I. What's Past is Prologue

“It’s so good of you to have dinner with me, Captain Schwartz,” Katherine Hoofburn’s voice was playful and inviting, she smiled with enjoyment. Only the faintest hint of tension around her eyes and the slight tremble of her hoof as she raised a glass of white wine indicated that she wasn’t exactly in the best of health. After all, this wasn’t exactly Katherine Hoofburn.

A good night’s sleep, coupled with some of the exceptional medicinal concoctions available to an expert in drugs and poisons – along with Bob’s excellent abilities at patch-work – and “Ms. Hoofburn” was back up to a condition best qualified as “mostly mobile.” Thretan still needed a cane to walk about. In part because she was keeping large sections of her body thoroughly numbed by her own venomous secretions while they healed.

As she sipped her wine, Thretan reflected that she’d walked off worse beatings in her time.

But not often, nor recently.

“Please, Ms. Hoofburn, call me Gunther.” The old griffon smoothed the ebon feathers on his head. He had a fierce, lean presence that made him seem larger than he was. “It is a pleasure to have a lady of your repute aboard my ship.”

Katherine’s smile lit up Thretan’s face. “And what a lovely air-ship she is! I’ve never seen finer.”

“Nor are you likely to.” Grav Gunther Schwartz beamed with pride. Even so, there was still a measure of careful reserve in his dealings with his star passenger.

It was their first evening out. Eight hours since they had departed Hedgerow Airfield. The ocean lay beneath them, Albion behind, and Equestria ahead. Five days, at least, until they reached Gnuark Airfield in Manehattan.

Every passenger ticket for this flight had been purchased for Katherine Hoofburn and her associates, through the auspices of the Hive Naught Theatrical Production Company. Thretan was there as Katherine Hoofburn, the real Katherine had remained behind to deal with the upcoming unpleasantness that would be resulting from their extraction of Cantor Mortalis and Jon Quill. Bob was aboard, as were four other members of the Hive’s theatre troups – two pegasi, an earth-pony, and a unicorn. There were also four zebra security along. And Jon Quill.

Thretan gave a little smile and lowered her voice. “I take it you know Jon Quill? You certainly seem to have recognized him.”

Captain Schwartz narrowed his one good eye and nodded sharply. “Aye, that I do. Was a passenger on the ride from Manehattan to Lunadun a few weeks back.”

Thretan chuckled, “In my position, avoiding the press entirely is difficult. Controlling press access by allowing selected members to accompany you is much easier. And having Jon Quill along offers certain advantages.”

“Advantages?” Gunther’s tail twitched. He glanced at the corner table where Jon Quill was presently chatting away with Diana – one of Hive Naught's pegasi, a skilled gaffer and some-time photographer. Her use of a flash camera to signal Jon Quill’s movements had helped direct the efforts of the Hive Naught agents who had snatched him from under the watchful gaze of the Knott Twins.

“He writes for the Star. Nopony will believe a word he says. Which,” Thretan continued in a mischieveously naughty tone, “allows me to misbehave as much as I please.”

Gunther laughed. He also relaxed somewhat. The question of why somepony like Jon Quill was accompanying somepony like Katherine Hoofburn had been a source of tension between captain and the passengers.

“I trust you don’t object?” Thretan batted her eyelashes.

Given the cramped quarters of the Westphalia’s dining room, the setting wasn’t exactly private. Indeed, not only were Jon and Diana also dining in the corner, but along one wall Bob (disguised as a unicorn with an eye-patch) and Lorry-Kelly (an earth-pony designer) were discussing the finer details of some of Ms. Hoofburns upcoming costumes. The one zebra in the room was staring out a window with a stoic expression, but Thretan could tell she was excited to be traveling again.

Gunther grinned and shrugged, “As long as he has a ticket, who am I to object? If a beautiful pony such as yourself wishes to keep company with that chattering mockingbird, well, it’s your ear he’ll be bending.”

Thretan blushed and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. ‘Beautiful pony,’ indeed! This sort of thing was how you got hippogriffs. But with captain in such a good mood, the time was ripe to broach a rather delicate matter. Especially since Valentina had just arrived to clear their dishes.

Her eyes shone as she said, “Oh, you flatter me …” then she blinked. “Perhaps, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, I could trouble you for a favor, Gunther?”

