Leery's was a small bar about a stone's throw from the middle-most pier of Cardonia's sprawling bay. It catered, largely, to travellers arriving a night, promising good booze, a good night's rest, and good company. I had heard that of those three, only the middle was true, but after weeks at sea, the other two were oft considered "good enough." I wasn't seeking any of the three though.

I was dressed plainly in my grey suit, cut in the modern fashion. Samuel Archer, my former mentor and, for the moment, client, was in a similar getup. It was useful as it allowed us to walk through busy streets without looking like fugitives from the law. Twice we passed bored cops without them so much as glancing at us. Once, possibly out of spite, Archer stopped and bummed a cigarette from one of them. He tossed it away moments later with a shrug. Despite being delcared an enemy of the Empire, Archer didn't seem to be actively pursued.

Still, I was nervous. Our suits didn't afford us nearly the invisibilty out here among the docks. Our suits were in harsh contrast to the blue uniforms most of the dock workers wore, and even the managers tended to shed the hat and jacket, preferring a white shirt and blue tie. Customers and clients wore suits, but they were unlikey to be prowling around outside Leery's at the Prince's hour.

I gave Archer a quick nod, and stepped out of the comfort of darkness, aiming to seem perfectly at ease as I strolled under the amber crystlamp. Archer walked beside me, looking carefully at ease. It wasn't true, but it made for good copy, the two of us strolling along as if the world was at peace.

We reached the door without a shout and slipped inside without incident, and I paused at the doorway to enjoy the moment of relief. While it was possible we'd still be arrested, Leery had paid his bribes (much like every responsible brothel owner does), and the police were apt to respect his privacy. If any of the RPF were here, they'd be clients, not constables.

Archer scanned the place, his calm still covering up his tension. "I don't know where we're going, Greyson," He said after a moment. "But I don't think it suits us to be standing here."

I let that slide. Archer was feeling sufficiently better, and had begun to resume his role as boss. Nevermind that I had quit working for him months previous. Nevermind that I had moved my business north to Xen Lenora, had my own caseload and my own clients. I even had my own secretary. Archer was used to being in charge, and was used to me following his lead. It was aggravating, especially when I was busy saving his life.

Instead, I made my way casually to the bar and rapped my knuckles thrice on the table. After a pause, I rapped twice more, then I looked away and waited. Archer waited too, but I had no idea if he picked up on the code. My goal had been subtlety, but Archer was like a hawk when he wanted to be.

After a moment, the bartender came over. "Can I help you gentlemen?" He asked with a gruff voice.

"I need to see Leery," I said quietly. "I got a shipment for him."

The bartender nodded, then moved away. He returned with two mugs filled with beer. "Third table on the right," He said. "I'll let Leery know you're here."

I handed one of the mugs to Archer, then walked casually over to the third table. Once seated I took a deep drink. Archer looked at his drink disinterested.

"Have a drink," I said.

"I don't care for beer. You know that Greyson."

I sipped again. "Have a drink, Sam. You're being observed."

He stared at me for a fraction of a second, disbelief evident in his face. Then, casually, he took a sip, then set it down.

"Yep," He said. "Still beer."

"Good beer," I defended. It wasn't, really. "But more importantly, cursed beer."

"Cursed?" He asked, looking a little alarmed. I grinned.

"Nothing major. It's just how Leery conducts his Aura read. There's a marker in the beer which makes allows him to focus on us. Likewise, we're sitting in a good place to be observed."

Archer looked around without looking. "Seems elaborate."

"Has to be," I said. "Now be a good boy and have another drink."

He had another sip, followed by another wince. "So, where are we going?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Old town," I said. "A friend will be meeting you there and getting you relocated."

"Meeting us," He corrected me, then after a pause. "You're going to, aren't you?"

It was a logical assumption. Our occupations were identical, after all. The Imperial Council had, that morning, passed a law banning non-guild investigation services. Snidely, some in the Council Hall had named it "Archer's Law," and it was even referred to that in the Chamber Archives while discussions were being held. Archer had solved an important case, a high-profile case, and his client had decided to pay him back by being exceedingly critical of the local police, the Bureau of Truth, and the Empire as a whole to every news organization that would listen. The response, issued the next day, was to discredit Archer's achievement in editorials and using planted evidence. After that, the Imperial Council quietly set about to shut him (and all non-guild detectives) down.

Archer's Law would apply to any one who offered investigative services on an independent basis. It was publicly stated as a way to help strengthen the integrity of the field, but really it was just a way to shut out anyone who might reveal anything unpleasant about the Empire. The guilds, all of them, were under the thumb of the government, and they were given a very narrow path to follow. Archer and I were both the type to reject these constraints.

Now, it seemed like my path was to flee the city. Perhaps that was why I shook my head in response. "I can't go," I said. "Or I won't. Take your pick."

He stared at me, and I avoided his gaze. "Why not?" He finally asked.

"I can't walk away," I said. "Not yet."

