Coming to the Deadlands ain't just a change of venue.

It's a change in mindset.

A whole new way of operating that I ain't all that familiar with, so I'm glad to have Luthor here to lay it all out as he helps reorganize our kits we carrying out into the swamp. "Anything you can't carry with you, you leave behind," he says, and simple as that sounds, it ain't at all easy to decide what stays and what goes. Especially when I gotta account for the simple fact that most of my party can't carry all that much. Me, I'm fine lugging a sixty-kilo kit on a twenty-klick march. I won't enjoy it, and I'll sleep like a log when its done, but I can do it day after day without complaining too too much.

Course that's the weight of the full kit, including guns, ammo, armour and the works. If we're just talking luggage, that'll be forty-five kilos at most, though I'd be more comfortable carrying no more than thirty. Chrissy though? Even unburdened, I don't think she can walk twenty klicks without rest. At least her boots are broken in, so there's that I guess. Can't even let Cowie carry her if she gets tired, because apparently, he's even less able to move about the Deadlands than the rest of us. The marshy swamp makes for unsure footing, and while that means a slip and a fall for us two-legged humans, a four-legged bull like Cowie is liable to break a leg if he takes a spill and teeters over in the wrong direction. He's also gotta watch for mud sucking his hoof right in and shucking a shoe or pulling his tendons the wrong way if he gets real stuck. Not to mention all the changes in depth we might come across, as you could be wading through ankle high water and step off into the abyss without any warning. All that stagnant water do be deceptively still, so best to go slow and check your footing with each and every step. Add in health hazards like foot rot, trench hoof, leeches, parasites, insects, and general issues with bloat from drinking swamp water, the four Nations have mostly sworn off bringing pack animals out on patrol.

Wouldn't be no problem bringing the wagon if we stuck to the beaten track, as they do have roads in the Deadlands, but we hunting Soulless who don't really congregate in trafficked areas. Not unless they're about to attack, so I'm left with the hard choice of whether I ought to leave Cowie and Chrissy behind with the kiccaws here in Stillwater even though there ain't no one I can trust to watch her.

Best case scenario would be to convince Astrid to stay behind with them. Can't imagine she'd fare any better than Chrissy out there. Girlie's got the heart for adventure, but she's a house mouse in every sense of the words, one who ain't at all nimble or athletic. Got bit by the travel bug through, so she won't take it well if I ask her to stay behind, as she's a firebrand with a hair-trigger of a temper if there ever was one. Chrissy won't give up easy either, as she's stubborn as her mama and every bit as fierce, so I suppose I could bring them both out for a day or three then raise the issue once they're all trekked out.

Then there's Harald. Everything I said about Astrid applies to him as well. Fact is, I'll have to keep an even closer eye on him, because at least I can count on Astrid to watch where she's going. With Harald, he's liable to have his head in the clouds or nose in a book, so much so that I might have to leash him to keep him from wandering off. At least Gunnar's got some experience out on the open Frontier, though a lot of this is gonna be new to him too. Doubt he can carry a sixty-kilo kit either, so I've settled for forty-five max for him, while everyone else gets a thirty-kilo kit besides Elodie.

Who, in a strange twist of fate, seems like the only person I can count on in this motley crew I've stumbled into. Not only do I plan on giving her a full kit, she's the first to return from her errand exclaiming she finished her tests and got authorization to enter the Deadlands legit. Even has the papers to prove it, which throws me for a loop as she hands it over with both hands, showing that she's not only paying attention to what I do, she's also copying me just because. Which is kinda adorable, but I'm still surprised she managed to get authorized all by her lonesome. The Métis got a reputation for being friendly and laid back, but I didn't know they'd be that laid back. Must be all the peace pipes they be smoking or something, because I was expecting at least a question or three from someone with authority who wants to know what we up to. Instead, they spent all of thirty minutes with Elodie before sending her off with everything she'd need to get past the north gate.