He puffed out his chest a little as he said, “What favor might that be?” Even with the drinks he had consumed and the charms she had deployed Thretan noted the captain maintained a touch of reserve. He was nopony’s fool.

“I have a piece of luggage stowed away which I would much prefer to have in my own quarters. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I have somepony bring it down?”

Gunther relaxed slightly. “Why, that wouldn’t be a problem at all.” He snapped his talons.

Valentina, attentive as always, answered, “Sir?”

“The lady wishes a piece of luggage brought down. See to it.”

“Bob has the key, Valentina.” Thretan gestured towards the disguised changeling.

“I’ll see to it at once, ma’am!”

Gunther frowned after the stewardess. It sounded almost like she was trying to keep from laughing.

“But do go on,” Thretan added, leaning towards the griffon over their table. “I wish to hear more about your remarkable adventures.”

Gunther grinned. “But of course! Now, let me think. Ah yes, so there we were, on the steps of the ruined temple …”

Fifteen minutes later Gunther’s tale was interrupted. There was a commotion in the navigation room. It sounded like Mr. Grady, the ships purser, was preparing to pitch a fit. Mr. Grady wasn’t the sort to throw such a pitch casually. If he was upset, something was wrong.

As Gunther turned to rise from his chair, the door to the forward portions of the gondola opened. The captain’s “Excuse me” was delivered at the same time as Cantor’s own.

“… Your pardon, Mr. Grady,” Cantor – all deferential smiles – continued to address the purser as he entered the dining room, “but Ms. Hoofburn has called for me and we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Valentina was helping Cantor along. She didn’t seem surprised at his presence.

Captain Grav Gunther Schwartz’s one good eye narrowed. He idly scratched at his eyepatch with one talon.

“Mr. Mortalis,” his tone was polite, but clipped and hard. “This is a surprise.”

“I hope that it shan’t be too inconvenient a surprise.” Cantor’s soft, self-effacing smile didn’t do anything to improve the griffon’s mood.

Gunther looked from Cantor to Ms. Hoofburn. He jerked a talon at Cantor as he addressed the lady, “This is the piece of luggage you wanted retrieved?”

Thretan smiled her best Katherine Hoofburn smile. “Quite! He’s a dear friend of mine.”

Gunther shook his head, there was almost a sorrowful air about him.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hoofburn, but rules are rules. No passengers without a ticket.”

“I’ve a ticket, Captain Schwartz.” Cantor produced the slip of paper from somewhere inside his cloak. A cloak that looked considerably less tattered than the last time he had been on the airship.

“Let me see that,” Gunther swiped it from Cantor’s grasp. He eyed the paper.

A tense moment passed. One which saw Mr. Grady peering over Valentina’s back. The purser was clearly shocked by the proceedings. He seemed to be trying to decide whether to stop Gunther from heaving the apparent stow-away overboard into the ocean (which would be quite the scandal for the Grav Airship line) or simply tossing Cantor off the air-ship himself (and damn the paperwork involved.)

The griffon let out a soft chuckle. It grew to a laugh. It took Grav Gunther Schwartz a few moments to regain his composure. He handed the ticket back to Cantor and wiped away a tear.

“Luggage! So you’re what was packed into the big box, eh? ‘This end up’ … ‘fragile cargo,’ and such?”

“Captain?” It was Mr. Grady.

“He has a ticket Mr. Grady. The ticket identifies him as luggage being transported by Ms. Hoofburn here.” Gunther raised an eyebrow at Cantor. “Similar to how you made it to Albion in the first place, eh? Seems fitting you should return to Equestria the same way.”

Cantor stood politely at attention. Gunther frowned at him and made a shooing gesture towards the cabins.

“Well, boy – move along! Your mistress wants you stowed in her cabin. I’m quite sure Ms. Valentina here can show you the correct room.”

“We’re going to have some words about this when we reach Gnuark,” Mr. Grady spoke quietly in Valentina’s ear. His voice was pitched low, his tone was a very businesslike sort of unhappy. She nodded at him, then escorted Cantor out of the room. But not before Jon Quill had hopped up and given Cantor a hug. Bob also stood up and shook Cantor’s hoof, joining the unicorn and the earth-pony on their way out.

Gunther remained standing as he watched the three of them, escorted by that smug minx Valentina, trot off to Ms. Hoofburn’s suite. He turned back to the actress and resumed his seat. She raised an eyebrow at him. He snorted and said, “It seems I’m not the only person here with some interesting tales to tell.”

