The next morning, the four members of the Silver Scales were standing in front of the job board in the Guild hall.
As Luca and the others walked in, the hall went quiet, a little at a time.
Because Miro had the great shield on his back. The shield with the pot carving, the one he had supposedly "thrown away" two months ago.
"Are you Edgar, of the Silver Scales?"
Luca stopped in front of a slim swordsman.
He looked a few years past twenty. His gray eyes went to Luca, then to Miro behind him, then to the great shield.
"...What do you want?"
"I'd like to talk to you about Mr. Miro's shield. I brought it back up from the bottom of the pool on the thirteenth floor."
Miro set the great shield down on the floor. The heavy thud echoed through the hall.
"So what? Miro threw away his shield and ran on the thirteenth floor. We'd lost our shield-bearer, so we retreated. That's all there is to it."
"Mr. Miro didn't throw away his shield."
"Proof?"
Edgar gave a cold smile.
"I've heard about the ex-scavenger's Gift. You dream about lost things, right? Dreams aren't evidence."
"Oh? Now that sounds like an interesting story."
It was an unhurried voice.
On one of the long benches in the hall, Inspector Oldo was sipping a cup of tea.
"I'm minding the shop while the Branch Master's away, you see. So let's hear it. ...Not a story about dreams. A story about lost things."
* * *
"The first thing is this fang."
Luca pointed at the face of the great shield.
Above the pot carving, the serpent's white fang was still driven deep into the iron.
"It's stuck in the front. This shield was being held up facing the serpent. If he'd slung it on his back and run, the fang would be stuck in the back."
A murmur went through the hall.
"The second thing is the leather strap. The strap on the back wasn't untied. It was torn."
Without a word, Miro pushed up the left sleeve of his shirt.
A band of scar tissue went all the way around his forearm.
"That's where the strap was ripped off Mr. Miro's arm, along with the shield. If he'd thrown the shield away himself, that couldn't happen."
"The third thing."
Luca took an old notebook from inside his jacket.
"This is the ferry ledger of Bodge, the ferryman on the eleventh floor. I borrowed it yesterday, on the way back."
Nora leaned out over the front desk. She took the ledger and opened it to the page he'd marked.
"Two months ago... 'Silver Scales. Four. Early afternoon.' And underneath that: 'Miro. One. Evening. Soaked through, no fare taken.'"
Nora looked up.
"Would a man who threw away his shield and ran off first come back two hours after his party, all alone, soaked to the skin? ...Ledgers don't lie."
Edgar's face went stiff.
"And this is a lost thing."
Luca walked over to the young woman standing behind Edgar, a mage.
He held out the glove. The single leather glove with its scorched fingertips. The name Ilse stitched inside the wrist.
"It was lying on the beach by the pool."
Ilse stared at the glove.
The hand she reached out to take it was shaking.
"...It's mine."
"Yes."
"...I've been... all this time..."
Tears spilled from Ilse's eyes.
"Edgar told us to leave him. Miro stayed behind on his own to let us get away. He kept the serpent turned toward him the whole time. ...And I just ran, I..."
"Ilse!"
"I'm sorry, Miro. I'm so sorry...!"
The hall went dead silent.
* * *
"...Back then," Edgar said, after a long silence, "it was all five of us dying, or leaving one behind so four could make it home. I chose four. As the leader."
His gray eyes were on the floor.
"The Guild treats abandoning a party member more seriously than anything. If I'd told the truth, they'd have broken up the Silver Scales. ...Miro made it back alive. He's Sturdy, after all. So if we said Miro ran, nobody would die from it. That's what I thought."
Edgar's voice dropped a little lower.
"A month later, the business with the Golden Lions came out. The Guild got even stricter. ...After that, there was no taking it back."
Oldo set down his teacup.
"I won't fault your call to retreat. Down in the Labyrinth, there are times a call like that has to be made."
His sleepy eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"But you smeared the name of a comrade who put his life on the line, with a false report. That's another matter entirely. ...Edgar. The formal ruling will wait until the Branch Master returns, but you'd best be ready for a demotion to Rank Nine, and for the Silver Scales to be suspended from taking jobs for three months. And you'll post a correction on the board."
Edgar said nothing.
Miro took one step forward.
"Edgar."
Edgar didn't answer.
"Getting left behind, that's fine. That's what a shield is for. If I stayed and four of you got home, then that's fine."
Miro laid his hand on the pot carving on the great shield.
"But the part where I threw away my shield. Take that back."
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For a long time, Edgar looked at Miro's face.
Then he spoke, loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear.
"...I'm sorry. I take it back. Miro did not throw away his shield."
* * *
"...Sorry, Miro."
Someone said it from a corner of the hall.
It was Dario.
"I laughed at that rumor too. ...I'm sorry."
That set things off. Here and there across the hall, more voices spoke up, one after another. Sorry. My bad. Miro scratched hard at his head, looking like he had no idea what to do with himself.
