Only Villains Do That
Bonus 7: In Which the Chancellor Schemes

He liked to hold private meetings pacing along this upper colonnade in the Viridian Palace for more than just its breathtaking view over Fflyrdylle and the rolling hills of Dlemath beyond. Few were willing to climb all the way up here, even for the vista, and of course he had his own means of detecting interlopers before they saw him. Still, it was a (relatively) public part of the Palace, so he didn’t receive reports that were too sensitive here. Ultimately, it was all about tailoring the venue to the audience. The woman currently updating him on events was one of those plagued by a surplus of nervous energy; he’d long since learned he got better results by talking to her while physically moving. Trying to interview her in a confined office resulted in an amusing but very distracting display of every possible kind of fidgeting. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ɴøvᴇlFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“Still no result from the gambit you ordered against those Lancoral ‘venturers loitering in Hathwyck. One of my rogues has found evidence at least one party—the really annoying one, you know the group—has ties to the Gray Guard, but he suspects they let him learn that, possibly even arranged it. As for your scheme…” She shrugged. “No result. Wining, dining, flattery, even hired courtesans. We stopped short of outright bribery in coin, as you ordered, Chancellor. Just to judge by how completely they’ve refused to be swayed or become any friendlier, I suspect they’re all Gray Guard, or at least trained by them.”

“Good,” he said, earning a surprised look. “As expected. Have your people change tack, now. I’d like them to start expressing frustration at this lack of progress in front of the targets. Specifically—and this is the important part, Grand Captain—arrange for them to ‘overhear’ expressions of surprise that they proved this resistant. Seed suggestions that all our intelligence led us to believe Lancoral agents would be easy and cheap to suborn.”

He paused, admiring the view and noting her increasingly wide eyes from his peripheral vision.

“I will have my forger create documents indicating it was exactly that easy for us to plant an agent in Queen Milletaile’s bed. If this group begins actually prying for intelligence, or doing anything more direct than making their presence felt, I want you to plant those in a position for them to steal.”

“Lord Vanderhoen,” the Grand Captain of the King’s Guild said in the too-even tone of someone who had known him too long to be truly surprised anymore, “did you really have me put half a dozen of my top adventurers on a plan to surreptitiously insult Lancor?”

Vanderhoen stopped walking, turning to give her a self-satisfied smile. “It’s not as if we can stop the agents of Lancor from testing our borders, Grand Captain Nivara, as they so enjoy reminding us. If they insist on loitering in Fflyr territory, I see no reason to make their stay…enjoyable. Do you?”

Nivara made a good try to giving him a long, severe stare of the kind that made her own people toe the line, but even she couldn’t prevent her lips from beginning to twitch.

“As you say, Chancellor. I’ll update their orders immediately.”

“Splendid. Thank you, Captain.” Her foot had already begun tapping, so he resumed walking.

The King’s Guild was easily his best innovation, the one which had borne the most fruit. Ostensibly it solidified the loyalty of Dlemathys’s adventurers behind the King, who funded and organized them on better terms than they’d ever enjoyed before the Guild was instituted. That was as it should be, as Vanderhoen’s main purpose had been to shift the balance of power toward the crown and away from the Clans. It was things like this, however, which shifted a lot of that loyalty toward himself, personally. Not that he aspired to direct rule, but there were innumerable benefits to having the goodwill of most of the country’s dangerous Blessed.

Adventurers loved pranks; they liked him because he had, over the years, carefully cultivated the impression that he thought and believed the way they did. In particular, Fflyr Dlemathlys was helpless against the might of the Lancor Empire, and there was nothing the helpless enjoyed more than mocking their tormentors, right to their faces, in a manner that could not be retaliated against. It would have been something else entirely if he had any better use for those agents, but there was little of practical weight they could do against the Empire. Tweaking the Gray Guard’s nose now and then helped keep morale up.

“With that settled,” Captain Nivara continued, shuffling a new sheet of paper to the top of the stack in her arms, “the only other matter of note is a report from Dount.”

“Dount?” Vanderhoen curled his lip, for once allowing his expression to harmonize exactly with his mood. “Ugh. What has that inbred, warped imbecile Caludon done now?”