“Oh, Gunther – it is still Gunther, isn’t it? – we’ve plenty of time for stories. I’d much rather spend this evening hearing some of yours. Do go on, you were discussing a ruined temple? And I seem to recall you mentioned something about … ghosts?”

“Quite right! So there we were …”

Jon Quill sat on one bed. There was a frown furrowing his brow.

“So … that’s it then,” Cantor concluded, “My next stop is to hit up various cartographic societies in Manehatten, if necessary we’ll pop over to Canterlot – as the governmental agencies there will surely have the data I need. I’ll use the notes I copied out of the Iron Book of Shadows to find the Vale of Dreams, then it’s off to make sure Tambelon hasn’t returned.”

“I’m going to need to get more ink!” Jon grinned. “And we’ll need to get some camping gear.”

“Oh no. No, no no.” Morari had his head in his ghostly hooves.

”Oy, ya said that ‘is nibs needed the help o’ the living! Not like they’re beatin’ down ‘is door to offer it, eh? Beggars and choosers, ya old scribbler. Beggars and choosers!” Magpie was grinning. Admittedly, at the moment she was mostly supporting Jon Quill's inclusion on the grounds that it would clearly annoy Morari.

“Did … did you say ‘we?’” Cantor blinked in surprise.

“Of course I said ‘we!’ There’s no way I’m letting you go off trying to solve the mystery of the return of the Trotting Dead on your own!” Jon grinned. “You’re a friend, Cantor. That would be enough, even if there wasn’t a truly fantastic tale involved.”

“But it’ll be dangerous, Jon.” Cantor saw that his concern wasn’t going to dampen Jon Quill’s enthusiasm.

“All the more reason for me to come along,” Jon Quill stated with firm conviction.

”A fair point, Master Mortalis,” Fairweather looked on approvingly, ”Your friends from Hive Naught are not going to be able to accompany you, their aid henceforth will be more indirect – both for their own protection and to keep Doctor Fether from tracking you quite so easily. The lad could be of considerable assistance.”

”But …” Morari began, but Fairweather cut him off.

”He is willing, Master Morari. Eager. With the work we are about, I would gladly take spirit over aptitude, experience, or skill.” Fairweather paused, Magpie was laughing. Morari furrowed his brow with a pained, and somewhat surprised, expression. After a moment, the Admiral chuckled. ”Ah. The pun was ... not intended.”

Cantor had his eyes closed. He sighed. He opened them and looked at Jon Quill.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jon grinned and figeted happily. “So … next question!”

Bob groaned, “Does he ever run out of questions?”

Cantor grinned, “I don’t know! Do you talk in your sleep Jon?”

Jon blinked. “I might! If so, kindly leave your answers to my nocturnal babblings written down for me. But more to the point, how are we getting you off the airship?”

Cantor grinned, “Why, out the front door of course.”

Bob grunted and added. “Disguised, naturally.” Bob suddenly grinned and started rummaging in a bag under Thretan’s bunk. “And here I’m being a ninny! Nearly forgot. Dozy got you a present Cantor. Something that may help in your researches.”

Cantor blinked in confusion.

Morari sighed and muttered, ”I suspected something of the sort.”

Bob’s grin got wider as he pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was the size of a largish tome, and quite heavy. “You won’t like it, Cantor.” Bob sounded pleased as he handed it over.

”He’s right, you won’t.” Morari sounded rueful.

”Whatsit?” Magpie perched on Cantor’s back where she could peer over his shoulder while he undid the wrapping. Cantor occasionally forgot that he could actually feel the touch of a ghostly spirit (and vice versa) should Cantor wish it. Magpie wasn't a heavy burden, even so. Light as a hoof-full of feathers, really.

Inside the parcel there were two broken pieces of a large clay tablet and an old cloth with faded embroidery.

Cantor stared at them in disbelief. Jon gasped. Magpie started laughing with delight.

“These are … this is …” Cantor stumbled over his words.

“Those are the originals, yes. Might be needed in your researches. Particularly if you’re going to be trying to chase down Caballeron and the Pony of Shadows. They were both very interested in it, after all.” Bob spoke with a casual matter-of-factness.

“But … Shetland Yard …” Cantor’s expression was shifting from shock to worry.

