Echo - Downtime / Freeplay

Please consider reading from the Downtime for Episode 3 to the end of the season for context on what follows.

"So far it sounds like you had fun with your cousins, Cadi"
Bazso murmured in her ear.  She managed to conceal her surprise, but failed to suppress a shiver.  Just like Ashlyn, Bazso sometimes seemed to be able to get right up next to her before she clocked their presence. It wasn't fair that they could both be so damn tall and yet still be so light on their feet.

After the crew had debriefed, and each went their separate way for a time, Cadence made her way leisurely most certainly not at a near run to see Bazso.   She had been planning on glossing over the less glamourous parts of the score for the sake of crafting a compelling narrative; it was going to be a well paced tale of unflappable daring in the face of imposible odds. Once she found herself in the familiar comfort of Bazso's place however, the words that tumbled out of her mouth were the simple, messy truth.

"Or should I be calling you Echo now?" They asked, uncorking the bottle that they had returned with.

"Why yes,  actually. Well done you." She began with a magnanimous nod.   "My ascent shall know no bounds, and you will look ever so charming at my side.  A beautiful trophy, dressed in the best garments." She sniffed at the empty tumbler in her hand, brow furrowed.  "And imbibing only the finest whiskey.  I might even allow you to gallivant with your little friends on occasion... if you promise to behave.  Remember the name Echo, Bazso Baz, It is a name that will reverberate through the streets of Duskvol!" She was using what Bazso called her "stage voice" as she gestured dramatically, and their eyes were narrowing in annoyance.

"Enough, devils take you! Enough! Continue with the story or be still.  But I will not have you drinking my best whiskey whilst talking of making me a pet."  And don't think A dinnae see you frownin' at my whiskey as if it t'weren't up tae milady's standards."

They smirked at her before pouring them both another generous serving of said whiskey.  Cadence might be all japes and confidence now, but it had not been that long ago that she had frantically paced this very room, terrified that her cousins would want nothing to do with her, or be utterly useless to them, or get them killed, or... or...  almost ring my own bell on the very first score.

She knocked back the whiskey with a grimace, gesturing to them to pour another.  The two of them shared a long look before Bazso finally poured the drink and she described the encounter with Twice-DeadTom.  They sat in silence for a time, as she fought to retain her composure, and eventually finished the tale of the heist.

Bazso had been an attentive audience and together they spent much of the night discussing what could have gone wrong and thinking through contingency plans, and speculating about the business with the anarchists.  The later it got, the more completely Bazso favoured the regional speech patterns of their youth instead of the more "neutral" accent that they had affected years ago.  It was beautiful... they were beautiful.  As Cadence fell asleep, she revisited an old worry - that maybe it took too much out of them to run a crew like the Lamp Blacks.  Would it really be so bad for Bazso to be well cared for?   For the first time, Bazso was struck by a similar worry and it did not sit well: the scoundrel's life was going to hurt her, had already hurt her, in ways that they were both wholly unprepared for.

A hope these cousins are worth it.

From time to time, Echo looked up from the slim volume that she was reading to let her gaze land on the slightly grimy youth that puttered around the boat.  The boy had done well enough during the last score.  Once he had calmed down a touch, he proved to be level headed; with tutelage, he might even be useful for more than chores and errands.  Her cousins had already begun to rely on that urchin, so there was more to lose in not training him than in leaving his learning to chance and the streets. Leaving the tome in her leather club bag, she left strode towards the boy with purpose.

"I would like to have a word with you, young man," she began gravely, standing with her gloved hands clasped before her. "Ash and Rake think highly of you, and from my own observations, their esteem may be well earned.  I believe you to be smart and to have the potential to be capable."   Echo went from standing over Spooks to sitting next to him in one fluid movement, leaning in affectionately. "I know that you already know so much, but I would like to share some of my knowledge with you and ask Ash and Rake to do the same.  Would you like that?"

Spooks looks up wide-eyed, quickly standing straight at attention.

"Yes sir!" A look of embarrassment crosses his face. "I mean, madam."

She smiles rather than laughing, aware that deepening Spooks' embarrassment would not serve either of them well.  
"Lesson one - Restrain your tongue. If you cannot take the time to act from knowledge, do yourself the service of saying as little as possible. We are better served by silence than by error." She pauses for several moments, waiting for Spooks to get a bit fidgety before continuing.

