“The first Mystery approached by our anthropomorphic ancestors was Plantlife. The Secrets of growth, nutrition, adaptation and seasonal rebirth aided their survival. Silvamancy developed Ages before the first notes of the Arcane Fugue. Before it was Art, it was Magery. Its influence is apparent in terminology still used today, foremost in arcane cultivation, cultivars (Arcanists), flourishing, branches (Arts), and germination (Propaedeutics).” – History of Arcane Innovations and Discoveries Vol.1, Eisenstadt Academy

  “You’ve no clue, as usual. I had a girl with one, unlike you,” answered Gett, turning the wheel of the van. “It’s fun at first, sure, but overrated. Especially the Aryanaha kind. They look good until you’re in the middle of it and the damn thing’s sweeping bottles off the table or whipping you in the eye. Don’t be a faddist.”

  Peddy wheezed a laugh, playing with the zipper on his blue tracksuit with a bandaged hand. “Uncultured swine. It’s nature’s gift to us,” he said with a perpetually hoarse voice. With his better, still battered hand, he made a tugging motion. “She can be a fibbing harpy, but you grab that thing and it tells you everything you need to know. It’s useful, tha’s all.”

  Gett smirked without looking away from the road. “Useful, eh? Until it locks around your leg and won’t let go. Or it tickles you in the face while you’re trying to stay steady from behind. You’d be sneezing like an idiot before you get anything done.”

  “That’s called knowing what you’re doing – a matter of skill. It’s the perfect handle. You do it right, it keeps her close. Only an amateur – a weak man – would complain.”

  “Perfect handle? You hear yourself? By the looks of it, you’d like to yank onto something else. Maybe a front one?” His grin widened, gold glinting in rows of white. “You’re a full-blooded deviant, know that?”

  “Fuck you. It’s called having taste. All that fur’s cooked your brain, man.” Peddy shifted in his seat, fixing on Elias with fever-bright eyes. He was purely Hridanaha – an attribute uncommon enough in his milieu to earn him the moniker Pedigree. They were about the same height, but Gett’s Toranaha bulk outweighed Peddy by a wide margin. “What about you, arkee? You’re learned in these things – human bits and such. You gonna tell this field ox it isn’t the best thing a girl can have?”

  Elias busied himself in the back of the van, following the exchange only inadvertently. The slack bulk of the tranquilized creature lay beside him, canvas shifting faintly with its breath. “You want an answer?” he said finally. “A tail is neither gift nor nuisance. It’s an appendage. A limb with nerves, tendons, muscles and blood vessels. It’s capable of signaling both truths and falsehoods depending on how it is used and trained.” He went quiet, pressing his fingers against the animal’s ribs and neck. “As an external continuation of the spinal column,” he resumed suddenly, “it has its value in Erdamancy and other Erd-derived Arts and techniques. Function depends on context. In arousal, yes, it may reveal more than words. In animosity, it may disable or entrap. Whether you find it alluring or impractical is only a reflection of your own intent.”

  Peddy stared at him directly, Gett via the rearview mirror. Elias continued offered a coda: “Personally, I don’t mind it. It can be endearing, even.”

  “There,” said Peddy. “He called it.”

  “He’s just taking pity on you, fool.” Gett exhaled and slowed down the van. He turned around. “That thing waking up? We’re nearly there.”

  *

  The rear doors of the van creaked open into the slanted and trash-cramped alleyway. Peddy leaned in, saw the shape under the tarp, and backed away at once. “Not me,” he rasped. “You two haul it. I’ll take the cooler.” His bad wrist wobbled, but he snatched the strap of the box and yanked it out. Gett went in next and dragged the tarp-wrapped body with Elias to the edge. Its weight sagged and shifted between them, awkward and uncooperative. They heaved it down into the lane, shoving aside bits of grit and glass with their boots.

  Peddy uncovered a makeshift backdoor from a frameless entrance. The building had no distinct inside. The upper floors had collapsed and compacted, structural beams exposed and enduring. Timber and plaster piled into uneven ridges. Rainwater pooled in the low spots, dark with rot. Biding amid rubble, a Naranaha boy squatted on his heels. When he stood, he proved younger than Elias had expected. Small and thin, his black hair pulled back tight, split by two white streaks from each side. His face was sharp and guarded, gray eyes restless. They flicked first to Gett, then to Peddy, lingering on Elias the most.

  “That’s our boy,” Gett murmured to Elias. “Hayato. Don’t let the baby face fool you, he’s nine-seven.” Steel solid, eh?

