"So how do we split it, exactly?"
"Seventy-thirty. The creditor takes seventy percent, the Suppression Bureau takes thirty. And then, Miss Sorelle, you can take three-tenths of our thirty."
"Only nine percent? That's daylight robbery — black-market collectors pull in a hell of a lot more than that!"
Roman smiled. "Depends on the size of the account. A five-pound debt and a five-thousand-pound debt are not exactly in the same league, once it's in your hand."
He drew a thick sheaf of documents from a drawer, laid them on the desk, and slid them across to Thea, explaining as he went.
"The Sullen Powder Works. Used to be a firearms-and-munitions plant supplying the Great Harbor District Constabulary. Last November they declared bankruptcy — poor management — but at the time the Great Harbor station still had an outstanding order with them worth five thousand gold pounds. Undelivered."
He let that settle before adding, "And for this one, I'll bend the rules. I'll give you fifteen percent."
Thea took the documents. Inside was the contract between the constabulary and the Sullen Powder Works, along with a few newspaper clippings — coverage from the very day the works' founder, Sullen, had stood in court and declared bankruptcy.
But when she turned to the next page, the headline changed. Sullen, assassinated. Murdered in his own home. The scene had reportedly borne the telltale residue of burning sulfur and evaporated mercury.
You want me to collect a debt from a dead man?
It clicked a beat late. "Don't tell me — a Transcendent did this?"
"Correct. The Great Harbor District's underground syndicate. Sullen owed them money too, so they paid him a deliberate house call by way of reprisal — and walked off with the deposit that rightfully belonged to the Great Harbor Constabulary. Their leader, a man called Quick-Hand Peter, is a Sequence Nine Transcendent. Pathway suspected to be a blend of the Seer and Alchemy."
"I don't know much about Transcendents."
Roman's smile widened. "Why, Miss Sorelle is the hero who stormed an alchemist's stronghold."
"No. That's a label you forced onto me. I never once admitted to it." Thea tapped the banknotes in her hand. "These fifty gold pounds are hush money, not a reward. I won't breathe a word about our earlier conversation."
"Oh, give it a rest. Whatever help you need, just say it. I'll have it arranged this minute."
His read on her was spotless, and there was nothing for Roman to do but shrug, helpless.
Thea said, "I want all the information on the Transcendent pathways. The beginner-level material will do. For that, I'm willing to join your little — what was it — Suppression Bureau."
"Entirely reasonable. What else?"
"I also need police protection. You've put me in this position; you ought to provide cover so the alchemists' associates can't come for me in retaliation."
Roman's eyes narrowed into a grin. "And protection so you can perform an advancement ritual under safe conditions."
"Precisely. Otherwise I wouldn't dare go collecting debts at all."
They rose together.
"How should I address you?"
"You may call me Sir."
"A pleasure doing business, Sir Roman."
"A pleasure, Miss Sorelle. And — welcome to the Suppression Bureau."
She hadn't been out of the director's office long before a young officer in blue-and-white uniform came hurrying after her, flaxen hair bound into a ponytail, clutching a wide-brimmed cap against her chest with restless, fidgeting hands.
Yes — poor Miss Scarlett again. The girl had just been assigned by Sir Roman to act as Thea's guide and, in the same breath, her bodyguard.
"H-hello, I'm Scarlett, the director sent me to look after your safety, it's so good to see you again, the documents you need are just this way—"
Thea fell into step behind her, asking curiously as they walked, "Has Miss Scarlett been made a full officer yet?"
At the mere mention of it, Scarlett let out a small whimper.
"No — my numbers weren't good enough, I got washed out in the review… It's only thanks to Director Roman's kindness. He said I could try testing into the Suppression Bureau. But if I don't pass within three months, I have to pack up and go home…"
"I see… Well — best of luck on your exam, Scarlett!"
"Thank you so much!"
Thea's eyes curved into a soft, crescent-eyed smile, nothing at all like the cold figure from their last meeting.
"It's right here."
Scarlett stopped at a records room and went in alongside her. The documents prepared for Thea were stacked on the table — to be read on the spot only. Nothing left the room.
Miss Scarlett didn't step outside. She simply stood off to one side. Her second purpose, after all, was to keep Thea from pocketing anything — this was, lest anyone forget, a girl with a prior record for grave-robbing.
Rustle, rustle. The files and folios fanned open.
The first thing to meet Thea's eye was a mystical scroll-painting drafted more than eight hundred years ago, one that laid out, in broad strokes, the nine root pathways.
The nine root pathways were rendered across a single sheet of vellum — a ring, seven celestial bodies, and at the dead center, the human form.
Each was designated by one of nine sacred numbers.
The ring, for instance, symbolized the Ouroboros root, denoted by the sacred number Eight for its eternal, unbroken continuance.
The painting as a whole symbolized the Creator, denoted by Zero, for it encompassed all things.
