most of the way in, Clay placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him questioningly, and he kissed her on the mouth for good luck. For a moment she was too surprised to respond. Then she pressed her lips tightly against his with a hunger that surprised them both, and kissed him back passionately, a long slow kiss.

Afterward the two of them regarded each other for a long moment. This was something that would need to wait, at least for a little while. She lowered herself the rest of the way down into the shaft. He looked after her for a moment, then roused himself. Silently he stole over to the edge of the building, and signaled down to Julia, who had been waiting at the corner of the building for his signal. When she saw his face peering over the the edge of the roof at the appointed spot, she nodded and began to ease herself around the corner.

The ventilation system of the huge former warehouse formed a maze of interconnecting shafts, but Umbry moved quickly and confidently, knowing the way. Up on the roof, Clay mused how simple it had been to retrieve the blueprints of the original building plan. All that had been required was a trip to the office of municipal records, armed with a veneer of authority and the proper fake ID. He smiled to himself. Why do bad guys always set themselves up in old abandoned warehouses? For some reason he found this thought very amusing. Although he suspected his good mood also had something to do with that kiss.

Julia had edged her way half way around the building, and was only five feet from the delivery entrance when she heard the crunch of boots upon gravel. She held her breath, pressing her back tightly against the wall. In the darkness the man walked by, only a few feet away. She looked on in sickened fascination at the white bandage that covered the place where his ear had been.

He stopped and looked around, the standard procedure of his nightly patrol. At one point he looked right at her, and she held her breath. She was in shadow, and his gaze passed on. Footsteps retreated and he was gone. Slowly she exhaled and inched herself the rest of the way to the doorway.

Umbry took two rights and a left to reach the main shaft, and then a final right, as they had worked out beforehand from the plans. Lindsay had told them the command room was on the second floor, facing away from the harbor, so it was clear where she would need to emerge into the building. At last she could see into the room. In the dim light from the facing alley the security console was just visible in the far corner.

Removing a small nail file from her tool belt, she carefully unscrewed the retaining bolts on the ventilator grill, pulled the grill away from the wall, angled it and pulled it up into the shaft. She slowly worked her body backward along the shaft until she reached the wider main shaft. Leaving the grill there, she turned onto her tummy and eased her body back down the shaft, feet first. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself out of the shaft and felt for the floor with her toes. She moved with deliberately slowness, since jumping down to the floor – or any other sudden movement – could have triggered a motion alarm.

Once at the console, she smiled at the irony. A security console in a locked building generally isn’t password protected – there wouldn’t be any point. Unless, that is, someone has already broken into the building, which is not something the system’s designers would generally think of. With the access screen wide open, she had free reign to click through the subsystems, and it took only a few moments to orient herself.

In under forty seconds Umbry had disabled all the alarms in the building. She leaned back in the chair and breathed a sigh of relief. This had been the hard part – the rest should be a cakewalk.

When Julia saw the small red LED turn to green on the electronic lock beside the door, she didn’t hesitate. So far the plan was moving along smoothly. She tried pulling down the door lever, and it turned easily in her hand. In moments she was in the building, the door carefully closed again behind her. Walking confidently through the darkness, knowing exactly where she was going, she strolled from the loading dock into the main corridor, counted out twenty three footsteps precisely, and entered the door on her left. Lindsay, for all his faults, had turned out to be an excellent mole. Between his inside knowledge and access to the building plans, they had been able to work out the exact path she needed to take.

She reached out until she could feel the edge of the desk. Slowly she ran her hands over its surface, feeling for the cutout letters. She knew the three music boxes were somewhere on the desk, but she didn’t care about them – they would no longer be needed. She removed the small camera with its built in infrared flash from her tool belt and took enough photos to capture the entire desktop. SunMoon would not be needing the letters themselves, only the message they contained.

When she was done she turned around, prepared to follow the planned instructions up to the second floor and from there out to the roof, far from the patrolling guard outside. But when she turned around she saw a gun pointing directly at her. On the face behind it was an ugly grin, made even uglier by the unsightly bandage covering the left side of his face. “Well well, looks like we got ourselves an intruder,” he sneered. “And the boss said to shoot intruders on sight.” She closed her eyes, waiting for the bang that would signal the end of her life. Instead she heard a dull thud.