He did trust Nivara enough to reveal a bit of his personal feelings from time to time, but in this case she was a specifically receptive audience for this sentiment. Cairith Nivara was the most highly-born Fflyr he knew who welcomed criticisms of the highborn, both in specific instances and with regard to the system itself. Her own mother was a purebred elf, and it showed in her crystalline pale complexion, silver-blonde hair and reddish, nearly-black eyes. Nivara, though, was a self-made woman—she’d had to be, as her family’s pristine blood hadn’t prevented them from being bumped right out of the nobility due to their failure to produce a male heir in her generation. Few others recognized the stupid, arbitrary nature of the rules the way she did.

Besides, everybody hated Caludon Aelthwyn, except that equally deranged bitch he was married to, and Vanderhoen wasn’t even sure about her.

“It’s not him this time,” Nivara said, not even troubling to hide her amusement.

No news from Caludon was always good news…except that there was little else of note on Dount, and all of that little was potentially volatile.

“Trouble with Rhydion?” Vanderhoen felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the autumn air or the altitude. “Not Shylverrael?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Still no peep out of the darklings, and my people haven’t reported on any major developments in Rhydion’s hunt, which I take to mean he’s had none. This is just one of those unexpected things that pops up sometimes, Chancellor. A rogue Blessed has appeared on Dount—a real character, sounds like. A sorcerer who positioned himself as a kind of folk hero without giving his name, wears a mask and a hood and everything. People call him the Healer. He’s got incredibly powerful healing spells; one of my people speculated the spell he’s using is actually just Heal itself.”

“That’s far too high a caliber of magic for a backwater like Dount,” Vanderhoen murmured.

“Exactly. He also, apparently, summons slimes? They get left behind in places he’s been.” She shrugged; Summon Slime was a common enough spell, but really only of interest to alchemists. “He’s got another spell my people couldn’t name, something that causes the victim to burn alive for a few seconds and then fully heal.”

Vanderhoen frowned. “Nasty.”

Nivara nodded. “Here’s the thing, though. The Healer only seems to care about the lowest of lowborn. He goes around healing prostitutes and orphans, specifically. At least, at first. That brought him into conflict with the local crime lords, and he seems to have…well, wiped them out.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. Nivara flipped to another page, quickly re-reading the report while talking. Undoubtedly she already knew everything it said, but she was incapable of doing only one thing at a time.

“My watcher in the local Guild chapter speculates he’s the same person as another interesting character who showed up around the same time, a foreign noble named Lord Seiji. This one seems to come and go from Gwyllthean at random and nobody knows where he actually lives, but he cooperated with and may have organized a Kingsguard push that finished crushing the local gangs that were left after the Healer messed them up. He’s cozy with the local Kingsguard captain and has been to the Guild a few times. Seems he’s even on amicable terms with Rhydion. This one’s also Blessed with Magic and is rumored to have healing spells.”

Vanderhoen’s steps had begun to slow, and now he came to a full stop. Nivara paused a pace beyond him, turning back to give him a questioning look.

“What was that name?”

“Lord…” She unnecessarily triple-checked her notes. “Seiji.”

“A foreigner. Of what nationality?”

“Nobody seems to know.”

“What do his features look like?”

“I don’t have notes on that,” Nivara admitted, frowning at her papers. “My people didn’t seem to consider it important. Does it matter, Chancellor?”

“It might,” he murmured. “Have them find out, please. In fact… I’d like to know everything your people can turn up about this Healer, and Lord Seiji.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll have them dig a little.”

“Discreetly, Grand Captain. Let’s keep this only to your most trusted agent in Gwyllthean, and impress on them the need for secrecy. I don’t want this man—either of them, if they’re not the same man—to suspect there’s any interest from the capital, and especially not to tip off anyone else that they may be important.”

“I’ll see it done,” she promised, nodding.

Seiji. Say-jee. Could it be…?

He had been warned to watch out for Japanese names, which was a frustrating piece of advice as he was far from sure he would recognize one out of any other random string of syllables. Maybe if it had been the eighties, but… He had no interest in cars, baseball, or video games; by the time Tom Vanderhoen had entered business school, the most important tech brands were American and the East Asian market everyone cared about was China. In his entire life, he had never had a reason to give Japan a second thought—until he’d been brought to this strange world where for some damn reason it was the only country on Earth that mattered.

But this was no time or place to ruminate on that of all things.

“Anything else, Captain Nivara?”