Bob coughed. The cough sounded very much like “Stage-props.”

Cantor and Jon just stared at the changeling.

Bob gave a short, sharp laugh and patted Cantor reassuringly on one shoulder. “Relax! Dozy will be offering Chief Inspector Jack apologies for the ‘unfortunate mix up.’ The situation is well in hoof. So don’t worry. You’ve got other things to worry about, after all. And I’m sorry to say that my own path takes me to Applewood with Thretan. Once we get you settled and into Manehattan, you won’t have our charming company to help you along.”

Bob's smile softened, and grew more serious. “Though he didn’t say it, Dozy’s sorry to see you go. He’s sorrier still that he can’t accompany you, Cantor, and do more to aid you.” Bob held up a hoof to forestall Cantor's interruption. “Your just being around these past few weeks has been good for him. Good for all of us, though I don’t understand the why’s and wherefore’s of it all.”

“How so?” Jon asked.

Bob shrugged and a look composed of thoughtful consideration and moderate confusion mingled on his chitinous muzzle. “We’re ... uh … less hungry when Cantor’s around, Jon. Heck, I don’t know if Dozy’s even felt peckish since Cantor showed up that night for the play. Dozy hasn’t fed at all, and he’s just seemed ... I dunno ... more settled? Stronger? Better off, somehow. And I’m guessing that that’s rubbed off on the rest of us, ’cause I’ve not felt much in the way of hunger pangs for days ... even Thretan’s not needed to feed more than a few nibbles.”

Cantor was frowning in puzzlement as well. “That’s ... good?”

Bob nodded, “Very good, as far as I’m concerned!”

Jon Quill was still confused. “But Bob, I’ve watched you eat lunch with as much gusto as anypony! Whatever are you talking about?”

Bob grinned, showing his fangs. “Not hungry for food, Jon, ya ninny! Hungry for love. We changelings do need to devour it, you know. And, until joining Hive Naught, I’d have said that hunger never entirely goes away. It certainly didn’t when I was part of Chrysalis Hive. Nor when I was wandering UnHived. And let me tell you, without feeding, that sort of ... hmm ... starvation grows and can really drive us to do some pretty awful things. Gives us something of a reputation.”

Jon Quill couldn't help but shiver.

Bob tried for a reassuring smile. The fangs didn’t help. But his tone was one of gratitude as he continued, “That’s why Dozy and Cantor started Hive Naught, after all. To help changelings harvest the love we need in ways that weren’t quite so ... uh … wicked. Even without a true Hive-Queen to manage the whole mess, our actors have learned how to harvest love from the shows’ audiences and share that love with the rest of us so we all stay fed. But, the weird thing is ... since joining the Naught’s and coming to trust and rely on the Hive, my own hunger ... it just hasn’t been as bad. Sometimes I forget about it altogether. And that’s something I never dreamed was even possible.”

Bob shrugged. “So, yeah. Having you around, Cantor. It’s good. Particularly for Dozy. Though he won't say it (’cause he doesn’t want you to feel obligated to him, Cantor) I sometimes think if ya stayed around, he wouldn’t need to feed at all.”

Bob shook his head and chuckled, as if the idea (while pleasant) was also rather absurd. “Regardless,” the changeling continued, “Dozy, Thretan, and the rest of us; we wanted to give you a little gift as a way to say ’thanks’ for that. Like I said, I don’t understand how or why, but I’m truly grateful that it’s worked out for us the way it has. Smuggling you a relic really ain’t no thang compared to that. Just a little gift to send you on your way.”

Cantor sighed. He seemed a little embarrassed. He also grimaced at the broken tablet. “Well … thanks. Now, how do we get these relics past customs?”

Bob answered, “Stow ‘em in a box, Mr. Luggage, along with your satchel and anything else that you might not want the authorities taking too close a look at. Ms. Hoofburn will be unloading through international customs, then heading to a domestic connection to take our lot on towards Applewood. ”

Bob’s grin grew more mischievous as he continued. “While your box will start out at the international terminal, we’ll make sure it gets to the domestic terminal without anypony else taking a look-see inside. Nah, your box will be unloaded onto the domestic baggage claim belt, so you can just pick it up and walk out the front door. No custom’s inspection at all. Easy peasy. Shouldn‘t be anypony around lookin‘ for this stuff in specific, after all.”