Opening her eyes, she saw the gunman crumpled at her feet, his gun still clutched in his hand. Standing over him was Francesca, clad in a simple single piece black outfit, a small billy club in her hand. Julia couldn’t help thinking how wonderful Francesca looked in black. Actually, at this moment Julia thought Francesca just looked wonderful, period.

“You seem surprised my dear,” Francesca smiled. Even in this dim light her smile seemed to light up the entire room. “I suspected that my young friends might require some help.”

Julia smiled back. “I thought you were going to wait for us back at the agency, but I am very happy to see that you changed your mind.”

Francesca shrugged with simple elegance. “It appears that I am, as you say in this country, the woman of action. Although I must confess there was an element of selfishness in my decision. One can spend only so much time in little rooms, drinking espresso and discussing one’s feelings. One’s life is, after all, a story. And after a point the story feels like a soap opera. It desperately needs some action.”

The beeping was stable and constant, just as it had been before. It was slower than it had been earlier, and didn’t accelerate when the four of them entered, those detectives he’d threatened to kill. He just stared at the opposite wall.

He was peaceful and tranquil. His side hurt a little – the pain medication was wearing off, and he’d asked the nurse to hold off on the next dosage until after this – but he was okay. He’d made up his mind.

Lindsay really wasn’t the type to make up his mind, he’d realized. He’d left high school with unimpressive grades and gone on to university, trying one major after another, with no real idea what he was looking for. Years had gone by and nothing had changed. One by one, his friends had passed him by, finding that precious thing that everyone talks about, the thing they wanted to do. And then he was alone, with unimpressed parents and friends who pitied him for being that guy who wouldn’t ever do anything with his life. Even those annoying detectives disliked him. He knew that.

But he couldn’t understand his feelings toward them now. At first, when he’d been approached by that man and asked to spy, he thought maybe that was something he could do. No one would ever suspect the guy who wouldn’t do anything with his life. It was the perfect cover.

Then he found himself being reluctant to carry out what he’d been asked to do. Watching them, he realized something that perhaps no one had in the past – they didn’t know what to do with themselves either. They were doing this, being smart and solving cases together, but could they really go their entire life in that pattern? The clues were faint, and he knew he wasn’t a very observant person, but he was pretty sure they felt the same way he did.

Alone. Confused. Overwhelmed.

Maybe he was just clinging to something he thought was familiar, and maybe he was seeing patterns where there weren’t any, but he now realized what he had to do. He decided that his own place in this world was to find their place in the world, or at least to help them find it. Which was why, when Julia, Umbry, Clay and Francesca came through the door, they found Lindsay staring at the wall with a neat folder full of documents and notes in his lap.

“Hello,” he said. “You’ve come for information.”

“Lindsay, we’re willing to use force if necessary, so you’ve been forewarned,” Umbry said, but was stopped by a gentle touch of the wrist by Julia.

“He wants to tell us,” the sun detective said, smiling softly at Lindsay. “I can see it in your eyes.”

He nodded simply. “I’m not going to explain why,” he said hesitantly. “I’m sure you can figure it out for yourselves. You’d better get comfortable, because this is going to take a long time. There’s a lot of stuff I know, and you might not believe me, but I have to explain it to you anyway. And you’re all a little crazy, so you should be fine with all of it. Capisce?”

Umbry leaned back in the chair and Francesca gathered her hands into her lap, while Clay rolled his shoulders and relaxed a little bit.

“Capisce,” Julia said, nodding for everyone in the group. Lindsay nodded back to her and took a deep breath.

And then he told them everything.

Five months ago he was approached by a man who claimed to be working for a large crime lord. This person wanted him to spy on two teen detectives. The job would pay well, and along with his work as a spy he would get paid to work for the detectives as a secretary, a job they were currently looking to fill. Lindsay had wondered why someone so big would pick a lowly college student to do such a job, and whether this “crime lord” was even a real crime boss. But the job paid well, so he didn’t ask questions.

He’d worked for the two detectives and had realized that anyone with a history of suspicious activities wouldn’t get hired by them – and they knew how to find such things out, so he figured that was why he’d been hired above anyone else.