No idea how the warlike, scalp taking, crow-counting First Nations tribes turned into a bunch of hippy dippy, peace-loving, gun-restricting, health care giving Métis. Might've been the cold I suspect, or all the French influence, as they do be a laid back and easy-going bunch. You know how them Parisians be, with their long lunches, short workdays, and lazy afternoons spent at cafés smoking and sipping expresso before heading home for two glasses of wine with their cheese and baguette dinner.

…Okay, I'll be honest. I don't know any Frenchies. Most of what I do know is what I hear from others, like Luthor and Aaron who've never had anything nice to say about the French. Not in a racist tirade sort of way, as it's more along the lines of insulting the opposing team during a football match. The game you play with your feet, as opposed to American football where you mostly use your hands. Never understood that either, but ain't all that important in the grand scheme of things.

What is important is that after trimming all the fat and packing only the bare necessities, I think I got our kits down to a manageable size. Then comes the first bump in the road, as I have everyone strap in and wander about to see if they can handle the load. The issue comes from the most unlikely member of the party no less, as Elodie kneels down in the dirt and struggles to lift her sixty-kilo kit up off the ground. After straining for all of two seconds, she lets out a big huff and hits me with a pout. "It is too heavy," she says while popping a squat, tugging at the straps digging into her tanned shoulders to loosen them just a bit.

Which don't make no sense. She put her bare foot through a grown man's chest and bent a steel link on an anti-magic manacle with her fingers. That takes some real muscle, so even if her arm strength ain't as far along, lifting a big old knapsack should be well within her wheelhouse. It's got straps and buckles and everything to evenly distribute the weight around your upper body, so the fact that she can't even stand up is odd. "You sure?" I ask, heading over to test the weight myself even though it just came off the scale. "Might be you can do it once you stand up. Here, lemme help."

With my assistance, Elodie manages to get her legs up from underneath her, but soon as I let go of the pack, she sags beneath the weight and goes back to ground like a doe that don't know how to walk just yet. "Yes, I am sure," she exclaims, hitting me with an even sadder pout that makes her emerald, triangular whisker-marks all come together. "This is too heavy Howie."

"But… aren't you super strong?"

"Non," she replies, wiggling out of the straps in a fit of pique before attacking the buckle around her waist. Pointing at Astrid who's struggling under her thirty-kilo kit, Elodie asks, "Maybe I can carry that much?"

So with nothing for it, I have Elodie give Astrid's pack a try, and the green-haired girlie proves she's game for it, but not a whole lot more judging by her shaky gait as she moves about to test things out. Astrid and Harald didn't look much better, while Gunnar is visibly red in the face despite moving about at a slow and sedate pace, so I revise my expectations and set to cutting everyone's kits down by another 25%. I can't have them struggling to move under weight, because we might have to hotfoot it out of a pinch. Even if all goes well, I can't have them exhausted from just marching about, to say nothing of the fact that Chrissy didn't even care to try lifting her kit after giving it a test tug.

Course, this is where Luthor chimes in, after he done let me make all the mistakes. "Right enough," he says, speaking around his pipe from his seat on cabin porch while gesturing at all of our luggage. "First off, you lot won't be needin' all them guns." Which sounds like blasphemy if I ever heard it, and I suppose my expression shows it as Luthor chuckles and shakes his head. "Yer mad as a box of frogs if that's what ye carry in the Badlands, laddie. Liable to bring down every bug in a day's travel every time you fire a shot." Patting Cowie's flank who's curled up in his lap, Luthor continues, "Might be you got away with it thanks to yer better half here, but out in the Deadlands? Speed is a luxury and silence golden, so stow yer noisemakers and cut yer ammo reserves down by three-quarters for a start."

That ain't just blasphemy. It's heresy of the highest order, and I can't believe I'm hearing it. Luthor don't care for my offended sensibilities though, as he presses onwards while nodding at Elodie. "Another thing. Listen to yer teammates when they tell ye something. If ye canna trust her at her word when she says something's too heavy, then you got nae place bringing her into the Deadlands." Shaking his head before I can interject, he adds, "I know what you're thinkin' laddie. You seen her do some feats of strength, so ye figure her for a strapping young Transmuter, one stronger than she looks. That's not how their Native magics work though, so yer barking up the wrong tree."