  Hayato’s gaze dropped to the tarp as it shifted faintly. He sniffed, got up and turned away. “This way.” He led them through what remained of a staircase, wide enough to force careful, sideways steps. The ground below squished and the air was damp. Soon they heard trickling water. Hayato guided them through the shadowy underbuilding, clearing aside plywood and other junk for them. Behind one such obstacle, Hayato revealed another set of stairs. As they went down into the tunnel, the smell thickened with sewage and stagnant water.

  By the time they reached the concrete lip of an enclosed sluice chamber, Peddy had had enough. “Fucking stinks,” he muttered, glancing at Gett for concurrence. Gett nodded.

  Black water crawled through the segmented channel below, reflecting the weak glow of a few caged bulb Hayato had flicked on. The boy then crossed into a cramped control room, then out onto a narrow catwalk bolted to the wall, just before it curved overhead. It ended with a metal ladder. Hayato kicked the top of it and rows of rusted rungs dropped down into a dry part of the channel. “We’re close,” he said. “Be careful.”

  Getting the bundled animal down was worse than preparing it or getting it there. The tarp snagged on bolts and railings, slipping with every step. Even Peddy had to pitch in, pig-cursing through clenched teeth as his bandaged hand grabbed the bundle reluctantly. Gett bore most of the weight. Hayato grabbed a corner when he had to. Somehow, they managed to lower it intact. One by one, they stepped back and caught their breath. Elias arched with his hands on his thighs, looking up at the catwalk. Getting it back up won’t be easy. Even with the occludent, I’ll need at least one of them to help. A pleasant breeze touched his back. He straightened and turned.

  The channel ended abruptly where the aqueduct had begun and immediately ended. Concrete burst outward, ribs of rebar bent and exposed. There was no Eisenstadt beyond. They were at its crumbling edge. The sharp cutoff was made by the blade of civic planning boards decades ago. The whole area had been condemned and settlements abandoned well before anyone here had been born. Instead: pale green fields. Shapes, remains and attempts of habitation, emerged and receded within a silver fog. Skeletal structures, lampposts or branchless tress and pillars meant to support the aqueduct. Further out, to the east, stood Mt. Geren. The base was lost entirely in fog. The summit dissolved into clouds. Elias breathed in its cascading winds and walked to the city’s edge.

  Hayato followed, staring first at Elias and then into the distance. “Among the Isles,” he said quietly, “there is one such as this. A blue giant, piercing both Sea and Heaven, bridge between realms. To us, Geren is pitiful.”

  Before Elias could say anything, he heard Gett and Peddy coming over. “Careful,” Gett called out jokingly. “I’m not coming down after you.”

  Peddy snorted, planted his boots wide apart and lowered his sweatpants. “You slip; I keep pissing. Soften your fall.”

  Gett laughed and undid his belt. “You belong in a pen, Peddy.”

  When the two finished relieving themselves over the ledge, Hayato led them through a breach in the channel wall. Past the open wound of the aqueduct, the path led through a series of exposed and interconnected basements. What remained of the low buildings above sagged, forming an unnatural canopy. Floors had become pervious ceilings. Sunlight slanted in through broken slabs above, illuminating copper pipes and nests tucked into cluttered corners. All was serene and scavenged. They walked and stumbled over debris, moldering furniture and a few sprawling wooden doors. At last, the ruin gave way to something more deliberate. They reached the end of the urban underground and stopped as Hayato prepared the keys and unlocked the iron postern in front of them. Its lower half had a flap opening big enough for a dog.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Their compound’s further south,” said Hayato “Distant enough for them not to hear or spot us. The lab is connected to it via tunnel. It looked partially flooded last time I was here. No one else comes down here anymore.” He showed them inside. “There’s a generator for power. It’s new but the fuel’s low. I couldn’t risk sneaking in too much.”

  The room was similar in size, with smooth cement underfoot. Insulated panels covered the rougher surfaces; gas lines, vents and cold storage gave the space a clinical touch that felt profane compared to the wreckage before. Four cages were in a nearby corner. They maneuvered the animal into one of the cages and removed its covering. Peddy dropped the cooler nearby and Elias dumped the daimonic dung down on a tray clearly designed for it. He shook out the tarp and folded it neat, slotting it into the cooler and returning it to Peddy.

  All three of them scanned the rest of the laboratory as Hayato got the generator and lights on. He saw the concern on Gett’s and Peddy’s faces. “I was at the hideout three nights ago,” he said. “Delivering a message. I heard them talking and saw the sealed entrance. It’s already written off. No one’s coming.” When he saw that his words did little to assuage the two men, he switched his tone. “The bosses are panicking, keeping most of the operations low and closing others. They know the police are preparing something. Even with the debt to the Dollmaster, they’re afraid to start selling this off.”