"What's stopping you?" He said it calmly, but I knew there was more to the question, left unspoken. What would exist that would keep me but still require him to go.

"I can't go into it," I said. It was an hour of explanations when we had five minutes. My business was secure, my true occupation covered up by a nice legal front. My clientele was increasing, both in number and discretion. By avoiding the lime-light, I had found a niche. In addition, I had contacts, in the governments, and to some degree, I knew how the council thought. I was using these connections to connect sympathetic council members with "rebel" leaders. There was a chance that all of the insanity could end. All it would take was for the tide to shift, and the council could, potentially anyway, swing back to the realm of sanity.

Finally, there was Aleea. I couldn't tell him about her.

We shared an uncomfortable silence. A minute passed, and another slowly ticked by. I sipped more of my beer, and Archer pushed his away. I scanned the crowd, hoping to see something more interesting than sailors getting drunk and being propositioned by the street walkers. Archer continued to stare at me.

Eventually, a door behind the bartender opened a quarter, paused, and then slipped open completely. A dark elf, ashen grey in color, strolled up to us, wearing a dirtied white apron. He snatched a chair from another table, turned it around backwards, and sat, giving us a good grin.

"Some tension here, eh?" He said by way of saying hello. Archer glared at him, though I don't know if it was because he was a dark elf, or because he was an ass. With Archer it could be possibly both.

"Hey Leery," I said. He gave me his customary grin.

"Thomas Greyson, man of the hour, so I hear. Police reports have been put out for someone matching your description, leading fugitive Archer. They don't know where you've gone." I nodded, but didn't otherwise reply. Leery grinned even wider. "I assume you're here to make use of my gateway, then."

Archer gave him something resembling an affirmative. Leery chuckled. "I know what's it's like man, I'm right there with ya." Archer was unmoved by Leery's attempt to bond; fortunately Leery wasn't the type to care much. "Now you know the price. I'd normally double it because you're fugitives, but I like you two, so we'll just add a more modest twenty-five percent."

I slipped out six King Franks, and laid them on the table. Leery stared at them fondly, then moved his hand over them, sliding them up with a smooth motion. "That's what I like about you Thomas, you know how to please a man." He rolled up the bills, then paused. "One ticket?"

"He's staying behind," Archer said, his voice held steady. "Can't say why."

"Maybe he can't afford me," Leery winked. "If you'll just come with me."

I started to stand, but Archer put his hand on my wrist and pulled me back down. "We'll be right there, Leery." He said quietly.

Leery shrugged, and said, "I'll be waiting for you two at the bar. Don't keep me waiting too long."

"You're sending me off," Archer said after a moment. "Why?"

"Because I need you alive," I said. "Because Archer's Law is about you. There's no bribe I can pay, no official I can blackmail that will change that. The rest of us rats can go to ground, avoid the spot lights, but you're a walking target right now. You get caught, you know they're going to use every dirty trick they know to get you locked up for a potentially long time. They're not going to mess around, because Archer's Law is worthless if it doesn't shut you down."

"But if I leave, I'll be shut down," He said. "You'll have finished what they started."

"Stop it," I replied. "You're not dead. You're out of sight. This gives you back the freedom they're so keen to take away. This allows you to live again."

"For what?" He spat. "Away from my job, my life, my city? You think freedom is worth all of this?"

"This?" I said. "Your city just sent cops to your house. Your life has been spent in a Red Amber haze for the last three years. Your job..." I looked away. "You are your job, Archer. Wherever you end up, Archer, you'll keep on doing exactly what you've been doing. That, more than anything, is the point."

"Why won't you come, then?" He asked, after a heavy sigh. "If you're going to force me to start over, the least you could do is help.

I smiled, knowing this was coming. I had my answer ready. "I don't work for you, Archer. Not anymore."

He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. His face was set in a scowl. He slipped his hat back onto his hat. "I'll see you around, Greyson." And he walked away, I made to follow, but stopped and watched instead. He went to Leery without looking back, exchanged a few words, and Leery gave me a hesitant glance. I shrugged, and he returned it subtly.

Then shaking his head, he pushed open the back door and let Archer through. Leery gave me one last glance, then let the door close. I took a deep breath, and sat back down in my chair. My beer was nearly empty. Archer's was barely touched. I stared at those two glasses for a while, then slipped my own hat on.

It was time to go home.

The Haze

Mother says we should never get too close to it, but parents are all like that. Tommy's mom says the exact same thing. The Haze is dangerous, they say. Dark things lurk out there. It's just waiting for you to wander into it and then Snap.

But it's not true. Tommy and I threw rocks into it, and the haze puffed slightly as it accepted them. Later, we tried using sticks, both of us pushing against them until they pierced the skin of the haze and disappeared into nothingness, and then pulling until the end came back. The stick was always unharmed, though it was cold to the touch. If something was lurking there, we would have seen it. The fact is that the haze doesn't want us. You have to throw a rock as hard as you can before it'll disappear, and it took both of us to get the stick to pierce the skin.