Of utmost importance was not to draw attention to these most sensitive activities. Thus, Lord Vanderhoen had gone about the rest of his daily duties as the King’s Chancellor without hurry or deviation from his customary habits. Only now, in the falling dark well after dinner, did he begin preparations for what must be done in response to the Grand Captain’s report. Nivara was one of his most trusted allies, but he had secrets which could be entrusted to no one, no exceptions.

“Thank you,” he said to the maid who set down the third tray on the table in his private sitting room.

She folded down her hands at him, smiling. “A pleasant night to you, my Lord Chancellor. I shall be on call all night should you require anything further.”

“And to you as well, Miss Daroza.”

It wasn’t strictly proper for her to address him so, and she would not have to anyone else of comparable rank—but then, by Fflyr custom it was not common to say “please” and “thank you” to servants. Vanderhoen always did so anyway. Nobles and the like were best manipulated by leveraging greed and/or fear, but the common folk responded most positively to simple dignity and respect. Especially in a country which treated them with as much contempt as this one.

It had been eleven years. He was making progress, but the inequities of Dlemathlys would be the work of a lifetime to truly straighten out. Much more groundwork had to be laid before he dared begin to chew away at the privileges of the nobles, lest he create a civil war that left the situation even worse. This history of his own home country on Earth was an ample warning of what happened when you suddenly took away people’s slaves. In the meantime, he reaped the incidental benefits in how very easy it was to earn the loyalty of the lower class.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the departing maid, Minerva appeared in a muted shimmer in her customary perch on his right shoulder.

“Clear?” he asked.

The white rat stood up on her haunches, raising her pointed nose to sniff at the air. He knew she wasn’t actually smelling anything, but they both enjoyed her little mannerisms.

“The suite is secure,” his familiar reported. “No new watching or listening holes have been drilled. Looks like we have one snoop—ah, it’s that new girl, Zassin. She’s at the end of the hall outside, pretending to dust. She hid around the corner when Miss Daroza left.”

“Same as the last three nights?”

“Mm hm, just opportunistic lurking so far. Nothing on her that’s magical or able to penetrate this room’s soundproofing.”

He nodded, stepping over to the table and extending his arm so she could scamper down it onto the tray. Minerva went right for the bowl of raisins, which he had ordered for her specifically. Neither he nor his intended guest liked them. Familiars didn’t need to eat, but above all else Vanderhoen believed in rewarding talent. If anyone was entitled to a bit of luxury now and again, it was Minerva.

If he didn’t figure out who that maid was working for in the next week, he’d have to get rid of her. It would be a shame to discard a known spy without first using her to plant false information, but anyone able to thwart his own agents’ background checks was too dangerous to leave at liberty in the Palace.

“Anything worth noting from today?” he asked after giving the rat a moment to enjoy her first raisin. She hadn’t alerted him to any emergencies during the day, but not infrequently she detected things which didn’t demand his immediate attention but were important enough to bring up as soon as they were alone.

“It was a quiet one, aside from that bomb Nivara dropped,” Minerva said, twitching her little nose at him. She began dry-washing her hands in that way she did when feeling particularly smug. “Incidentally, Tom, that woman still has an enormous crush on you.”

He indulged in an annoyed sigh. “As you are well aware, I meant any indication of anyone possibly countering your invisibility. I’m prepared to handle it becoming known that I have a familiar, but my plans for that contingency require advance warning.”

“Relax, Tom. Like I tell you every time, it’s a really rare perk. Even most other Blessed with Wisdom don’t suspect it exists. None of those we’ve met have rumbled me, and if they haven’t, nobody will. If we meet somebody dangerous it’ll be the first thing I report.”

“That’s the kind of over-certainty that sinks empires, Minerva.”

“You sound stressed,” she said solicitously. “You know what’d be good for that? A girlfriend.”

“You know very well why that will never be an option. Speaking of which, if there’s nothing else?”

“No, we’re still solid,” she said with a sigh. “As solid as Cairith Nivara is pretty! Just saying.”

“Yes, yes. Tonight’s company is less pretty, so let’s focus up.”

Minerva stuffed another raisin in her mouth and gave him a look, but took a flying leap back to his sleeve and climbed back up to her shoulder vantage. He’d never have said it aloud, but he enjoyed these exchanges in which they went over the same little arguments and reassurances they had a thousand times before. There was no need to tell her, really; she knew.