  “You sure do know a lot for a grunt, Hayato.” Gett rolled his shoulders and turned to Elias. “How long you need?”

  “The material we brought won’t be enough to make it look convincing. I’ll need the animal to complete a cycle or two. No idea how long it will take. Or if it will come back. Eight to ten hours? Maybe. Just don’t rush us. Cat will get his way.”

  Gett considered it, then nodded once. “Fine. We’ll stay mobile. I’ll find better cover for the van. Peddy and I will keep eyes on the streets in shifts. If you need anything, one of us can come back later with food and water. Or booze, if you change your mind.”

  Elias lowered his bag. “Thanks, and no thanks. We’ll be good, I prepared.”

  “Mhm.” Gett grasped Hayato’s shoulder firmly, startling him. “You’re a brave kid for agreeing to all this. Cat knows that too. Big things in store for you. Just don’t let this guy,” he pointed at Elias, “spook you. He’s just built different.” The grasp turned into a pat. Hayato remained awkward but unswayed. “Good luck.”

  “Don’t shit yourselves. Or die,” Peddy added, already heading for the door. They left the way they had come, boots echoing for a time before fading into the silence of concrete, birdsong and working vents. When Elias turned back, the lab demanded his attention. Sealed cylinders and jars aligned on shelves. The tables were scrubbed spotless, surfaces gleaming beneath the strips of harsh light. Tetsu-gumi spent real money. Excessively. I doubt the electricity will hold long. He reached into his bag for sturdy plastic gloves.

  “What do I do?” asked Hayato, accepting a pair from him. The gloves were slack on his hands.

  “Start by unpacking and moving around some of the equipment. Make it look used. Maybe break something. We’ll only need one station for the real work.”

  Hayato did exactly so while Elias uncapped his flask, took an unsavory sip, and pocketed it quickly. He walked to the cage, crouched low, and slid his hands through the bars. His fingers pressed behind the beast’s ears, moving in a ritualistic pattern until the muscles below twitched. The animal stirred sluggishly, shuddered, then coughed. A wet gagging followed. It vomited onto the cage floor. He watched and waited while the creature continued to right itself. Soon it began to sniff and stalk the tray beyond its enclosure with purposiveness.

  Elias moved aside, allowing to investigate and inhale deeply. Its attention shifted as it seemed to catch some thread invisible to them. “That’s it,” he murmured with satisfaction. “Find the fields.” The animal bolted and bounded through the door they had entered by, pushing through the metal flap and leaving it swinging. After it was gone, Elias found an apron hanging from one of the crates and tied it across his chest. First, he lifted the tray from the corner and carried it to one of the workbenches. The smell had subdued by now. With one of he tools, he scooped a lump free and set it into a sifter propped over the sink. A weak stream of cold water hissed down, washing the fibrous muck and grit through the mesh until only a dense clump remained. Dark, compact, with a faint green patina crawling across its surface. He emptied the sifter into a glass jar.

  From a drawer he took a small magnet, dropped it into the jar and began to swirl it slowly. The magnet rattled and the lump broke apart. It rose and fell until the colors separated, black sediment sinking to the bottom while green, vaporous residue floated upward. With steady hands, Elias opened and tilted the concoction, letting the green froth spill down the drain. Then he fished the magnet back out with tongs. Holding it below his face, he sniffed once, then peered at the black residue that clung stubbornly to the glass. Biorefined, eh? Seems decent enough. Easier, at least.

  Elias glanced over his shoulder. “Found the incense yet?”

  Hayato startled from his own work, then remembered the narrow carton he had stacked earlier. He rummaged quickly, pulling out a cedar case at odds with the sterile environs. Inside was a neat bundle of sticks, red-brown and fragrant. He brought them over silently. Elias picked one and ran it over the fire of his lighter. When he lowered it into the jar, thin smoke coiled against the glass. Elias held the lid just above, allowing enough air to enter. Then the black residue inside began to stir sluggishly, then more, gaining momentum, losing it, taking on versicolored tints before dulling again. The incense stick had burned up quickly and the jar had gone quiet. Hayato watched in subtle horror as Elias brought the smokey thing under a vent and seal it.