Glancing at Elodie, who's still soldiering along under the thirty-kilo kit and looking mighty flustered while doing it, and I figure now ain't the time to be polite. "So how does it work?" I ask, helping Elodie out from under her kit and handing her a clean kerchief to mop her brow with.

Elodie blinks and tilts her head while resting her cheek on the kerchief and my hand under it. After thinking it through for a hot minute, she declares in full confidence, "I do not know."

Which is real charming, but not all that helpful, so I look to Luthor for an explanation. "Best I understand it is they borrow aspects from their totems," he says with another knowing smile I ignore. "Allows fer a brief surge of strength, speed, agility or that sort of thing, for a duration counted in seconds rather than minutes and only a handful of times a day." Both of us hold up a finger to keep Elodie from telling us exactly how long and how often she can keep the boost up, because again, that's the sort of information you want to keep close to the vest. Good to see Luthor's already figured out how to handle Elodie, though it's only to be expected. He's been working with Edward for the better part of two decades now, so he understands how Innates can be quirky at times.

According to Luthor, this sort of borrowing goes beyond raw physical attributes. Way I figure it, with some practice, Elodie could even draw on a kiccaw's night vision or a marty's tremoursense while still human, though the girlie blinks to hear it. Makes me a little sad to know she ain't no hulking brute of a woman packed into a slender frame, but I ain't gonna lie and say it comes as a relief to know she won't forget her strength and accidentally crush me in a hug or something. Means that even though she's fairly strong and athletic, her base attributes are more focused on speed and endurance as opposed to raw strength. She can run circles around me for hours on end as long as she's unburdened, but she won't be able to carry as much as I can and keep on trucking under weight.

And here I was thinking she had the makings of a veteran soldier just like her daddy, or a varsity athlete at the very least. Seems like I was overoptimistic, as outside of a handful of minutes every day, Elodie is just the energetic, able-bodied young girlie she appears to be. A greedy one at that, as she's milking this moment for everything it's worth by leaving her dainty head in the palm of my hand with only a kerchief in between. I let her have this though, if only as an apology for expecting so much and trying to push her beyond her limits. Luthor's right, because even though we ain't a real crew, we're a crew for the duration of this trip, so I gotta learn to listen to what she's got to say.

That's a bad habit of mine, always wanting to do things my way and verify facts for myself. Trust, but verify, except I done forgot the part about how that's just to build trust. Sometimes, all you can do is go on someone's word, especially in the heat of the moment. Can't be second guessing if someone says they spotted something I didn't catch, or count their bullets if they say they running low.

So I get to work lightening everyone's load while taking Luthor's advice. Won't need so much food either, because contrary to the name, there's plenty of foraging to be found in the Deadlands. Or water, as a portable or even makeshift filter will provide all the water we'll need out on the trail. On top of all that, I ditch all my 7.62 ammo, because Luthor won't let me bring the Dragunov in, and even makes me put aside the Nagas and my Judges because, and I quote, "If'n ye findin' yerself needin' those noisy handcannons out there, then that means I'd've done a bodge job, so rest easy laddie."

Even the leather bedrolls I specifically packed for my guests gotta go, and instead, Luthor brings me and Elodie to the quartermaster so we can requisition six sets of hammocks and netting. Soon as we step into the warehouse, the grizzled quartermaster greets us with a faint grimace and polite indifference, and after telling the man what we need, Luthor strides right on past the front desk and over to a row of polearms leaning in their stands. "Pick somethin' out for yerselves," he says, gesturing at said polearms. "Saw how sad you was when I made you pack away your precious guns, so this ought to cheer you up some."

Not really, as I still think melee is fun but a fool's game. "I got my hatchet," I say, and even pull out some of the cable wrapped around my right forearm to show it off a bit. "This too. Got a weight to attach to the end of it for some real oomph, so it should crack some skulls real nice." Least I hope so, because I was banking on the Big Stick up top of my wagon to do a whole lot of work, to say nothing of the fancy new gadget I done worked up and won't get a chance to use seeing how it's hardly mobile.