With security established, he proceeded without further ado to the summoning.

“I call upon the devil Yoinarch!”

It has always seemed wrong to Vanderhoen that that was all it took. One envisioned magic circles, candles, chanting, maybe robes… But no, anyone who had had contact with a devil could gain their attention with nothing but their name. It made sense that the Devil King wanted his minions to have the easiest possible access to Ephemera, he supposed.

Of course, the ability to get a devil’s attention was no guarantee that they would show up. Early in their relationship, Vanderhoen’s designated contact had made a point of making him wait. This time, as was the norm for the last several years, the distortion formed in the air after barely three seconds’ delay. In fact, that was on the longer side for how long it tended to take these days.

The visual effect was both underwhelming and disorienting, as if a person-shaped patch of empty space went suddenly flat, like a cardboard cutout. The image of the room within it rotated to reveal the flat shape of the devil—and then he was moving and breathing, physically there in the room.

“Tom!” Yoinarch enthused, throwing wide his arms and beaming.

“Hey, Yoink,” Vanderhoen replied, grinning back and letting his shoulders slacken slightly as if the presence of an old friend relaxed him. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch. What’s it been, a month?”

“Thereabouts, but no worries, man. We’ve both got shit to do. Where’s my girl—ah, there she is! What’s up, Minnie?”

The devil clapped him on the shoulder, way too hard, then leaned forward and tickled Minerva’s head with a condescending little coo. She hated that even more than the nickname.

“Hi, Yoink!” she chirped with every appearance of happiness. Minerva, as always, was a professional. That was why she and Vanderhoen got along so well.

God, but he couldn’t stand Yoinarch. The devil reminded him of every idiot frat boy he’d ever known—extroverted, lacking a filter, crude and probably only not hedonistic because the Devil King kept him too busy to properly indulge. Indeed, as usual he went right for the table of food Vanderhoen had ordered, grabbing a peppered goose leg and an entire bottle of the sharp Fflyr sweetwine he liked, which of course Vanderhoen had ordered for that reason specifically.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Yoink,” the Chancellor lied smoothly, flopping down onto the sofa opposite the table from Yoinarch. The gesture was totally unlike his normally controlled motions, but he made a point to mirror the devil’s body language and general demeanor when they were alone together. “Are they keeping you as busy as I’ve been?”

“C’mon, Tom, you know I can’t talk about the bossman’s affairs,” Yoinarch chided him around a mouthful of meat, accompanied by a truly disgusting grin which Vanderhoen, as usual, ignored.

The devil’s sloppy habits were a stark contrast to the uniform in which the Devil King kept his agents: a 21st century style Western business suit. In Yoinarch’s case, black with gold pinstripes, a black shirt, and a slim unpatterened necktie of gold cloth in a standard Windsor knot. If not for his dusky pinkish skin, flame-yellow eyes and the small horns poking out of his hairline, Yoinarch could have been taken for any rich kid from back home.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything, you know that,” he replied, grabbing a handful of red berries and popping a few carelessly into his mouth, which he then chewed while speaking in violation of his normally immaculate manners. “How long’s it been since we managed to just hang out? I can indulge in a little small talk, man.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Yoinarch agreed easily, winking. “It’s not just you, I can tell you that, Tom. The bossman’s business is none of yours but I can admit that I’ve had a general lack of downtime lately. What, does that mean this isn’t just a social call?”

“Fraid not,” Vanderhoen admitted, grimacing. Over the years he had made a point of summoning the devil now and again for no particular reason save to give Yoinarch a short respite from his duties. Like it or not, Yoinarch was his sole point of contact with the Devil King, and Vanderhoen could not afford to be on his bad side, however disagreeable he found the man personally. His efforts, at least, had paid off; Yoinarch responded quickly to his summons and was far more inclined to do him favors than he had been in the early years of their relationship. The fact that he could always count on the best hospitality the Fflyr royal family could afford and a chance to unburden himself was undoubtedly the deciding factor in this.

“Hey, no worries, man. You know how life is; it’s just like this sometimes. Things’ll cool down again, they always do. Whatcha need, Tom?”

“In the best case scenario, nothing. Actually I’ve come across something that I think you and your boss may need to know. Hopefully I’m jumping at shadows and we can write this off, but I want to check before making a decision.”