“I say,” Jon Quill piped up, “Do you think we’ll run into Caballeron or the Pony of Shadows again?”

Bob shrugged. “Dunno. I told Cantor already: Hive Naught’s sources indicate that Caballeron caught a ship heading for Equestria a few of days back. They were trying to figure out the ports-of-call along his route along with where and when he might conceivably be making landfall. He’ll probably beat us to the mainland, but the Westphalia is faster – so we’re cutting down his lead. Assuming that those two villains are poking around the same spooky mystery Cantor is, I suppose there’s a chance you could cross their paths. But that’s an awful big assumption.”

Cantor nodded and tucked the broken tablet into his satchel. He sighed, then tossed the bag to Bob and said, “Would you get this boxed up and stowed away? I’m a little leery of the ladder up to the cargo-hold.”

Bob nodded. After he left, Cantor stretched out on one of the cabin’s two beds while Jon Quill started arranging and rearranging his various scribbled notes. Even though the bed was small, Cantor found it to be much more comfortable than the crate he had been occupying back in the hold.

It was a little over half an hour before Bob returned. Cantor had been dozing, but Jon’s hoof helped shake him awake. Just as well, Cantor thought, for he had been having a rather distressing, yet strangely familiar, dream. This time, possibly because he had been abruptly awakened or possibly because he hadn’t been fully asleep to begin with, he could recall a few more details than usual.

In the dream there had been a frozen mountain-top, with a snow-storm blowing over it. Rising from the icy surroundings were the stumps of ancient, weathered columns which led to a doorway set in the side of a cliff. A figure (indistinct within the shadows) moved within the subterranean chamber, and a mare’s voice was crying out in a foreign tongue – “nekrάggelos boēdromέō!” The sound of it was sweet and musical and full of dreadful urgency.

Cantor strove to shake off the stupor and the chill that had come over him as he had lain nearly napping. “Sorry, what?” Cantor blinked up at the disguised changeling and the reporter.

”I stand ready to be of service,” Admiral Fairweather spoke a trifle before Bob.

“I said, wake up and get the spooks. The Admiral. Thretan’s found us an angle.” Bob had a map in one hoof. He sounded pleased.

“An angle? What?” Cantor sat up.

“The Winter Queen.” That had Cantor’s attention. Bob continued, “Think Fairweather could plot the major battle-sites and the location of her barrow on this?” Bob unrolled the map he held. It was a surprisingly complete parchment showing the Griffon Lands and the mountain wastes that lay north of it.

”Reasonably well, yes. But you speak of hunting the proverbial needle.” Fairweather sounded dubious.

“Fairweather says he can provide reasonable directions, but that’s not likely to be good enough.” Cantor relayed.

“Point taken, but any information he can provide would be good.” Bob produced a pen, ink, and parchment. “Quickly now, if you please.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon Quill did indeed look rather bemused.

Bob sighed. “It’s Captain Schwartz. He’s an old adventurer, retired now. Thretan wants to make him a ‘gift’ of whatever information we can provide about the location of the Winter Queen’s final defeat. Also information about whatever other Griffon princes of old went down along with her and where they’re buried too. From what I gather, Gunther might be looking to take a vacation from the boring day-to-day of being an air-ship captain. If Hive Naught can get him pointed in the right direction …”

“… then maybe we can get some legwork done towards figuring out if the Winter Queen’s barrow has been disturbed!” Cantor had caught on. He turned to the Admiral’s ghost and picked up a pen. “Well then, let’s get to it!”

The remainder of the transoceanic flight was refreshingly uneventful. Getting through customs at Gnuark went more smoothly than Cantor had hoped … but not perfectly. Jon Quill had been taken aside for a “random inspection.” He made quite an indignant fuss about it. On the one hoof, this was probably one of the reasons why the inspection wound up taking as long as it did. On the other hoof, it kept official attention well off of Cantor. It was over an hour before he and Cantor had been able to make their way out of the international terminal and head over to the hub where domestic trains and airships could be found.

Bob had gone ahead. Cantor hoped that the changeling wasn’t having too many difficulties in sneaking Cantor’s satchel from one baggage claim area to another.

”Well. This is ‘least as dull as last go-round.” Magpie was amusing herself by standing on the ceiling. As a ghost, up and down were often rather subjective to her, at least when she wanted them to be.