He was first sent to meet his mysterious boss a month before his betrayal of Julia and Umbry. He’d thought it weird that the big boss would want to meet one of his lowly spies, but he realized as soon as they met that he wouldn’t be able to go against this guy’s wishes. The man wasn’t particularly old – probably about the same age as the detectives themselves, from his estimate – but he was smart. And even unimpressive Lindsay could tell that there was something different about him, the same way that there was something different about Julia and Umbry. He looked at the world like someone would look at cells or atoms or far away stars. Julia and Umbry seemed to have their own ties, but both of them watched the world with a sort of clinical disinterest, as if neither of them could quite relate to other people. When he’d said before that Umbry and Julia wouldn’t be able to stop his plan, he’d meant exactly what he said.

***

He had the perfect base of operations. He could very well have moved by now, but wherever it was he figured it wouldn’t have windows and would have lots of movements in and out. New people were constantly being hired, because he’d killed or badly wounded so many of his subordinates that he was always in need ofreplacements. If there was anyone they knew with contacts in the underworld, then given this description he would be easily findable. Of course, he was easily findable because he didn’t need to be in hiding – anyone who had the courage to seek him out was quickly killed and disposed of. But since SunMoon weren’t dead yet and he wasn’t dead yet, he figured that it would be ok for them to go find him.

Lindsay was finished with all that now. There was nothing more he could tell them, except that he missed the cat and to feed it every day.

There was a long pause in the room.

“Did you see the music boxes?” Francesca finally asked. “What was he doing with them?”

“He was fiddling with them,” Lindsay answered, “but I’m not sure if he was able to get them all open. It’s difficult to work when there’s three of them at once, and they’re so big..”

“Wait. There were three?” Clay asked, leaning forward.

“…Yeah. Why?”

“We only had two.” Clay touched his chin with his forefingers in thought. “If there’s definitely a third, then did he steal it or did it belong to him?”

“I don’t know, and I’ve done a lot, so you’ll just have to ask him. If you’re lucky, you might even get a vague answer before he shanks you.”

Julia smiled. “For a second, I thought your injury had caused you to mature beyond your sarcasm, Lindsay, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I think sarcasm is very mature. At least I don’t just bottle things up.” Julia looked a little hurt, but she covered it up quickly and smiled at him. “Thanks for these files, Lindsay,” she said, taking the folder. “With this, we’ll find him and give him a talking-to.”

“And you’ll be safe here, so you don’t have to worry,” Umbry added. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t really care anymore. I mean, what have I got left?” He laughed dryly. “A stupid part-time secretarial job? Two detectives who hate me, and parents and friends who’ll forget about me in what, like a month? At least you two can live for each other. I’ve got nothing. Even the cat would forget me.” His voice cracked, and he realized he was tearing up a little bit. He shook his hair into his face, and decided that it must be the meds. Uncle Sam would never cry about these sorts of things, would he?

But there was no reply. The detectives were staring at him, dumbfounded. It seemed as though none of them knew how to reply without lying or sounding contrived. Maybe he was being a bit selfish in asking them to comfort him, or to say anything too bitterly honest. So he did what was apparently the mature thing to do. He smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just kidding, and once I’m off the meds I’ll be in better shape than ever.”

Julia smiled back at him, and Umbry sighed as they all stood up. “Get better soon, Lindsay,” the moon detective said as she left with the others, leaving Julia, who just nodded to him and smiled reassuringly. “That’s it. See? It’s not hard,” was what she seemed to be saying. Then she left to catch up with them, leaving Lindsay alone.

Just like he’d always been, and maybe always would be.

He was okay with that, he told himself, he had already gotten used to it. He would just keep petting the cat and being sarcastic, and maybe look for some good fashioned news about them.

Because dear God, they needed it more than he did.

The nurse came in and administered the next dosage of pain medication, and he felt at once relieved and deprived of his thoughts – whether that was good or bad he couldn’t really tell anymore. And anyway, who cared?

As his consciousness left him, he smiled and hugged his cat doll that they’d given him. “Godspeed, you two,” he whispered, and then he was out like a light in the dimmed monotone of the hospital room.