  *

  Elias sat on an emptied and upturned crate, turkey sandwich in the other. His sleeves were rolled, his apron stiff and darkened. He showed little sign of fatigue as he chewed and stared at the cluttered shelf. What had begun as neat rows had spread into clusters of glass filmed with residue. The fans rattled, twisting the thickened and malodorous air into circles. Hayato leaned on a wall nearby. His cigarette burned neglected between his fingers. Smoke rose, then stalled, hanging low before the vents caught it.

  “You sure you don’t want anything? We might be down her a while still,” Elias said, but Hayato shook his head immediately. “You’ve actually seen the blue giant on the Isles?”

  “Only in paintings. My grandparents did. Heard it from them.” He exhaled and extinguished the cigarette on the wall. “I was born here, raised here. Never once stepped on the Isles. Or much in Eisenstadt. Like it’s a fucking plague out there. It’s like that with all the kids in our community.” His eyes wandered around the room, over work done and yet to be done, avoiding Elias. “I don’t even know if the Giant’s taller than Mt. Geren.”

  “That’s why you’re helping Cat. Right? You want them gone sooner rather than later.”

  “In urns,” he said brightly, “rather than cells. Yes.”

  When Elias packed away the rest of his food and drink, he noticed Hayato’s puerile disquiet; his fidgety fingers and sweaty neck. Involving a kid in this... Does he even know what Cat’s planning? He sat back down and cleared his throat. “I once knew someone who was supposed to go there. To study. Don’t know what became of him. If I run into him again, I’ll ask. On your behalf.”

  Hayato gave him a puzzled look, then smirked. “Why? I’ll see it for myself. Once this is all done. Once the Tetsu-gumi are finished, and I’m my own man.” He gave a humorless huff and found something to do.

  A new pair of gloves. Sifting, washing, shaking, burning. Hayato had turned the laboratory into a lived-in show and was now helping Elias with the simpler, safer stages. The process was repeated until they were left without their most vital resource. They stood or sauntered around awkwardly when the animal returned, slipping in silent and filthy. It squatted over the tray with a grunt, filled it anew, and padded out again without paying them any mind. Efficient. The cycle resumed.

  “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine,” counted Hayato. “That’ll be the fortieth.”

  Elias closed it and handed it over to Hayato. “Make it fifty?”

  Before Hayato could respond or stash the last sample, human footsteps could be heard coming from the neighboring basements. It was Peddy. He had been running and was struggling to catch his breath after stumbling in. “Damn it stinks,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” demanded Elias. “Tetsu-gumi on us?”

  “No,” he wheezed. “Police. Nearby street’s swarming with them. I saw them setting up a cordon. Cruisers and wagons. They’re hitting them tonight.”

  Hayato nearly dropped number forty. He was numb. Elias made his way to him in a few steps and shook him slightly. “You’ve done enough. Go with Peddy.” The boy looked up confusedly. “Go.”

  “Why the fuck would you stay?” said Peddy as Hayato came to where he was standing. “The place looks well-wrought.”

  “The animal. Cat promised. I’ll need your help to bring it up.”

  “The animal?” Peddy looked at the empty cages and tray in the corner. He thought for a moment, before taking Hayato by the arm. “Fuck. I’ll get the kid away and wait by the sluice gate. You better have a way to keep it meek, because I’m not–”

  “Don’t worry,” said Elias and tapped his pocket. “Just be there.”

  As soon as the two were gone, Elias pressed the backs of his gloved hands to his brow. The animal. The animal. He went back to the workbench and wiped it clean. He slipped two of the finer, dormant daimons into his bag. He checked everything thoroughly before shutting off the lights and vents. Darkness swallowed the room, leaving only the sound of water in the adjacent sewer. He pulled the iron door with the flap but found no way to lock it. Hayato’s key…

  Elias walked through the gray and damp rubble of the understructure. Moonlight maneuvered through the pillars and remaining walls and floors. He did not hurry but stopped wholly atop the rotting wood of a door. The animal entered the gloom, approaching him slowly. It did not growl or free, sagely yellow eyes aglow and judging his movements with caution. Elias made himself smaller and retrieved a sample from his bag. He unsealed it and held it low in one hand. With his other hand, he searched his trousers for a penknife and the prepared occludent. It was black, rootlike and the size of his thumb.

  “Come on,” he whispered, placing the stirring daimon in front of himself. “Let’s go home.”

  The muddy snout flared. It came forward, sniffing, curious, lowering its neck.

  ninety-seven percent iron. The common idiom in Eisenstadt denotes something that is solid, but also standard.

  Pedigree, is seemingly fully Hridanaha. An uncommon enough thing to earn him the nickname. Compare to Cat.