"You need not call me Sir... or Madam for that matter. Echo is fine.  You may eventually lose the privilege of informality, but you have not done so as of yet.  Now sit," she begins kindly, patting the space next to her,  "and tell me what is it that you think that I can teach you."

The stout wood desk in Bazso's office was likely an heirloom that had been "liberated" from a noble family.  The top appeared to be a single piece, and along the legs there were a spattering of fine carvings that made clever use of the grain of the wood.  Echo stared blankly at the desk, waiting for Bazso to finish conferring with a member of their crew; she had arrived unannounced and that meant biding her time.   She would be patient, and then she would unpack the light meal that she had brought for the two of them to share.      

People are more amenable when they have eaten - had she remembered to mention it in Spooks' lesson? No matter,  it bears repeating.

As the meal passed its mid point, she would bring up the Children of the Fang, and try to appear insouciant as she learned what she could.

Bazsos apologies for the delay before tearing into the sandwich. Their dark rimmed eyes and eager appetite suggest they've had little time for rest.

"Children of the Fang?"

They swallow their bite, looking around the room pensively. They tap the desk gently a moment later, a look of recognition crossing their face.

"Yeah. One of my crew suspected they were the ones who killed Henner."

Echo recognizes Henner from past conversations - sort of a ringleader of Baszo's thugs.

Their expression sours.

"Left...strange markings up in his apartment. We asked around, did a lot of investigation. Seem to be patrons of some dark god, but are killers for hire to bankroll their endeavors. Endeavors, of course, being blowing up churches, acquiring artifacts of arcane power, and establishing new places of unholy worship throughout Doskvol."

They clear their throat.

"As to their end game...they're playing for keeps. Word on the street is they aim to achieve nothing less than taking down the Church."

Echo leaned forward with interest, half-eaten sandwich momentarily forgotten in her hand.  Unhinged murderers (and undead fiends) were scary; a death cult with lofty ideals and no sense? That she could work with.  

"They think that putting their hands on a few spirit bottles and setting up a couple of shacks in Dunslough would put them in position to challenge the Church? That doesn't sound particularly menacing...  Oh don't give me that look.  You hint at arcane artifacts and a plot to overthrow the Church and then leave me sitting here with baited breath.  Tell me more!  Are they known to collect a certain type of artifact or to have put their hands on something of note?  Have they been seen skulking around specific neighborhoods? Do they always leave their symbol to indicate that they have been there?  Is Redfog tower their lair, or just a place that they frequent on occasion? Why on earth did they kill poor Henner? How easy is it to meet one of them? Can you introduce me to one? Moreover..."

They laughed, and raised their hands to stop her.  She would have continued to rattle off questions, fully looking to them to remember the order and give a satisfying answer to each, regardless of whether or not that was a reasonable expectation.  Cadence had been trying to be nonchalant, but she had come unannounced bearing food, a sure sign that she wanted something.

Another AKA wrote:

Echo leaned forward with interest, half-eaten sandwich momentarily forgotten in her hand.  Unhinged murderers (and undead fiends) were scary; a death cult with lofty ideals and no sense? That she could work with.  

"They think that putting their hands on a few spirit bottles and setting up a couple of shacks in Dunslough would put them in position to challenge the Church? That doesn't sound particularly menacing...  Oh don't give me that look.  You hint at arcane artifacts and a plot to overthrow the Church and then leave me sitting here with baited breath.  Tell me more!  Are they known to collect a certain type of artifact or to have put their hands on something of note?  Have they been seen skulking around specific neighborhoods? Do they always leave their symbol to indicate that they have been there?  Is Redfog tower their lair, or just a place that they frequent on occasion? Why on earth did they kill poor Henner? How easy is it to meet one of them? Can you introduce me to one? Moreover..."

They laughed, and raised their hands to stop her.  She would have continued to rattle off questions, fully looking to them to remember the order and give a satisfying answer to each, regardless of whether or not that was a reasonable expectation.  Cadence had been trying to be nonchalant, but she had come unannounced bearing food, a sure sign that she wanted something.