Or cost-effective. Sure looks like it'll be fun though, so there's that, but I suppose I'll have to wait until I'm back in the badlands to give her a test whirl.

"You ever fought with a flail like that?" Luthor asks. "In a proper dust up mind you, with soldiers at your side who you didn't clip while waving that thing all about like yer daddy's belt?" He don't even need an answer, as he can read it off of my face. "Right then, you put that away and pick yourself a real weapon, not some wee choppa or flogga ye liable to brain me with." Glancing at the rack, he grabs a short and serviceable boar spear and gives it a practised twirl before handing it over. "Try that out fer size. Or maybe a proper handaxe if ye got yer heart set on hackin' and slashin'."

The spear feels weird in my hands, even the prosthetic one as I ain't got no Scripted Invocations for fighting with weapon in hand. I should fix that, as there may come a day when I won't have my Wildshape available and will need to smash or stab something. "I dunno," I drawl, doing what I can to get a feel for the weapon in the close confines of the warehouse while Elodie wanders about with eyes wide open and hands politely tucked behind her back. "Can't I just stick a bayonet on the end of my rifle and call it a day?"

"Which one?" Luthor asks. "That toy musket you got there on your shoulder, or the gilded monstrosity ye have tucked into yer pack that costs more than me whole bloody pension?" Shaking his head, he says, "The Ranger Repeater is too short for a proper bayonet, and the Nanfoodle too expensive and delicate to be using fer this sort of work." Seeing how I'm not liking the spear, he hands me a long-handled axe with a palm sized blade on one end, a flat, compact, circular face on the other, and a nasty spike up top alongside the abundance of reach and power the long polearm provides. "Ye dinna want to get in too close to the Soulless or their puppets," he explains. "An Orc or Bug? They'll flinch when you hit them hard enough, but the Soulless will shake off a direct blow with nary a missed step and got strength enough in them bones to tear ye limb from limb."

If that's the case, then I should bring more ammo, but that's a no go in his book, because the amount of ammo you need to bring down a Zombie ain't worth the extra weight. Especially since Zombies never travel in groups of less than twenty, and more if they got a Ghoul or Wight to command them. As for their durability, that's largely why he had me leave the Judges, as standard Blastguns won't do much besides season them with kinetic shot unless I barrel stuff them in the head. The Whumper with a Compressor will do fine work though, except I passed those over to Gunnar and Astrid since they're fairly simple weapons that won't get bogged down by muck and mud like a semi-automatic weapon would.

Still a last resort though, as the Whumpers do be loud as sin and will draw in all manner of Soulless. As Luthor explains it, most are also brainless, in that they just sorta stand around and do nothing until directed to, but Mimics only got so much time and attention to spare for their minions. While every Zombie, Ghoul, and Wight has at least a sliver of Mimic Spirit residing within, they operate on the doctrine of less is more. Less spirit per body means more bodies to flood the Deadlands with, and the Soulless do like their hordes. Bog you down in bodies that can do the bare minimum before hitting you hard and fast with a handful of elites, the most promising bodies within which the bulk of the Mimic's Spirit resides.

That's why you gotta go quiet, because most of the time, the Abby you come across are dumb as a doornail and easy enough to handle in small numbers. Soon as they hear a gunshot though, they'll come wandering in from all directions under the guidance of any Mimics who happen to be nearby. That changes the dynamic, because a guided Zombie is worlds apart from a mindless one, and Luthor says I'll just have to experience the difference for myself.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

This right here is also a big reason why the rumors of a Synapse being sighted in the area have been so hard to disprove. Mimics themselves act like a Synapse to their mindless, satellite Abby, so it's hard to say if it's one or the other. Thing is, a Synapse wouldn't just command all Abby in the area, it would allow them to share senses and knowledge too, meaning what one Zombie, Ghoul, or Wight knows, the rest know too. All you need is one powerful Wight Lord added to the mix, and all of a sudden you got Spellslinging Zombies that move and fight like veterans of a thousand battles.

