"He's right," added the baron, confirming Tank's statement as he led the way out. "Snow or not, we have no choice. We pursue tonight. They may be gone by morning."

And with that, if their "prisoner" was well-covered by guns and burly tortoise muscle, he exited the room, sword still in hand. He seemed to step very lightly with his injured leg—just shy of a full-fledged limp. He was hurt, but it seemed he had decided he wasn't going to let it slow him down, given the critical circumstances.

Luc, still in his nightclothes, met them in the hall. It was funny to see him like that—the short-statured, rodent-like fellow that he was, wearing a sleeping cap, holding a candle in one hand, and a much-too-large hunting musket in the other. He was prepared! There were also some other servants behind him, also armed; they might have recognized at least one of them from dinner.

"M'lord, what's going—"

"No time," interrupted Dureau. "They took Deverell. We'll need this one locked up and watched closely."

Luc leered at the captive, and then nodded vigorously, trying his best to look severe and formidable. (It didn't really work.)

"He won't be going anywhere. We'll see to it for sure!"

They soon found themselves traipsing through the frosty wilderness.

It was only lightly snowing, but it was still frigid, biting cold out. Drifts of snow deep enough to lose one's boots in were common. Leaping across (or precariously treading across) frozen streams was necessary, because there were no roads where they were going. That's why they weren't taking a vehicle, and why they were essentially making a fast-paced hike-run across the forested countryside in the middle of the night.

There was still something beautiful about it, though; out there in Cape Norden, with absolutely no light pollution from the city (everything in Mersey was closed by midnight, even the seediest bars), there were so many stars visible that the ink-blue sky looked like a glittering ocean. Still, any awe was probably shunted aside by some mix of other emotions; maybe for some foreboding, and for others, excitement that they were about to finally have their best shot at figuring their mess of a mystery out.

After traversing many a ridge, river, and ravine, and going for what felt miles, the Baron finally led them to the edge of Eirwen's Gorge. Unsurprisingly, it was just what its name said: a gorge. More surprisingly, it was quite deep and large, and nestled into its thickly-forested, tree-filled bottom, was an absolute mess of machinery. It looked like some sort of steel-built, high-tech factory, in complete contrast to everything else in the region. Gigantic pipes plunged into the ground and canyon walls, red LEDs blinked constantly, lights shone from slit-like shuttered windows, and a low, whirring drone thrummed through the gorge. There appeared to be two separate structures: the main "factory"-looking component, and a second, very large structure with what looked like two huge sliding doors on top, marked at their seams by huge strips of yellow and black caution coloring, and surrounded by colored lights not unlike what one would expect to see at a helipad or landing strip.

There were many ways into both complexes, but it was hard to tell at a glance which would be good ones. The rooftop of the factory was covered with large messes of ventilation equipment; the sides of both structures had many corrugated steel roller doors. There were odd chutes and hatches all around, some of which were actually open. At least one or two conveyor belts, currently deactivated, led through open doors directly into the factory.

Dureau, red cape held tight around his body for warmth, remained crouched at the top of the gorge, staring down at the industrialized mass.

"So. This is it."

Dureau had shot Jack an odd look when she took his hand, as if caught off his guard by the offer. He nonetheless went along with it. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that was happening that had him on edge.

"Right..."



It wasn't long before they arrived at the point where sheer drop turned into steep, forested incline. This wasn't a big problem for Jack, Ember, and Dureau. For Tank, however, it may have been a bit challenging to stop his incredible mass. A few trees would surely help him with that task, for better or worse.

No one seemed to notice the ruckus of their arrival, regardless. The short trek through the woods to the building was silent as the grave, with nothing but crunching snow beneath their feet, and whistling wind through the limbs above their heads. Ahead was one of the deactivated conveyors, not turning or doing anything, its door simply hanging open like a big, square mouth agape, spilling white, artificial light into the dark surroundings.

Dureau paused and stared at the opening. It was a hard look on his face, almost like he was glaring back at the light that was glaring at him. He slowly set his hand on the hilt of a sword he'd brought along (a change from usual, but perhaps called for), and turned in a full, creeping circle, examining their surroundings similarly, as if for concern of someone following them, or lurking about.

"Something strange," he murmured to no one in particular, his eyes still darting around the darkness. After a few seconds, though, he shook his head and looked back to the others. "Right behind you," he whispered.


It was actually a lot easier to see inside than out. Should they indeed decide to climb atop the belt and walk inside (taller members would need to crouch a bit, but even Tank could be accommodated), they'd find quite a large room inside—a large, empty room, concrete-floored, metal-walled, with lots of mysterious, factory-like machinery (some of it covered with sheets, for some reason), high catwalks, and even a windowed oversight room of some kind mounted high on one of the walls (probably controls for the machines) but not a soul in sight, and not a sound except for humming fluorescent bulbs.

Jack found many grey, pod-like containers, exactly the sort Tank had pulled from inside the bell-shaped robot. Some were big, some small, but all had the exact same form. Unlike the one Tank had handled earlier, however, these were still active and lit up, with very small windows on each actually allowing a view into their green-lit interiors.

Each one contained a person. The sickly green painted each curled-up figure's features strangely, but they all appeared to be sleeping peacefully, almost doll-like, unharmed in their little capsules.

There were two capsules that stood out from the rest: one, huge (at least twelve feet tall, maybe more), and covered with a sheet, and another, normally sized, but clutched in the metal talons of a large, UFO-catcher-like crane claw. The contents of the sheeted one were obviously not visible at the moment, as it was covered, and its window was very high; the one with the crane claw resting on it, however, clearly contained a white ermine. He didn't seem to be wearing anything except a pair of brown boots.

Back where they had entered, the door slammed shut. Dureau had not entered behind them.

As if on cue, all the lights in the room extinguished all at once with a loud "clunk," and a new, bright, glaring spotlight appeared directly over them all. For just an instant before the glaring, blinding light came on, Jack may have been able to spy some sort of down-turned birdlike face inside the largest container.

Speaking of birdlike faces... a light inside the control room, the windows of which were mounted high on the wall across the chamber, also came to life, revealing the same, shimmering-cloaked golden figure from before, complete with haunting plague-doctor-like mask.

"So, you've fooouuund the 'phoenix,'" said a scratchy, sarcastic, mocking-sounding voice, amplified by a PA system. "You've come all this way from South Island just to meddle in things far bigger than you. And now that the little sheriff girl and her posse have followed all the 'clues' to the source... what do you think you'll do, hm?"