"No, I fear I've miscommunicated. I doubt they believe they are in any position to challenge the church...hell, they might not be there in our lifetimes, and I think they know that. But spirit bottles and shacks are the next steps on their agenda toward that goal, anyway. Now just because we've investigated them a bit doesn't mean I have all the answers or know how long they let their nose hairs grow. We never did figure out why they got to Henner, and I haven't forgiven them for it, but I also believe it was just a job to them."

They hang their head for a moment, rubbing a blemish on their desk, clearly lost in thought.

"...and truthfully, I can't blame them for it, I've been in this line of work long enough to know how it goes. Redfog does appear to be their lair. As for the artifacts that interest them...I believe they like to collect things from long dead cultures. We suspect the origins of their beliefs date back several centuries...that they are interested in finding relics and belongings from those who were "pure of faith," as it were, in other places and times."

Please consider reading Episode 5 for context


Echo mumbled her goodbyes to the crew, absentmindedly agreeing to a time and date that they would reconnect.  It was cold, her clothes were sodden, she ached all over, and more than anything, she wanted to get away from the crew before she was no longer able to blink back tears.  Detest disgrace. Detest disgrace. Detest... The maxims were not meant to be recited as a litany, but those two words helped Cadence to hold back a miserable whine: I want to go home.  Ash and Rake did not need more to worry about, and it would not do to be come off as a dilettante in front of Pete. Especially not after he had acquitted himself so well during the mission.


"We have arrived Miss. Miss?"


Echo shook her head and looked around, still a bit foggy.  The hansom driver was looking at her phlegmatically, on the cusp of reaching out to try to rouse her with a touch, since calling to her seemed not to be working.  She reached her hand out to the driver, signaling that she wanted a hand out of the cab, offering a shy, grateful smile.

"This fine hansom has a skilled driver - the ride was like a lullaby.  Thank you kindly."  The driver gave a soft nod.
"Take good care ‘round these parts Miss."


As the hansom pulled away, she realized that she was not in front of her home, but rather a stone’s throw from the side entrance of the main holding of the Lamp Blacks.  She groaned miserably to herself: in her exhaustion, she had asked to be brought here instead of her dwelling.  The hansom had turned the corner, and she could not face the prospect of waiting, chilled and damp, for another to come by.  One of the players of a seemingly casual card game looked up as she approached.  She paid Echo little mind, but her glance drew the eyes of another player, who swore under her breath.



"I’m out.  Somebody has to do some work 'round 'ere."

"What’s this then?  Going to throw good money after bad in the skirts of that-

"Evenin’."  The large woman interrupted her colleague, glaring daggers.  "Don’t know that the boss was ‘spectin’ ya. Let’s get a nip of somethin’ warm ‘n see to lettin’ them know that yer ‘ere."



The warehouse’s dry warmth was a relief, but as Echo raised her hands to the nearest coal stove they itched painfully and she pulled away with a wince. She had stopped paying attention to the Lamp Black,They call me Butcher, on account of my Ma’s shop, and was surprised when a hand was placed on her shoulder, followed by the words 'ere, drink this.

Butcher handed her a dented flask explaining mirthfully, once Echo had begun to sputter and cough, that it was some undrinkable rotgut won during an earlier hand.  She took a swig as if in solidarity, and wheezed a bit - it was truly terrible stuff. She made as if to hand the flask back, and laughed at Echo’s polite but enthusiastic refusal.  Exchanging a wry smile, Butcher escorted Echo to the small bedroom that connected with Bazso's office. There were towels and dry clothing on the bed, and a steaming kettle giving off a sweet and earthy aroma on the side table.  Butcher gave the room a once over, nodding, and then leaned in the doorframe.

"Alright then Miss. I'll leave ya to get warmed up.  Boss'll know yer 'ere right soon if they don't know already."
The brawny woman closed the door.  Cadence struggled out of her wet clothes, wishing that Butcher had stayed to help, even though she had clearly never been trained as a lady's maid.  Her tired arms felt leaden by the time she had toweled off and gotten changed.  She poured some tea, happy to find that it was still steaming and ecstatic to learn that it was in fact laced with a touch of honey and a very liberal dash of whiskey.


She had fallen asleep, loosely holding the teacup and awoke with a start when it left her hand.  Bazso had placed it on the side table next to the still steaming kettle, and was taking off their coat.