Hence why the Soulless are so dangerous, even more so than Gobbos or Ferals. Once a Synapse shows up, even their weakest, cheapest Abby becomes a force to be reckoned with, while their more powerful ones become that much scarier.

I'll say this much though. Ain't even stepped foot into the Deadlands and already my dreams of striking it rich are dwindling away before the harsh realities unfolding before me. No wagon, no pack animals, not even a Floating Disc sled to help carry my gear and catch, because Floating Discs don't float over water which constitutes like 90% of the Deadlands. Means I can't bring my giant pressure cooker to render Abby corpses on the go, so how's am I supposed to make any money out here? Kill a bunch of Zombies, then settle in for a cookout right then and there I suppose. Problem with that is if some Mimic notices my presence and rings me in with bodies while I'm doing my thing before pressing the attack. Haven't even fought a battle yet, and I'm seeing problems left, right, and centre, so it might be the only money I make out here is the 10 large I'm getting from Serbian Luka.

Which ain't nothing, assuming him and the Manfredis both are true to their word and leave me breathing after the handoff. They was real secretive about what was in them packages, to the point where they were explicit about not opening them up or tampering with them in any manner. That sort of caution makes me think they don't want no one knowing what they been up to, and a secret ain't a secret if more than one person knows it.

The Serbs and the Manfredis are stuck in the same boat, so they can trust each other to keep mum about it, but what about their reluctant delivery man? Sure, they left Dakota Slim breathing after he brung out a package last year, but far as I can tell, he was the first and only one to do it. More to the point, he was more than willing to do it all over again, which I can't say will be the same for me. If the only money I can make up this way is mob money, then I'll have a hell of a time trying to explain to the IRS how I got all that cash to pay for tall towers and sturdy walls over by my daddy's Quay.

Then again… do I still have to pay taxes if I go Independent? Because if I don't, then that's even more reason to do it. While I ain't against the concept of taxes in general, I don't much care to see my money go into the pockets of worthless fat cats like Alderman Milton.

In the end, I settle for a shorter, lighter version of the weapon Luthor picked out for me, one about half the size of the polearm, and he nods to see it. "Smart as a button," he says with a wolfish smile, grabbing a twin of the weapon I've picked and putting it through its paces with one hand. "Most see an axe as a sharp hammer, all muscle and no thought. You know better though, don't ye? In the right hands, the axe is a weapon of finesse and precision, so heavier is nae always better." Tossing me the extra weapon, he says, "Best to carry a backup in case the blade chips or cracks."

As for Elodie, I figured her for a quarterstaff like her daddy, but I guess she don't know the Spell he uses to turn a twig into a giant honking tree trunk of a weapon. Instead, she spends some time looking over the polearms before picking a billhook. It's similar to a glaive like Aaron's, except instead of curving backwards, the sharp edge curves inwards to form a sharpened hook that's reminiscent of a diamondclaw's talon. She don't do no twirls or nothing, just holds it like a walking staff, but Luthor just nods without saying a thing. For her backup, Elodie grabs a handaxe that's only a little bigger than my hatchet, albeit with a wicked curve to the blade and spike on the back that makes it look far more threatening. She also grabs a sling and a pouch of lead shot which she ties off onto her belt like a practised pro, impressing me and Luthor both. Lotta people look down on slings, but David and Goliath wasn't some stand out story about the little guy beating a big old bully. It was the very logical conclusion of what happens when someone flings a stone at your head. Don't matter how big and strong you might be. A rock to the head will crack your skull clean open, and a sling can deliver said rocks with frightening speed and accuracy.