The seven celestial bodies were the seven gates of sublimation, the seven true gods composing the entire world, the seven light-wheels of the human body, the seven root pathways a mortal could set foot upon — their names shifting endlessly, their essence one and the same — denoted by the sacred numbers One through Seven.
That is: 1 [the Seer], 2 [the Chalice], 3 [the Forging-Hammer], 4 [the King], 5 [the Unsheathed Blade], 6 [the Oak in the Earth], 7 [Alchemy].
Each root pathway was bound, intimately, to a person's inner and outer nature.
The Chalice's authorities, for instance, encompassed faith, the sacred, knowledge, guardianship, mercy… and how far a Transcendent could travel down that road depended entirely on their own native gifts in those very domains.
One starved of faith would be turned away by the Chalice. One without wisdom could never become a Seer. One who had not passed through suffering and rebirth could scarcely master the Forging-Hammer.
Beneath each root pathway branched several sub-paths, like limbs forking from a trunk. Alchemy, for example, divided into the Transmutation Scholar and the Great Philosopher; the Chalice pathway split off into the Silver Knight and the Saint.
In MMORPG terms — classes, and their subordinate sub-classes.
As for the specific tiers, they ran from the highest, Sequence One, down to the lowest, Sequence Nine. Simple enough.
The Bureau's files also held a sparse handful of sentences introducing the Nightmare — likely out of consideration that she was still a rank novice, with none of the classified material disclosed.
The rest concerned rituals.
Thea pulled two books open, then asked, abruptly, of the Scarlett beside her — who was bent over a study guide grinding through practice problems — "Does Miss Scarlett know anything about rituals?"
"Eh — eh!"
Scarlett hastily set down her drilling, looking faintly muddled. "Director Roman taught me a little. In his words, a ritual is a kind of miracle."
"A miracle?"
It was, in truth, a fitting description.
Thea thought back to her own descent into the Nightmare. Every component of every ritual was an ordinary thing of this world; she had no setting like mana or elements, no supernatural energy reserve of any kind — and yet she had been able to dive down into a dreamlike abyssal sea all the same.
Scarlett went on, recalling, "More precisely — a miracle with a threshold and a price."
"Whatever the ritual, its use carries a threshold, and after using it, a price inevitably follows. Or you might say that Transcendent power is itself something cursed."
That brought The Unceasing Holy Seal to Thea's mind.
The threshold on that thing was Sequence Seven, plus a tangle of intricate ritual materials. The price was a fall into the Nightmare — though, she had to admit, the Nightmare hadn't struck her as particularly dangerous.
She nodded. "It seems Sir Roman taught you quite a bit."
"I just finished special training. Director Roman said he has high hopes for me…" Miss Scarlett's eyes refused to lift from the study guide.
The girl really had been gutted by that review. Now her whole heart wanted nothing but to grind practice problems.
May this poor child make full officer.
Thea bent her own attention back to a book, turning a few pages — and discovered, pressed beneath, two thin pamphlets.
Two rather elementary rituals.
One was a Chalice rite called Sacred Blood in the Cup: by setting the array, a practitioner could use their own blood to brew a cup of blood-water that temporarily dulled pain and healed ailments. The price was a thirty-three-millimeter wound on the hand that would bleed without ceasing until the ritual's effect ended.
The other was a Forging-Hammer rite called Silver Bullets: it could inscribe an incantation onto a silver-plated round, granting the bullet a permanent bonus of extra damage against Transcendent creations. The price was a violent agony in the heart while the incantation was carved — and if the ritual failed, it brought on angina lasting as long as thirteen days.
These had to be prepared deliberately for her by the Bureau.
After all, the target of this debt-collection was a Sequence Nine Seer. The number of accomplices was unclear, but at the very least it was a violent outfit of ten-plus, every one of them armed.
If they were all dolts like Canaan, she'd haul in her explosives and blow the lot in a single pass.
But this time the target was a fully-armed syndicate — and in the heart of the city, no less. That would require putting her brain to work.
So Thea decided to set the debt-collection plan aside for now. First, complete the advancement ritual, push her combat strength up a notch, and then see.
Snap!
She shut every folio and file, and said to the Miss Scarlett still sprawled over the table with her study guide, "That'll about do it. On the way back, help me prepare some ritual materials… Officer? Miss Officer?!"
"Ah! Sorry! Sorry!" Scarlett, lost in the embrace of her study guide, jolted awake and scrambled to apologize. "What did you say just now?"
Utterly, hopelessly drowned in the ocean of knowledge…
Thea glanced at Scarlett's book. The Avengarde Penal Code, it looked like — a thick, hefty tome, the two open pages crammed wall-to-wall with text, with Scarlett's own notes squeezed into every margin.
Change worlds, and law students still have it rough…
"Please help me put together some ritual materials. I'll go over the list with you. Have them at the usual place before nightfall — White Oak Street, No. 405."