"They told me that you were a right mess.  Hurry Bazso, I said to myself.   If our Echo, scourge of Duskvol, has deigned to visit her humble servant and looking a mess no less…  Things must be dire indeed.   And so I race to my lady's aid, and what do I find? Piles of wet laundry and her ladyship taking tea."

Bazso had continued with their normal routine, placing the items that were carried every day in a small tray, trading heavy boots for soft slippers, all the while playfully chatting, clearly relieved that their crew had overstated how wretched her state had been. Cadence wanted to join in this light banter. Confirm for Bazso that all was well and that Echo was up to any challenge that Duskvol threw at her, but she couldn't.  She had been waiting not only to see Bazso, but also to be seen; and as they puttered around the room, effectively talking to themself, she felt invisible. Nothing felt right - she had to leave.

"I should have hailed another cab when I realized or... or at least have told Butcher not to send for you..."  She picked up her wet clothes and patted around until she found a pocket. "It's just that… I'm… I'm going to go. I'm sorry… Here is a coin for the trouble."


Assuming that they even wanted her coin, that coin could fix every and anything were old, ingrained habits of hers; ones that they had argued over repeatedly in days long since passed. The offer of coin brought home just how odd it was that she had remained quiet as they teased her, that she sounded so high strung and uncertain now, that she was about to walk out in stocking feet. Everything felt wrong - she had to stay.


They guided her away from the door, easing the clothes out of her hands and letting them fall to floor anew.
"Long day?"
With those two words, the scant remnants of her composure crumbled.



Butcher knocked gingerly at the door some time later, and when Bazso opened it, radiating a furious violence she took a step back, hands raised; but not before looking over their shoulder to scan for Cadence. Bazso did not need to turn their head to realize where her eyes had landed.  They looked up at Butcher and apologized, sighing. They were still mad at themelf.  Butcher only wanted to know how she was doing, which was fine albeit overtired and emotionally wrung out; she simply wasn’t used to pushing herself like this for a job (Had she told them that the Redfog job would be tonight?), or for anything really.

"I know she seems soft, but she’s ‘arder than she looks Baz.... She’d have to be to put up with you and yours."

"Ruffnecks 'n scoundrels, the lot of us."

Cadence had always loved the canals; a slow, almost romantic pace, free from the jostling of cobblestones or throngs of people in the streets.  Gondoliers were truly salt of the earth folks, so to speak, and Cadence had prided herself in ensuring that the help felt safe, if not appreciated.  So it simply would not do to have those kind, simple, diligent workers thinking poorly of the Phantoms.  Echo chuckled quietly to herself; the Gondoliers would want nothing to do with Cadence’s solicitous superiority.  One should not send a nob to do the work of a Slide.  

First things first, she needed to know what the Gondoliers wanted... or at least what they thought that they wanted.   Negociation is all about ensuring that the array of what was on offer felt fair.  

I wonder what Ash is up to?  This isn't a conversation that I'm keen to get started on my own... and I'm sure that she would love the chance to deck one of those roughnecks if they try anything.

"Hey cuzz." Ash walks out from the shadows to Cadence left. "Ready to get some quality time together? Where do you want to star?"

Ash didn't have much hope on improving their relationship with the gondoliers but her cousin was a force to be reckoned with, if anyone could it was her.

"Spirits!"  Echo tried and failed hide her surprise with a laugh.
"Ash my dear, I would like to start with the tale of the friction with the Gondoliers, and hopefully end with a tranquil gondola ride."


Echo and Ash go over everything that the latter can remember about the Phantoms' interactions with the Gondoliers over drinks at the Broken Anchor.  After the right number of drinks, but before the wrong one, Echo felt like she had an idea: "So their issue is really with the Grinders... but we don't want to be crossing the Grinders. Right?"

Echo gets in contact with one Myre Keel through Bazos - allegedly a capo with the gondoliers. Though it would be best to speak to a boss, the Phantoms will take what they can get.

When they arrive at Keel's narrowboat in Crow's Foot, she's playing cards and drinking with several other nasty looking individuals. Cigar smoke clouds the air. Spirit bells ring out in the distance, but the gamblers don't even bat an eyelash.

Keel herself wears a ragged collar shirt and eyes the scoundrels with mild amusement, tossing her cards in nonchalantly and stepping to a cramped backroom to speak to Ash and Echo.