Both of which Elodie showcases when Luthor brings her over to the shooting range to see what she can do. Knocks a can clean off a fencepost from 40 meters away on her first shot, then does it twice more before clipping the post and knocking the can off all the same. For funsies, I give it a try and send a stone whizzing past my target, albeit at speeds that feel oh so satisfying to deliver. I don't go back for a sling though, because worst comes to worst, I can sling a Bolt the old-fashioned way and do more or less the same. Well… maybe. Maybe not, but either way, I'd rather carry an extra pouch of bullets over a pouch of lead shot, so no sling for me.

With our new weapons picked out, we head back to the rest of the group with the hammocks and a few extra short spears for the rest of them. All courtesy of the British Government, as Edward got cart blank to requisition whatever he pleases so long as he don't cross the line. A couple weapons won't even make for a rounding error on the Knight Protectorate's bottom line, but even then, I'm feeling mighty grateful for the gifts. Which I'll make known once Edward's got a second. Came back from his meeting with Knight Commander Blythe while we was picking up our gear, and he's in high spirits as he sings along to Chrissy's accompaniment of "I'm Still Standing", by Sir Elton John. In full-on performance mode mind you, as she's using Bardcraft to change the sound of her fiddle to be more like a guitar, while Aaron bangs out a beat on the porch handrail using the same Cantrip.

Edward's got a lovely voice to match it too, and having heard him sing this song before, it's become the standard for every other singer to match. Aunty Ray even says it's pretty close to the original, though Edward would always modestly claim he was no match for the real deal. Still good enough for me, as I clap along while watching him belt his heart out and bring me more than a decade back into the past. Time was the only entertainment we had was singing around the campfire, so I got a lot of memories that have to do with this sort of thing. Edward, Uncle Raleigh, Aunty Ray, and even Marcus and Tim would take turns singing the greatest hits of the 70's and 80's, while I sat with Chrissy, Tina, and all the other kids to listen and watch.

Those days are long behind us now, for more reasons than one. Most them folks are dead or gone, and now precious few remain. Though the circumstances that forced me to come all this way ain't in no way ideal, I'm glad I made the trip and got to see Edward, Aaron, and Luthor again.

"Howard!" Edward says, beaming as he waves me over at the end of the song. "Come, we must have a duet! Christine, 'California Dreaming' if you please."

Of course, Chrissy is all too happy to provide, and I sing backup for Edward for a few songs more while Luthor and Aaron both take their turns too, but Astrid balks when presented with the opportunity while Harald and Gunnar are both busy with their books and papers. At some point, I break away to cook us up some dinner using all the perishable foodstuffs I was planning to bring along in the wagon's Freeze-box. A bit of Luisiana Gumbo like how Marcus used to make it, plus cornbread and gravy to go along with, and an assortment of vegetables just because. It's a fine meal full of smiles and laughter as Edward regales us with tales of his exploits while drawing out all the details of what I been up to.

You know. Minus falling afoul of pedophile rapists, drug and explosives kingpins, mining Mafiosos, and the like. So not much if I'm being honest, nothing besides my run in with the Qin this last winter at least.

"Dreadful business, that," Edward says, once I'm done sharing all the details. "The Qin want you dragged back in chains or sipping from their teat, whereas the Americans won't lift a finger to shelter you when they could profit from your sale instead. Hardly unexpected from the mercenary Americans, but I must say I'm impressed by the lengths the Qin have gone to just to secure you as one of their own. All this fuss for the Firstborn. Makes one wonder if the British should extend an olive branch as it were, take you in ourselves for Queen and Country."

Aaron and Luthor both give me a look that says I need to tread lightly, because Edward takes this sort of thing seriously. So rather than crack a joke like I normally would, I smile, bow my head a bit, and say, "I'm hardly worth the effort for anyone besides the Qin. You know how they are, all too happy to fall in line like docile little sheep. Soon as one hops the gate though, then they gotta be brought back into the fold or put down hard, because you can't have them other sheep thinkin' they can run free too."