Then he turned to Luca.
"...Hey. You still looking for a shield-bearer?"
"Yes."
"Will you pick me up?"
Celes cut in from the side.
"I've told you before, people aren't something you pick up."
"What I picked up was the shield. Mr. Miro came on his own."
"...Just Miro. Drop the 'mister.'"
"Yes, Miro."
"...Weird, getting called by name that politely."
"Isn't it?"
For some reason, Celes nodded, looking very pleased with herself.
* * *
"Adding a member to the party. Shield-bearer, Miro. Preferred fighting style?"
"Shield."
Nora's quill stopped.
"...Shield."
"Yeah, shield. I'm the shield-bearer, aren't I?"
"Normal!"
Nora collapsed face down on the counter.
"A normal answer...! At long last, I get to write something normal in this party's paperwork...!"
"Why's she crying?"
"It's been a bit of everything."
With a trembling finger, Nora traced the "A bit of everything" written in the box on Luca's form.
* * *
That night, the Full Belly was closed for a private party.
Last night, when Miro came home with the great shield on his back, Martha had thrown down her ladle and hugged him, apparently. When Miro apologized for wrecking the lid, she just laughed. You silly boy. I can buy lids any time.
The twins told Luca all about it after they'd climbed up into his lap.
Tonight, Martha hugged him again. Shield and Miro and all.
On the kitchen wall, the pot lid with its four fang marks was already hanging.
"That's going to be our family heirloom."
Martha was laughing as she dabbed her eyes with her apron.
Grun and Theo came too. Tobi and Nina clambered all over Miro's great shield, shrieking happily.
Around the time the big pot of stew had been emptied for the third time, Celes spoke up.
"That makes three of us. Now we can go after the Gatekeeper on the twentieth floor."
"The Armor-Eater, huh."
Miro rapped the rim of his great shield.
"Fine by me. I got my shield back. I'll stand anywhere you want."
Grun let out a puff of pipe smoke.
"If you're going all the way down to the twentieth floor, that's three days just getting there. The lake floors mean camping out. Get yourselves properly ready."
"Leave the lunches to me."
Martha thumped her chest.
"A three-tier lunch box! You can go all the way to the bottom of the lake, and you still won't go hungry. Not on my watch."
Luca's stomach rumbled in anticipation.
* * *
"Here."
On the morning they set out, Grun tossed something to him across the shop's front room, the same as before.
A leather breastplate. Across the chest ran rows of iron studs.
"It was on the leftovers shelf. Lake monsters bite."
"Thank you. ...But the Armor-Eater's going to strip it off me."
"If it gets stripped off, go pick it up. You're a scavenger, aren't you?"
"Yes."
He was tightening the breastplate's straps when someone knocked on the front door.
It was Celes, holding her wand, and Miro, with the great shield on his back. Tied on top of the great shield was a big, square, cloth-wrapped bundle.
"Ma's three-tier lunch box. The third tier's not to be opened till the night before the Gatekeeper, she says."
"Why not?"
"Don't know. Says it's for luck."
A new leather strap had been wound around the great shield's grip. Thick leather, three layers of it, stitched together.
"Ma stayed up all night sewing it. ...This time, it won't tear."
The serpent's fang that had been stuck in the shield's face was gone. Grun had pulled it out for them after last night's party. The fang, Luca heard, was going to be hung up under the Full Belly's sign.
* * *
At the eleventh floor's ferry landing, Luca gave the ferry ledger back to Bodge.
"Any use?"
"Yes. Nora said ledgers don't lie."
"...That so."
Bodge put the ferry ledger back on the shelf in his hut. Then he looked at the great shield on Miro's back, and his eyes narrowed a little.
"Heard you're going all the way down to the twentieth. You can't get through the fog on the sixteenth without a guide called Jan. Blind old man, but in that fog, nobody sees better than he does. ...Thing is, last month a dark weasel made off with his walking stick. He got back up somehow on his spare, and now he's laid up topside."
"His walking stick..."
"If you can pick it up, pick it up for him. Without it, Jan can't go down. ...And on the way back, ring the bell on the far shore. I'll come get you."
Old Trude, as promised, gave them jerky cheap. Seven days' worth for three people. Luca's share, she tripled.
They crossed the white shallows of the twelfth floor and made their way along the shore of the thirteenth floor's dark lake.
The serpent was still asleep at the bottom of its pool. Miro looked back at the pool once, just once, and then hitched the great shield higher on his back.
* * *
By the time they reached the fourteenth floor, it was already evening.
Roofs stood in rows across the lake.
Dozens of rooftops jutted up out of the water. Narrow bridges of planks and rope ran between them. And in the middle of it all, a single stone tower stood tall and straight.
"The Sunken Village," Celes said. "It used to be a Guild forward base. Then one night, thirty years ago, the lake rose all at once, and the whole village went under. ...I read about it in the Guild's old records."
"These days, that watchtower's the only rest stop," Miro said. "At night, giant water frogs climb the walls. Keep the shutters shut."