"Whatcha want? If it weren't for bazos we'd send you packing with black eyes and empty pockets, so hold the bullshit if you know what's good for ya."

She looks at you warily with arms crossed, but not with outright hostility...

Ash is about to bite back but then she remembers she is here just as muscle to keep her cousin safe. So she just shows her hands are free of weapons and crosses them. She then stands behind Cadence to let her do the talking.

I've got your back. She thinks.

Echo looks impassively at Keel as she postures but is pleased with her instinct to have Ash join her - Bazso's reputation wasn't going to be much help if things degenerated.  She is even happier when Ash tenses up, exhales and then settles behind her. That was the perfect display of quiet menace; Ash would have her spitting teeth at the slightest twitch but let's not let it come to that.

She looks around for a surface that is not too grimy.  Finding none, she sighs resigned to smudges, and casually leans on some crates.

"We're not looking for trouble.  Quite to the contrary, we are interested in smoothing things out with your organization.   The past is passed and the spirit is out of the bottle. At this point we can only mend fences and I want to know what that might look like for the Gondoliers."

As she is speaking, Echo watches Keel carefully, trying to get a read on the Gondolier and adjusting her words posture and demeanor to try and keep Keel attentive if not at ease.

"Obviously, I do not expect you and I to reach an agreement on behalf of our respective organisations tonight, but I'm not blowing smoke. The Gondoliers and the Phantoms are going to keep crossing paths, and I would much rather we be exchanging nods than blows - it is more efficient."

She had gotten the Gondoliers onto their dance card, now to see if she could get them to feel like they were leading.   With a little luck and skill they would not only avoid stepping on one another's toes, they might even have a pleasant time.

Keel's eyes narrow. She bites her lip, looks down at her feet, then locks eyes with Echo.

"It starts with respect."

Her tone is stern yet calm. She points a finger at the two scoundrels.

"You fuckin' weasels been in this business for what, couple months? A year?"

She snorts.

"On the canals, even the bloody bluecoats pay us respect. We've been doing this for centuries before your outfit - centuries before your great great grandpa even knew how to wipe his own asshole, Gods. And then you have the balls to steal from us."

Keel laughs and her demeanor lightens for a moment.

"It's a miracle my boss didn't let your heads roll. Small crew like you, woulda been easy. But she's always been more patient, more strategic than me. So your ideas about smoothing things out - that's very wise of you. Very wise indeed. The question is...what are you offering? What can a couple of street rats like you do for an organization like ours?"

She tilts her head forward, the ghost of a smile across her lips.

Now listen here you degenerate, inbred wastrel, you should count yourself lucky that I do not wish to sully my gloves by slapping you in your pox-ridden face.  
What could you possibly know of respect? Of century spanning heritage? Of power?  Take your pride in the Blue Coats being too busy tonguing the arseholes of vibrantly dressed nobles and lowbred, war profiteering upstarts to waste their time beating sense into you mess of drowned rats, and choke on it.
We have never stolen a single thing from you; maybe if the venerable Gondoliers did not hold their young in the canal for several minutes at birth, the lot of you would have the sense to know to take things up the Grinders.  


What a distinct pleasure it would have been to watch Keel fume as she delivered those words.  It would be even more delightful to follow it with a slap to her face before she could retort. I would rather your filth on my gloves than hear anything that you have to say, peasant.  But of course that was not an option.  She would not show anger, or contrition for that matter, but respect? Respect she could do.



"Well Miss Keel, we did not want to be so bold as to assume that we would know what the venerable Gondoliers might want from this vibrant young crew, but since you are asking, there are a number of services that we could provide.  We could provide assistance via the skills of our Whisper, should there be additional work arising from the (ahem) current disagreement between the Lamp Blacks and the Red Sashes. Otherwise, as you have so colorfully pointed out, the Phantoms have a relatively small footprint in the city, and so could complete a task that would require some discretion or distance from the Gondoliers. I suppose that there is always the option of a rebate on future work..."

Echo counts off these options on the tips of her fingers, frowning slightly as if in careful thought (really just annoyed with herself for having brought suede gloves rather than leather).
"Of course, not being aware of the full breadth of the current strategies in development, we would be hard pressed to make a more specific offer."

