Sgathaich could not return to Pharaul the way she had come. That door had closed, and she knew that she could not open it the same way she had before. So that night Amo put on the spymaster’s discarded leathers and a hood of green torn from a dead man’s uniform, and Amo guided Sgathaic to the quay. For a tall and lanky being, she moved more smoothly and carefully than any spy; the stakes were low for her, for she was strange of appearance but not menacing. Gray Watch was, after all, friend to the fickle monstrosities of the Aldalneld Writhe, next to whom Sgathaich would appear as harmless as a single feather. Anyone who caught sight of Sgathaich stared in surprise or curiosity, but never in fear, and were never rude enough to comment.

“You’ve taken the goals of the spies to heart,” Sgathaich said when they were alone, looking over the beach, the gray sea, watching the few sailors on the piers walk about with lanterns that shone with magic light. “I hope you haven’t forgotten the reason you joined them in the first place. I know you love Pharaul, but don’t get distracted.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Amo sighed. “I know spying for Pharaul was a means to an end, and I’ve been gathering all the information you need. But, mom, I can save Pharaul, too. I don’t need to pick between your goals and theirs. I can do both.”

In the darkness, she looked down at Amo, and then cast her gaze toward the sea’s fogged horizon. “This city is full of monsters, Amo. I can feel it. I hear their magic everywhere.”

“I think I know where to find what you’re looking for.” Amo pointed to the lighthouse on the eastern side of the quay, half-lost in the fog rolling over the quay. Its great light shone out across the sea. “Sethian Skin shared a list of powerful beings in the city and where they were. The lighthouse was on the list, but you can see how it’s different from the rest, right?”

“It’s not a matter of seeing, but of hearing. Yes, there’s old music there. Ancient, even compared to the magic of the Wandering House. But it’s still vague, as though muffled. I’ll need to listen, long and quiet, to hear its truth.”

“It’s patrolled,” Amo said. “By the Watch garrison. By sorcerers. We had reports on it going back years and Nymir was supposed to be watching it before he turncoated.”

“I wonder, then,” Sgathaich mused, “If he saw something there that made him feel like he had no choice.”

Amo watched her curiously. “Mom? What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Leave me here. I will be safe. I need to listen to all the music I can hear from here. I need to study the feel of the magic of this city. You should see if any of your spies managed to survive. If they are still in this city, they might be able to help us get into that lighthouse, if it comes to it.”

“But… that’s not what they’re here to do.” Amo grimaced, watching how Sgathaich stared so raptly at the lighthouse that she likely didn’t even hear Amo speaking anymore. She’d already forgotten, Amo suspected, what Amo had said about being able to fulfill the purposes of Pharaul, about wanting sincerely to save their home. Sgathaich was fixated on whatever greater mission she’d been seeking, the one she’d sent Amo to gather information for. She’d always hoped that Amo would stay focused likewise and not take up the goals of Pharaul, that Amo would seek secrets but not fight for a nation.

Amo would have to show her that they could do as they said: help Sgathaich fulfill her own goals, and finish the mission of Pharaul as well. It would be easier if Sgathaich would tell Amo what her goals were, exactly, but all she’d ever let on was that she was seeking a specific, very powerful, very ancient spell, and she thought she would find it here.

* * *

Before Amo went seeking the other spies, they returned to the Maniaque. The floor inside was stained with blood upon blood, and there was a strange grinding inside of the walls. Amo stood under the lamplight and looked at the cloth concealing the walls, wondering if there were swaths of skin and horrible muscle hidden there or if there were just more of those panels that shifted like the backplate on a beetle.

“Your mother,” Sethian Skin stepped out from a red curtain, his broad hat back on his head. He stood as strong as the night Amo had first met him. “She is not your mother, is she? Mythspinning sorcerer, she’s convinced the Maniaque to cow to her. Unthinkable, that. But you’re cowed to her as well. Who is she?”

Amo spread their arms, showing Sethian Skin the bloodied disguise they wore. “I think I’ve earned a new outfit. One more practical this time, please.”

“Who is she?”

Frowning, Amo said, “An answer for a garment, rabbit. No haggling. Take it or leave it.”

Beneath the brim of Sethian Skin’s hat, he smiled and showed black teeth. “Fine, fine. Answer.”

“She’s the orphanage matron from Pharaul. She raised me. My mom, then.”

Sethian Skin laughed at that. “Yes, I saw those so-called children. How do you distinguish them from her other summoned creatures, I wonder?”

Amo narrowed their eyes. “The fuck do you mean by that?”

“Let’s get you dressed.” Sethian Skin turned away. “Follow me. The dress I made you was inspired by your shape, but now that I’ve seen you move, die twice over, live and kill and kill, and kill,” He put a hungry, excited emphasis on the repetition, “And kill so happily… I think I can improve upon the design.”

Amo frowned deeply and said, “I’m here to save Pharaul, not just to kill northlanders,” but Sethian Skin had already gone through the draped red silks into the hallway beyond, so Amo could only follow.

On the pedestal in the back room, black leather and silk spun together unnaturally, weaving not just color but texture. Dyed silk became tanned skin, and a bizarre combination of flesh and fabric clung tight to Amo’s body. Sethian Skin created the dress again, purple on the shoulders, hanging long with slits to show legs and arms, but beneath the dress shone seamless leather that conformed even to Amo’s feet and fingernails. Its touch was a strange, tight sensation that ran up Amo’s neck and pressed against their jawline. Watching how it shifted when they flexed their arm, Amo thought about the unfurling of Sethian Skin’s dark body, how his skin had shone like polished leather as he lay dying. Amo muttered, mystified, “It feels like I’m wearing… you…” Yes, it felt like Sethian Skin’s hand pressing firmly but carefully against their throat, cupping their windpipe, holding them steadily by the collar.

“Oh, no, not yet. Maybe one day, if you’re very unlucky, you’ll get to wear,” Sethian Skin put a hand to his face, “This beautiful skin of mine. Until then, you’ll make do with that inferior leather.”

* * *

Amo left the Manaique and faded into darkness. Sethian Skin stepped out of the boutique to watch them go. Standing in the chill shadows, he smiled at how the black leathers helped Amo blend so smoothly into the night. Yes, the perfect garment for a spy as lethal as Amo had turned out to be. What a lovely find, that creature was.

“I want to remind you,” came the voice of the being named Sgathaich, “That I have tamed your Maniaque. It may not protect you from me if I choose to unmake you.” Her voice fell from above, like the low call of a perched bird.

Sethian Skin just smiled under his hat. “Ah, but Amo has tamed you, haven’t they?”

“Amo is a gentle youth. They are motivated by love, even in dark times like this. They’re not meant for a city full of monsters. Not meant for dealings with things like you.”

“Like me?” Sethian Skin chuckled. “Now, that’s a rudeness I don’t deserve.”

“Tell me about your bargain with Amo.”

“And what do you offer in return for such a story?”

“I’ll make no bargains with you, creature.”

“Oh, but you know it’s how I operate.” Sethian Skin finally pivoted and looked up at the large, narrow woman who clung to the alley wall above him. Her talons and long fingers held her to it as easily as if she sat on a bench. She’d wrapped herself in a great weight of gray and white rags to conceal herself, but Sethian Skin still caught the hostile twitch of her head when he said, “My bargain with Amo already promises their survival and freedom. So to you, I’ll make an even more generous bargain. Come, let’s discuss what we want from one another. What do you want, daughter of the Vedrfol, oh matron mythspinner of Pharaul? What do you want?”