“Terminals are mostly about waiting. Interspersed with moments of hurrying up.” Cantor added.

“Hmm?” Jon Quill looked up from the newspaper. He had snagged the latest edition of the Yellow Star and was tsking over some of the more sordid articles. His primary complaint seemed to be that several of his fellow reporters preferred to stay at home and effectively make up stories out of the whole cloth rather than stretch their legs and actually look into the weird and bizarre bits of gossip that came across their desks.

“Nothing,” Cantor grinned, “Just talking to myself.” He eyed the spot where Magpie hovered, she was busily sticking her tongue out at him.

Cantor lowered his voice, “Still no sign of Bob or my bag?”

Magpie hollered, loud enough that Cantor winced. “Report, blokes!” Thankfully, Cantor was the only living pony present who could hear her.

”No bags yet.” That was from Morari, who had crept ahead along the conveyer belt to keep watch for the various deliveries of luggage.

”Nor any sign of Bob.” That from Admiral Fairweather, who was where he could keep a close watch on the broader hall beyond the carousels.

“Hmm.” Cantor frowned. He hoped something hadn’t gone wrong. The baggage claim area had thinned out substantially in the past half-hour. Most ponies had claimed their cases and left. Apart from a lone unicorn stallion (and the newspaper he was reading) on the far side of the chamber, Jon and Cantor were the sole occupants.

”Madamoiselle Magpie,” Fairweather sounded both startled and amused, ”Remind me – what is that thing you say?”

Magpie raised an eyebrow, “Oy?”

”No, no. Something about heads up? And cute?”

Magpie sudden smile was a sight to behold. ”No! Really? Is it Hearthswarming already? Have I been a good girl?”

“What’s this?” Cantor looked back up at Magpie and frowned in confusion. She just grinned at him. It wasn’t until he heard Jon’s startled gasp that he lowered his gaze.

“Why hello colts! Haven’t been getting into any trouble without me, have you?”

It was Valentina. She was still in her uniform.

”Head’s up! Stewardess inbound – the cute one!” Magpie was quite gleeful.

“Valentina! What are you doing here?” Cantor was equally shocked and delighted. Then a sudden worry clouded his expression, “You didn’t get into trouble on my account, did you?”

“Oh, la! Just a bit of a talking too. Not much else they could do since I resigned.” Valentina pulled off her hat and tossed it in a nearby trash bin.

“Resigned? What? When? And what will you do now?” Jon Quill raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Resigned. Just as we arrived. I’m not a stewardess any more. Now my official title is ‘Administrative Assistant.’” Valentina settled herself on the bench between Jon and Cantor. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Assisting who? With what? Where?” Trust Jon Quill to ask questions. Cantor was still trying to gather his wits at Valentina’s sudden appearance.

“Why, Mister Bogart of course! Both the elder and younger Mister Bogart, if you take my meaning. I’m on long term assignment for them – scouting locations throughout Equestria and beyond. You never know where an actor might be called to go. And it’s good to have somepony around who knows the lay of the land – the right restaurants, hotels, that sort of thing.”

“But … but you surely can’t be coming with us,” Cantor spoke with considerable concern, “it could be dangerous! And I’ve been so much trouble to you already.”

“Cantor, dear Cantor, haven’t I told you all this before? I like danger. I like excitement! And this business of yours is my idea of a jolly good time. Oh no, Mister Mortalis, I’m sticking with you.” Valentina’s smile softened, “And while you’re a sweet one to care, I’ll thank you to remember that you’ll need somepony around to help protect you should you run afoul of trouble again. Spooks and spirits may be your department, but should you cross Caballeron again, best to have help in kicking his flank. Not to mention Thretan would kill me if I didn’t do my utmost to keep you safe from harm.”

”She might at that,” Magpie was still grinning.

”It will be good to have the young lady along.” Fairweather nodded in agreement.

”Just so long as Magpie doesn’t wind up being a bad influence on her,” Morari muttered, but it was clear the old scholar was pleased to have Valentina along.

“Besides,” Valentina’s winked conspiratorially, “I’m now your connection to Hive Naught! How else can they get information and resources to you except though very, very unofficial channels? Channels like me!”

The last of Cantor’s reserve faded, he smiled gratefully at Valentina.

“Thank you, Valentina! It will be good to have you along.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mister Luggage, sir! Now, where’s your bag?”