He had stayed here once, he said, back when he was with the Silver Scales.
The room at the very top of the watchtower held an old hearth, a pile of blankets, and shelves along the wall.
On a stand beside the doorway lay a thick ledger. An old placard had been nailed to the pillar.
Those going down: write your name.
Those going back: write your name on the way back as well.
"A name with the return column still empty," Miro muttered, "belongs to someone who stayed down in the Labyrinth."
Celes picked up the guest ledger.
She turned the pages one at a time. Slowly, as if she were looking for something.
Her hand stopped.
Luca looked at the page over her shoulder.
A date from three years ago. Handwriting that slanted up to the right, with a slight quirk to it.
Julius Ardia. Rank Three. Destination: below Floor Thirty.
The return column was empty.
"...It's my brother's handwriting."
Celes said it quietly.
After that, she didn't move. She just stood there with the guest ledger open in her hands.
Miro looked at Luca. Luca shook his head.
"I'm going to look around the village a little."
"...I'll come too."
* * *
At the very top of the watchtower hung an old bell.
A big bell, rusted a bluish black. There was a chip out of its rim in one place.
"The night the water rose, the lookout rang this thing over and over," Miro said. "Thanks to that, everyone in the village got out. They say the lookout kept ringing it right to the end. ...Nobody's rung it since. People say if you ring it, something comes up from the bottom of the lake."
Luca took hold of the bell rope.
◆ ◆ ◆
—A hiss, like blowing sand. Nothing to see.
...dong... dong...
...water... run...
...dong...
Sound and shadow drift past in scraps, worn away like old cloth.
◆ ◆ ◆
No voice spoke. He didn't get hungry, either.
"...I couldn't inherit anything. Just the bell, and a little bit of someone's voice. Almost all of it was worn away."
Luca let go of the rope.
"I think that's what happens when it's from thirty years ago. The rusty old pot in Boss's shop didn't show me anything. Boss's greave was still clear after twenty years... so probably it lasts about twenty years."
"What a pain of a rule."
"Lost things have a shelf life too."
"Quit comparing it to food."
* * *
Next to the watchtower stood a two-story house, half sunk in the lake.
When they climbed in through a second-floor window, the floor was knee-deep in water. A sword was driven deep into one of the thick ceiling beams.
He looked at it with [Appraisal]. Judging by the rust, it was from about fifteen years ago.
Luca took hold of the hilt.
◆ ◆ ◆
—Knee-deep water.
Underfoot, mud and broken roof tiles. Every step slides.
The surface swells. A giant water frog, bigger than a dog.
On solid ground, it would be one lunge and one thrust. But this isn't solid ground.
If the footing is going to catch your feet, then step with them caught.
Let the slipping foot slip. Let the sinking foot sink. Drop your weight down to the firmest ground beneath. Bad footing is bad footing, but there's always somewhere you can step.
Step.
The sword drives up from below, through the throat of the leaping frog. The momentum carries it on, and the point bites deep into the beam.
It won't come out.
The surface swells again, in more places than one.
...Damn it. Should've brought a spare sword.
Leave the sword in the beam. Jump from the window to the roof.
◆ ◆ ◆
Stacked Echoes are becoming one.
Echo inherited: [Lunge: Refined].
Luca looked down at his feet.
Theo's lunge, on solid ground. The boat swordsman's lunge, on a rocking deck. And now this lunge, in the mud. The three of them had melted together into one.
Wherever he stood, it felt as if the soles of his feet were searching, all on their own, for the firmest spot beneath them.
His stomach let out a long, rolling growl.
"...Refined, huh."
Miro looked from the sword in the beam to Luca and back.
"Then try it on that."
Out past the window, an old log was bobbing on the lake.
* * *
Luca jumped onto the log.
It rolled right over. Under his feet, it turned and sank at the same time.
On the watchtower's stone foundation, Miro stood with his great shield raised.
"Come on. Do a half-baked lunge and you're just going in the lake."
Let the slipping foot slip. Let the sinking foot sink.
Drop his weight down to the firmest ground beneath.
Step.
His dagger, still in its sheath, struck the great shield dead center.
Gonnng.
Miro's feet slid half a step back across the stone.
Behind Luca, the log was slowly sinking. Luca's feet were already on the stone foundation.
"...That's not the kind of weight you get from standing on a log."
"Thirty-five."
"Thirty-five what?"
"Echoes I've inherited."
"That's way too many."
* * *
When they got back to the watchtower, Celes was writing three names in the guest ledger.
Luca, Rank Eight. Celes Ardia, Rank Eight. Miro, Rank Eight. Destination: Floor Twenty.
"We're signing it on the way back too."
Celes set down the quill as she said it. Her eyes were a little red.
"All three of us."
"Yes."
"Obviously."
Miro dropped the cloth bundle onto the floor with a thump.
"Never mind that. Food. I'm opening the first tier."