She gives Keel a soft, genial smile and waits.

Keel smiles, folding her arms and nodding approvingly.

"Very well. Quite the repertoire. I knew there was a reason Boss let you off the hook."

"You know, I think we have a job that might be right up your alley. But it'd mean getting your hands a bit dirty. We got a problem...and we're looking at a permanent solution, if you catch my drift. If you do it for us...I suspect we can work toward a mutual understanding."

"Think it over. If you're serious about this...I'll arrange a meeting with you and Griggs to talk it over."

Excellent, excellent! We will confer and have an answer for you shortly. You have my thanks for your time Miss Keel.

As Echo and Ash get out of line of sight and earshot of the boat, Echo's placid smile slips, and her jaunty step becomes heavy footfalls.  She is annoyed both at the temerity of that bloody woman to think so lowly of her crew, her family, and at herself for letting it eat at her so much - they were only words.

"We will show them, Cuzz." Ash say when she notices Cadence contained anger.
"One day, maybe not soon, but one day we will be the one's calling the shots. The one's stomping them and demanding they pay their respects."

She new well they were very low on the pecking order, on small scale she had experienced that when she first arrived to the docks. The newbie, the punching bag of everyone around, until she started knocking them out left and right. She earned her place, still keeos rising and as crew they will do as well.

Ash's assurances were exactly that - reassuring; she wasn't alone with her frustration. Ash knew as well as she did that the Phantom's were capable of greatness, it was only a matter of proving it, one job at a time.

Yes we will Ash, we absolutely will. What do you think about the job? We need more details of course, but it sounds like it could call for quite a bit of... force, which is not my strong suit.

"It might require creativity but I'm sure we can manage, it will mean more work for Rake and Pete though." Ash smirks, Marius has been against this type of scores but sooner or later they would have to enter the frey and it seemed the time has come.

Cadence hailed a hansom cab, pleased with her efforts.  While she was not sure how they would pan out, at least she had put in the time.

She had started with Nyryx; pillow talk with the right clients could be as effective a notice in the papers. It had been some time since she had the pleasure of Nyryx's company, even longer since they had shared a meal, but she knew which selection of fine wines were likely to make her most amenable.  

Bryl she saw more often as he sold the best trance powder (in her humble opinion) and was generally invested in the quality of his products.  He was a dedicated teetotal ( I have other pleasures ) and an equally inveterate gossip.  

At Klyra's, tavern patrons cheered when they recognized the tune that Echo was picking out on her mandolin.  She loves to perform crowd favourites, and this is a good way to close out the night.


When I think of all the worries that people seem to find
And how they're in a hurry to complicate their minds
By chasing after money and dreams that can't come true
I'm glad that we are different we've better things to do
May others plan their future I'm busy loving you


By the end of the song, she was only tapping a beat on the body of mandolin and made her way towards the tavern owner.  A kiss on Klyra's cheek led to being swept up in a tight hug.  Having Klyra's ear and a chance to chat up her patrons was well worth a few songs and some fun flirting.

Echo didn't have to hear the ensuing gossip and rumors about the town over the next few days to confirm her efforts were worthwhile, but it was satisfying to witness the fruits of her labors all the same.

"The Fog Hounds? In Six Towers? Awfully bold for a crew without a dependable whisper..."

Sera Macen did business out of his home in Nightmarket.  The exterior of the private townhous was standard fare for the neighborhood but the inside was a riotous affair, with high contrasting colors and innumerable works of art in wildly different styles and media, many of them that he made himself.

Other than his outrageous choice of decor, he was known for two things: he seldom left his home and didn't snub smaller outfits "you never know who will end up making it".

Echo had like Macen well enough.  He was a heavy set man who dressed very simply and exuded a kind of warmth that was carefully curated.

"Good day Echo. Have you had the chance to do any embroidering with that needle I sold you?"

"Not yet Mr. Macen. It is fortuitous that you have asked, as I am now looking for some threads and I thought that you might be able to help."


She smiled. He smiled. They sipped mushroom tea.  


Echo found herself suspecting that his wild interior design choices were intended to draw the eye and leave him to assess his clients, largely unobserved.  It took a lot of energy to match his placid, focused gaze and he looked quite happy to wait her out.  She was going to have to be a bit more direct than she had hoped; they needed information about the Fog Hounds and their spirits' damned Hull.