One thing that's fun to do is to throw yourself against it. It feels almost like a sheet made of ash. It'll stop you, and push you back. Tommy and I did that all day once, taking turns sprinting towards it and throwing ourselves upside down into it. We stopped when Tommy's mom caught us. She freaked out.

She's different than my mom. My mom grew up in Old Town, and didn't ever touch the haze, play with it. Tommy's mom, though, grew up near the haze, and she learned all about it.

The haze, she said, is where the Distant City ends. There is nothing beyond it, and the haze is just a barrier that keeps us safe and alive. It's designed to protect the whole of the city, so it will accept things that are pushed hard into it, because the shield would sooner be pierced than risk failing. Apparently, if it failed, we'd all be thrown into the nothingness.

Tommy isn't so sure. He has seen men in suits who are able to enter and leave the haze at will. He's tried to tell his mom, but she doesn't listen to him. He wants us to follow them, and discover what really is on the other side.

I don't know what to believe, so I'm leaving you this note. If I come back safely, you can just ignore it. I'll know by then what's on the other side.

But if I don't come back, please don't come after me. It's possible Tommy's mom is right, and if she is, I think we'll be dead.

I won't want to be dead, but I do want to see what's on the other side. Wish me luck.

--Roger Ian Post, Age 10

The Murder

"Do I know you?" The RPF's voice barked out from his yellow hooded raincoat. The storm was making a mess of the light, so the question may not have been as sarcastic and hostile as it sounded. I smiled politely.

"Just the guy who found the body," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. The Cop nodded, shaking free a small spray of water from his head, and looked at his clipboard. A small attractor burned blue, and water that would have fallen on the board collected there instead. It was an expensive trick, but useful on days like this.

He scanned down the page with his finger, then said, "Greyson?"

"That's me," I said. "Thomas Greyson, man of no real importance."

The cop grunted at that. He made a mark on his clipboard, flipped to a new page, then said, "Alright, so what happened?"

"My," I paused and looked over at Rynna, who was leaning against the lamppost looking board. She was dressed in tailored elven explorers garb, which consisted a customized leather jumpsuit and black shoes. She had more pockets on that then a peacock has tail-feathers. Most of them had knives. Words continued to fail me, and when I finally grasped at something, I knew it was a poor choice. "My date and I were walking home from the movies, when we came upon two individuals fighting in the street. I had her wait while I rushed forward to stop them. As I approached, the first gentlemen ran, and the second," I said pointing to the corpse, "Collapsed. I tried to administer first aid, and Rynna called you guys."

The cop wrote this down with quick strokes, then said, "What's your full name?"

"Thomas Greyson," I said.

"And your occupation?"

I stopped, cleared my throat. "I'm unemployed."

"Really?" The cop said quietly. "Unemployed." I shrugged. There was an uncomfortable pause, then he said. "So what did you do?"

"I was mostly recently working for the Harbo Guard Service," I said. "But that was a few years ago. Before I came into money."

"Money?" He perked up.

"Do you want me to describe the individual?" I asked.

"Maybe in a moment," The cop said. "Let's talk about the money. Where did it come from?"

"My uncle," I said. "He worked some plantations up in Arana, and split them among my cousins and I. I sold mine off."

He looked at me. I looked back. I was lying and we both knew it, however there was a chance he'd let it go.

It was a small chance, apparently. "Good land up in Arana," He said, making a mark with his notebook. "Lots of grain."

I shrugged. "I'm not much of a farmer," I said.

"So what are you?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I could see Rynna getting inpatient. "I'm the guy who saw someone commit murder," I said. "You remember the murder, don't you?"

The cop glanced at the body, then grinned at me. "Doesn't look like he's going anywhere."

Rynna pushed herself off the lamppost and began to walk over.

"Look, officer," I said, making one last ditch effort before Rynna arrived. Things had a tendency to get worse when she got involved. "I think the man who ran was a member of the Rothi Crime Syndicate. I'm reasonably confident that this was a hit."

"Oh are you?" He said, crossing his arms. Rynna moved to stand behind him, but his attention was focused squarely on me. "And how would you know anything about the Rothi Crime Syndicate?"

It was too late. "Look, just be gentle," I said, looking right at the cop.

He laughed. "I'm just asking you some-"

There was a thump, audible over the sound of the rain falling. And the cop collapsed. Rynna looked at me, holding the knife backwards so that its weighted hilt made contact with the back of his skull. "Gentle enough?" She said.

I shook my head, then bent down and ripped the cop's sheet from the clipboard. Then for added measure, I took his wallet and and gems, including the attractor. Freed from it's focus, the gem darkened and water started dotting the remaining pages on the clip-board. I tucked it all away and stood. "Shall we go?" I asked.

"About time," Rynna said. "Why did you bother calling them in anyways?"

I shook my head as we began to walk off. It was difficult to explain to Rynna, a child born and raised in the Etherrealm, knowing everything of the Distant City and little beyond. "I'll tell you about it later."

We walked into the rain, the silence between us heavy.