“Ooh, spooky,” Yoinarch grinned at him, his teeth at least free of goose meat this time. “It’s not like you to be skittish. What’s up?”

Vanderhoen leaned forward, dropping the rest of his berries back on the tray. “Is Seiji a Japanese name?”

The devil’s grin vanished instantly. Just like that, he was also all business, leaning toward Vanderhoen in a mirror of his own posture. “Yes, it very much is.”

“Fuck,” he said with feeling. Vanderhoen wasn’t in the habit of cursing in any other company, but this time he didn’t even have to fake it. “This is probably a stupid question, but let me cling to hope. It’s not just a combination of sounds that might, coincidentally…”

“I mean, it’s two syllables, so maybe. But yeah, Seiji is very specifically a common Japanese name. There are several characters named Seiji in those shows the boss likes to watch. You’ve got me spooked now, Tom. Does this mean what I hope it doesn’t?”

“No way of telling yet, that’s why I brought this to you, Yoink. I’ve got my people looking closer, but your boss can probably follow up on this more directly than I can. Does he have anybody on Dount right now?”

“Dount?” Yoinarch’s eyebrows shot upward. “That craphole? Not usually. Let’s see… Oh, yeah, Ozyraph’s doing something with the goblins up there recently, but that doesn’t put her in a position to do more general intelligence gathering. It’s uncomfortably close to Godspire and Shylverrael for devils to be just traipsing around.”

Ozyraph, now there was a name he remembered. He had met her during his initial sojourn in the Void after being summoned from Earth, before the Devil King had dispatched him to Fflyr Dlemathlys. All business and no bullshit, exactly his kind of woman. Many times over the years Vanderhoen had privately lamented that it was Yoinarch instead of Ozyraph who’d been assigned as his handler.

“Okay.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think there may be a Hero on Dount.”

Yoinarch nodded once, uncharacteristically solemn. “Go on.”

“I’ve got reports of two persons of interest who turned up on Dount at the same time, and whom my agents suspect may be the same man. One’s a foreigner called Lord Seiji who seems to have healing spells, the other’s a mysterious sorcerer called the Healer who definitely knows very powerful healing spells. Between them they’ve been going around ministering to orphans and prostitutes, and destroying crime syndicates.”

“Shit,” Yoinarch hissed, wincing. “Yeah, that is bog standard neophyte Hero bullshit. Fuck, man. We’ll have to look into it, but like I said, Dount is difficult country for us aboveground. I can’t be sure we’ll put together anything before your spies can. The boss’ll definitely devote what he can to it, though. If you learn anything more, keep me posted.”

“Goes without saying,” Vanderhoen agreed, nodding. “And hey…there’s still hope, right? The way I understand it, you don’t start seeing a Hero until there’s been a Dark Lord active for a while. I’ve got people listening to news from all over the archipelago and there’s not been a hint of that.”

“True,” Yoinarch admitted, “but don’t put too much stock in that, Tom. All this bullshit exists because the Goddesses are bored twats; every new round of the game they change something up, just to keep it fresh. A heroic spellcaster named Seiji is pretty fucking decisive evidence, even if there’s no sign of the other one yet. Fuck, man. Dark Crusades are really bad for business—ours and yours. We’ll have to all but stop operations on Ephemera for who knows how many decades, and… The kind of shit this kicks up can wreck a messy little country like Fflyr Dlemathlys. Uh, no offense.”

Some offense was taken, but Vanderhoen repressed it, waving that away. “Don’t worry about it, Yoink, you’re not wrong. Look… If this is what it looks like, Yoink, I need to ask for a big favor.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

And there it was. Ten years ago, Yoinarch would have laughed derisively at a request not directly germane to the Devil King’s business. A decade of pointedly befriending this crass, irritating little man finally paid off. When Vanderhoen really needed something, his buddy from the Void would pull what strings he could to make it happen.

“It’s been quiet on the international front for now, but as soon as it starts getting out that there’s a Hero…or, actually, preferably before that, I need a distraction.”

Yoinarch tilted his head. “A distraction?”

“For all the world’s other interested parties,” Vanderhoen explained. “If a Hero is operating on Fflyr territory… Well, Savindar and the Imperium may be unable to get to us thanks to Godspire, but the Lancor Empire will absolutely stomp all over this country to grab him. Foreign policy be damned, there is nothing they won’t do to get their hands on the Hero like they did the last one. If the Radiant Temple throws its weight around, the Convocation may even aid them from within.”

