[b]Birsi! Silsila![/b]

The good news is that there aren’t any guards on the Crack tonight; just a heavy bit of netting draped over the hole. Might have caused Birsi trouble, but not the mighty Silsila Om. But what’s likely to cause her trouble is the fact that your quarry’s here waiting for you. Alone.

Her fair hair shines in the faint light of the back alley as she dangles her legs over the lip of the Crack, though it’s too dark to really get the effect of the feathers woven into her braids. She’s wearing an elaborate silver-spangled mask over her face, and a long, thin sword rests at her hip.

“Hello, girls,” she purrs, lifting a bottle and gesturing broadly with it. “Looking for a good time? You won’t find better in the 78 Heavens…”

[hr]

[b]Soot![/b]

From up here, on a rooftop (one no longer used for much, given the risk of peering eyes from the upper levels of the 78 Heavens), you can see the shape of the trap. Tall Rat’s ready to block any retreat, lurking in the shadows behind the two from the palace. Giggly Rat’s hiding in a doorway, ready to toss out some interesting alchemical concoctions, and—

It looks like somebody left a net right here. Someone like Bowlyn, say. And if a painter were to toss the net off the roof, it might land on someone, tangle them up, get them in quite a bit of trouble.

Do you, Soot? Who do you aim it for? Or do you just hide and watch this play out?

[hr]

[b]”Iris!”[/b]

There’s an entry fee. Of course there’s an entry fee. Why wouldn’t there be an entry fee?

From here, on Cart Street, you can see that the gilt entrance to the 78 Heavens (a huge structure, not the size of the Adamant but easily twice as large as the lord’s castle back home, looming up into the sky on the backs of horse-pillars) is manned by well-dressed gatekeepers, who receive entrance fees from guests, whether they come alone or in small groups. And you didn’t particularly bring [i]money[/i] tonight, did you?

“Hey.” “Jasmine” makes a slight squeak and jumps; a scrawny girl with thatchy dark hair and an acne-scarred forehead has approached the two of you. “First time visiting the 78? Yeah, yeah, you’ve got that look about you. Listen, if you want, I can show you a way in that even Mother Bes doesn’t know about.”

“Are you sure?” Grace— er, “Jasmine” sounds hopeful. “We wouldn’t want to impose, would we, Iris? It’s just that we forgot our purses back at home, and…”

“No problem at all!” Under her veil, she might be smiling. “I just couldn’t let two lovely ladies like you go without offering my services. Call me Gími.” (That’s an interesting slur to the first vowel to your foreign ears. [i]Gí[/i]mi.) She offers her hand (sweaty) to “Jasmine,” who graciously accepts…