Sera raises an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. He pours himself another cup of mushroom tea.

"Do go on."

He gestures toward Echo non-chalantly with the teapot.

"Are we talking a personal matter, or business?"

"I would hope personal", she said picking up her teacup and raising it for Sera to pour.  "As I would like us to consider this to be a social call. The Fog Hounds have given us an ultimatum and we are looking to deliver our reply with a certain firmness.  Seeing that they have put their hands on a hull, I would like your thoughts on how we could neutralise it."

They share a few moments of quiet taking in the warmth of the tea.  

"You would of course have our gratitude."

She still to had figure out if it was worth telling Sera that the Hull had come from the Circle of Flame.

Sera sets down his tea and takes a deep breath.

"Oh dear." He clears his throat and cocks his head slightly while pondering the question.

"Excusing cannons, explosives and other heavy ordnance? I have some wares that could greatly be of aid in a situation such as this - priced for a friend, no less."

He chuckles and offers a wide smile.

"Alternatively, you could always try to knock the damn thing into a canal. It's not like Hulls can swim...while I hear many are water-proof, it would at least buy you some time."

"I would be interested in learning more about these wares, especially if they exploit known vulnerabilities of a Hull. If at all possible, I would like the canal to be more of a plan C than a plan A."

Sera smiles warmly and leads you deeper into his home. He casually pulls a sconce on the wall, triggering some mechanism which causes a bookshelf to effortlessly glide sideways, revealing a set of stone stairs descending towards a dimly lit room. He smiles and gestures forward.

"After you, Madam."

Downstairs is a finely decorated room with red carpet and glass cases of all sorts of weaponry and battle gear.

He waves an arm slowly around the room.

"A private store for friends and colleagues. Now, as for the aforementioned wares..."

Sera leads you to a glass case with various gadgets and fearsome-looking explosive contraptions.

"Here we have some well-crafted throwable devices...and, should you have the coin, I also have a promising prototype that is thrown with a sling and will actually adhere to your target."



He bites his lip and makes an apologetic expression.

"However, I must inquire - your budget, if you please?"

" Well yes. I suppose that you would be remiss not to ascertain... accessibility."  She does not love this feeling; having to weigh what she could permit herself to part with - the Helkers were not the Penderyns.  " I did not expect us to exceed the value of two coin in a combination of skills and funds." His silent disapproval was almost heart-warming, so closely did it resemble that of one of her tutors. Hopefully he was similarly forgiving when given a better answer.
" That said, with the quality of the options before me, I would readily double that amount."

When Echo takes her leave, she is amused and annoyed. She had not wanted to go as high as four coins and yet she was proud of having not only managed to split the payment into installments but gotten the second installment payable as a service.   Marius is not going to like us owing a favor... maybe I will be able to settle that obligation before he has to find out about it.

Please consider reading Episode 6 for context on what follows.





She didn't know if Bazso would be upset at how the conflict with the Fog Hounds had turned out.  On one hand, they were a fairly practical sort and the Hounds had been looking to do the Phantoms' harm.  On the other hand, the Hounds had been the Lampblacks' allies and this might have exposed a flank or otherwise weakened their organisation. All the more reason for them to be more open about the Lampblacks' operations, in her opinion,  but that was not a discussion that she was looking to revisit with Bazso at this juncture.

When she went to see them, it was not unannounced.  A painstakingly written note (she always had to work hard at her penmanship - a natural she was not), daubed with their favourite scent, was sent ahead along a vial of a whisky decanted from a bottle that was meant for company.

Cadence literally wrote:

[...]I imagine that by now you have had news of the outcome of our recent conflict. Given that you have collaborated in the past, it stands to reason that you might be both pleased and vexed at our success.  That said, you know me and you know of my friends; not only is it not in our nature to be so belligerent, I would like to recall to you that we would not actively pursue an engagement of this nature.

Rather, the peril came to us - to the home that we share.  In the one place where we were supposed to be safe, we were told that we could yield or see one another come to dire harm.   In all sincerity, if that ultimatum had been delivered under different circumstances, I would have been the first to advocate for an alternative. In fact despite their gall, I attempted to engage in civil discourse and was quite rudely assured that we would be given no quarter should we not submit.  

