The chamber carried no torches. Cold light rose from the centre of the black stone table.
Four figures sat around the ring in dark robes. A bull mask, a scorpion, a pair of fish, and a set of scales. The thirteenth chair sat apart from the main circle, occupied by a figure wearing the mask of a serpent.
Eight of the chairs remained empty.
The warrior in the smaller bull mask stood a step behind his master's right shoulder, motionless.
The woman in the scorpion mask spoke first, her voice flat and administrative.
"The readings are confirmed. Three sites have crossed the threshold. The ground holds now, and what we put into it stays."
"Stays for how long?" the figure in the scales mask asked.
"Long enough."
"Be specific."
"It follows the data," the scorpion mask replied, keeping her gaze on the table. "The ground does not transform all at once. You bleed it slowly or you waste the yield. We learned that lesson a long time ago."
The figure in the bull mask had not moved. When he spoke, his voice filled the room.
"My division will carry it. We have the sites and we have the hands. The work is ours if it is wanted."
"The work is wanted," the man in the serpent mask said.
His voice was not loud, but the weight of it settled across the stone.
"Mother has watched this ground longer than any of you have worn those masks. She is patient. I have learned patience from her. The ground is nearly ripe, and the worst thing we could do now is hurry."
The scales mask tilted slightly in the light.
"Libra," the serpent mask said, turning toward her without hurry. "How is your new Vice?"
"Serving well," the woman in the scales mask said, her voice quiet and satisfied.
"Good."
The serpent mask let the word sit before shifting his gaze.
"Scorpio. Have you caught the girl who stole your experiment?"
"She is still running," the scorpion mask said. "She knows how to evade our tracking."
"Find her. Retrieve the Alpha. That subject is too important to lose."
"My enforcers are closing the gap," the scorpion mask said. "We will draw her out in Siberia instead."
The serpent mask turned to the fish last.
"Pisces. Is the Omega ready?"
"When the centennial tournament convenes, it will be ready," the figure in the fish mask answered. "Not a day before, and it will not require a day after."
"Good."
The serpent mask paused, letting the silence hold the room before he spoke again.
"Taurus." He nodded toward the bull mask. "The muscle. Whatever the ground needs carried, you carry it."
The warrior behind the bull mask watched his master accept the instruction.
"Scorpio," the serpent mask continued, turning fractionally toward the scorpion. "The mind. Whatever the ground needs broken, or made to forget itself."
He looked back to the scales mask. "Libra. Major events across every world we have touched, and the politics that keep them looking clean."
Finally, he looked to the fish mask. "Pisces. The chair. The world already lines up to hand you its best once a decade and calls it a celebration."
He addressed the entire table. "Between the four of you, very little that matters happens on this Earth without one of your hands already in it."
Nobody at the table smiled. Pride belonged to people who doubted the outcome.
The figure in the bull mask turned to the warrior at his shoulder.
"The southern sites are yours to keep clean. Take whoever you need."
The warrior bowed once, deeply, and meant it. He did not look at the serpent mask as he stepped back from the table.
✦ ✦ ✦
The southern office was bare by the warrior's own instruction. A plain table and a lamp sat beneath a wall covered in gate charts, annotated in the Order's private code.
He was studying the newest chart when a single knock came at the door.
"Enter," the warrior in the small bull mask said, without turning.
A robed messenger stepped inside and stopped three paces from the desk.
"Sir," the messenger said. "Our three scouts were killed by the young hunters."
"As expected." The warrior traced the Chilterns marking on the map with a gloved finger. "The Association moved faster than predicted. I will report the result and identify their division."
He rested both palms flat against the wood. Three scouts were a cheap price for a confirmed reading, and his superiors would see it the same way. What they would not tolerate was an unaddressed threat left standing in those woods.
Privately, he hoped the young hunters kept pulling at the thread. It had been a long time since anyone in this country had given him a reason to take off the mask.
"Keep watching them," he told the messenger. "If they press closer, deal with them yourself. This site is critical."
"As you wish, sir."