“Are you that invested in Fflyr sovereignty?” Yoink asked pointedly. “I know you’ve put in a lot of work here, Tom, but this is just a job for you, right? One you didn’t exactly pick voluntarily, too.”

“I do have a lot invested here, but it’s not just that. Hell, annexation by Lancor would be a quick way to accomplish a lot of my ambitions for Dlemathlys; the Empire treats its subjects and provinces much better than the border states it likes to screw with. The thing is, there’s no certainty they would formally annex Dlemathlys over something like this, especially when not doing so could assuage a lot of the international tensions that would rise over a Dark Crusade anyway. If they just invade, occupy long enough to seize the Hero and retreat, it could devastate this country in a way it might never recover from.”

He paused, then gave Yoinarch a sly grin that wasn’t part of his customary style of self-expression, but which he knew would appeal to the devil.

“Besides, I am not a popular man in Lannitar. Over the last decade I’ve pried the Gray Guard entirely out of Fflyrdylle and constantly rapped their grabby little hands all over Dlemath itself to the point they can really only operate freely on the outlying islands. If Lancor gets its clutches on Dlemathlys, even briefly, odds are my own personal ass is grass.”

“Oof, yeah,” Yoinarch winced. “Hm, I wonder if the bossman could set you up with one of those nifty triple Blessings like the Champions get? Imagine what you could do with spells and artifacts, and a country’s worth of resources to get ‘em.”

And there the dumbass went, aimlessly fantasizing when what they needed was sensible action. Sometimes it was like he went out of his way to remind Vanderhoen why maintaining this relationship was such a chore.

“It’s my understanding he would need Goddess-level access to the system to arrange that,” he said, not betraying any hint of his irritation. “If the Devil King could create agents able to match a Dark Lord or Hero, wouldn’t he have been doing that all this time?”

“Yeah, that’s probably off the table,” Yoinarch admitted. “Oh, well, it was a nice thought. So what kind of distraction are you thinking of, exactly? Something big and messy so you can sneak away?”

“Good idea, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t work so well in practice. I mean, it’d work on the Clans, but that’s because they’re all idiots. Lancor has actual professionals, who’d be watching for a move like that as soon as anything really distracting happened.”

“You’re not wrong. There are parts of the Empire we’re able to move in fairly easily, but…y’know, the outlying, less inhabited parts that don’t have much in ‘em. There was a period there about fifty years after the last Dark Crusade where the Empire was kind of a shambles, but this new dynasty’s really stitched things together. That Aelityr runs an annoyingly tight operation. It’s tough to play in his sandbox.”

“Exactly,” Vanderhoen nodded. “No, what I had in mind was… Well, from what I’ve been told, the onset of a Dark Crusade is usually heralded by… Let’s call them signals. Events that ping certain Spirits and Wisdom perks keyed to watch for Goddess-related stuff, not to mention large events that tend to ensue when a Dark Lord or Hero first does something really impressive. Right?”

“Yeah,” Yoinarch shrugged, his face blank. “And?”

It was like tutoring a delinquent kid at times. Even the inbred crooks of the Fflyr court were quicker on the uptake. God, why couldn’t he have been assigned Ozyraph to work with? Or anyone else. Most of the devils had to be better than this.

“So, if the Hero is on Dount, what I need is something to direct Lancor’s—in fact, everyone else’s attention elsewhere as soon as he does anything that’d draw attention to himself. It won’t be a permanent solution, but it’ll buy me time to convince or coerce the bastard to leave the country before they all come after him. And then even muddy the waters enough that both Sanorites and Viryans won’t be able to put together an organized response before I can get Dlemathlys prepared as best it can be. Given the history of these…you know, signs, portents and whatnot, which I assume the Devil King has enough records of to know what they look like…”

He leaned forward again, dropping the pitch of his voice.

“Is it within his power to create fake ones?”

Yoinarch stared at him. For the first few seconds, Vanderhoen feared he was actually too thick to have followed. But then, slowly, his blank expression began to morph, and a sly, malicious smile spread across his face.

“See, Tom, this right here? This is why we’re friends.”

If he only knew.

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