You and I have not had to contend with the ways that our lives might intersect before this and I am sorry that we have cause to now.  Since fate has seen fit to force our hand, I would like us to have this conversation in earnest.  At the very least you likely have both questions and thoughts that you wish to share with me, and I would like nothing more than to receive them.  I will do my utmost to assuage your concerns and to give you a proper accounting of all that transpired. [...]

Butcher was at the side entrance again, this time playing a dice game of some sort.  It was obvious that the other players were feigning interest in the game in order to ignore her,  but Echo didn't care; Butcher seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"Well Miss, I told 'em that yer 'arder than ya look, n' didn'ya go provin' me right?"

"And so I did Butcher!  It is because of that rot gut you gave me.  I knew that I had to find my courage else you'd have me drinking it again!"

"Aye, twas terrible, but was wet, n' put a fire in the belly without taking yer sight, so all n' all, better than some others I've had!"



Butcher walked her to the office, chatting all the while. Mostly the Lampblacks ignored her as usual, focused on their own tasks, but of those who did pay her any mind, the split between begrudging respect and just grudges was fairly even.   Either way, at least they all knew that the crew that "Bazso's girl" ran with were no slouches.



"Did you think that you could soften me up with chicken scratch and hardly a drop of drink?" They looked at her grimly.

"Not at all! I wanted you to have had something soothing before you expired from the shock of my vivid retelling of the events that have transpired since last we spoke."  

They sighed, and Cadence wondered if she had made a misstep.  She knew that Bazso had a reputation for being ruthless, but these had been their allies - possibly even their friends.  This might take more care than she had anticipated.

Bazo reached forward, uncorked the whiskey and poured a few fingers methodically. They finished it all in one drink, and slammed the empty glass on the desk rather forcefully. Then they pinched the bridge of their nose and hung their head, muttering...

"Those fucking Hounds..."

They shake their head and take a long deep breath.

When they explode with rage, it has the effect of a grenade going off in the neat office.

"You show your face around here again, you are DEAD! You hear me? DEAD! I'll kill you MYSELF and feed you to the fucking hagfish!"

They kicked the desk in front of them, sending the heavy furniture shuddering a few inches away from them.

Bazso, breathed in deeply again and held up their hands apologetically, an expression of deep remorse on their face. They mouthed a few words while holding eye contact with Echo.

I'm sorry....appearances.

They gesture toward the door to drive the point home.

"And if we see your chicken-shit friends on the streets again, we'll skin 'em alive, head to toe. You understand? You got that? Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and toss you in a fucking canal!"

Bazso pushes a note into Echo's hand before she goes. It has a simple message...

I'm sorry. I understand why you did what you did. But business is business. My crew and my allies need to see a proper response from me. I trust you understand my position and will forgive my harsh words.

I hope to see you in secret soon. But Echo, I beg of you, you must know that I mean what I say about your crew being given no quarter by the Lampblacks. By the grace of the gods, we may mend things in time. But for now, you must know there will be blood if our friends cross paths.

She had known that this would be a possibility.
She knew that this was all an act to keep her safe.
She knows that this isn't the end of them.

The knowledge is a poor salve for the white hot outrage searing her chest. The Fog Hounds had started the war by threatening her family in their home - a war that they lost.  Why did she have to pay the price?  Appearances?  Her entire life had been dictated by the necessity to keep up appearances, down to being lost to her cousins for years. So much about being a scoundrel was new and terrifying to her, but keeping up appearances? That she knew.  

So be it.

She smooths the lines of her clothes, tucking their note away.  Meeting their gaze,  she very deliberately affects a patrician bearing, including the patronising expression that they had repeatedly mocked her for in the past.  (I'm amazed that you manage to be looking down your nose at people, what with you being so short.)  

"Quite finished?" Her voice is as imperious as theirs had been violent.  "Rest assured, I will let my peers know what behavior can be expected from the Lampblacks." At least any eavesdroppers would know that she had ice in her veins.

There are far fewer sympathetic faces when she leaves the office.   She focuses on maintaining a coolly stalwart air; the Phantoms cannot afford to look weak now, or possibly ever again. There would be time to weep once she was back at the Well, AFTER the others knew what had happened.