"How right you are, Howard. That's what makes you and your father such exemplary examples, having overcome your intrinsic submissive natures." Normally, those would be fighting words, but Edward don't mean nothing ugly by it. His education was… well, let's just say the Elton household is rather anachronistic to the modern world, and their way of upbringing reflects that. He's a big believer in bloodlines and how they carry traits like courage, intellect, and beauty. Not genetics in the modern sense, but literal noble blood vs 'tainted' lineages and all that. It ain't ugly like how the Nazi's wanted to wipe out certain races, but more along the lines of believing one man can be superior to another due to blood and blood alone.

Ain't his fault, as he is a product of his upbringing and won't be told otherwise, same as he won't hear about how a kiccaw ain't a roundtail finch. That's why I don't hold nothing against him as he goes off on a tangent about the submissive Qin. "I'm told that His Eternal Majesty was positively green with envy over how fiercely loyal the Qin were to their Immortal Monarch," he says, with a look of pure adoration for a man he ain't ever met. "Like they were born to kneel in service to their Emperor, which might well be the truth considering how the old chap had four millennia to indoctrinate his isolated peoples." Gesturing at himself in a superior manner, he adds, "The British would never have stood for that sort of nonsense of course. While we serve King and country, the King in turn serves his people. Or Queen rather, with Her Royal Highness having done a bang-up job since she took the throne following that ugliness with the late King George, may he rest in peace."

Namely Edward's granddaddy taking the King hostage and going on a rampage through all of London for the better part of a week, all because he thought his King had been deposed by the government. Man wasn't in his right mind, as His Eternal Majesty Old Bloody Bill had just died, then his heir, King George proclaimed that the Royal Family would be stepping back out of the limelight to leave things in the hands of the democratically elected Parliament.

"Alas," Edward continues, pretending to inspect his talons while watching me close for my reaction. "So long as the Qin Republic holds the Forbidden City and the Gate within it, then they hold the upper hand here on the Frontier. With the keys to the kingdom as it were, they are free to go about their extorting ways and dress it all up in robes of silk so that we have no choice but to swallow our pride and accept these grave insults to our honour and dignity." Giving a little huff, he adds, "Or so I'm told. Personally, I'm of the opinion that their Council of Elders is drunk on power and could use a proper culling to keep the survivors in line, but Parliament won't hear anything of it. Too afraid that word will get back to the mainland and lead to the Republic denying the second wave of British settlers' entry to the Frontier."

Which is odd considering he still believes this is Britain, or maybe he considers claimed territory as part of Britain all the same. That said, tempting as it is to drop Elder Chang Sang's name here and now to give Edward someone to fixate on, that ain't something a friend would do. Not just because he could get in trouble for it, but also because he might not survive the attempt on an Elder's life. Dismissive of the Qin though I may be, the Arcane Grimoire Jinfeng handed over has given me a lot of food for thought regarding their strength. If they got the juice to make an Artifact like the Grimoire, then they might well be hiding more strength than I realized. Even if Edward is one of if not the most powerful Spellslinger on the Frontier, that don't make him a one-man army. Makes him dangerous as all hell, but no man is an island, not even Lord Edward Elton of Chelveston.

Besides, all these years I've been of the opinion that my mother's brother was full of hot air, what with him wearing Grandmagus pins long before the Frontier could sustain even Fourth Order Spells, much less Sixth. Lately though? I've been rethinking my stance on the issue after reading some of his notes, and his insight is difficult to follow, but astounding once you unravel the meaning behind his terse and frankly bare bones explanations. It's not that he don't make sense, but rather he leaves out pertinent details because they're all too obvious to bother noting down, so to the layman it looks like leaps of logic when instead it's a logical and well-structured explanation that leaves you to connect the dots yourself.

Meaning that my mother's brother knows his stuff. While I hesitate to say he's on the level with the Marshal, he do seem like someone who could have a proper conversation with a real Grandmagus. Besides, it's not like there's no basis for knowing Spells beyond your capabilities. My Mama had formulas for Fourth Order Spells all memorized and ready to go the day she stepped through the Gate. What if her brother was two steps ahead and had formulas up to Sixth Order? Plus, there's the Grimoire to consider, as Mr. Thornwick said that the Hihiirokane page inside the Grimoire might well have come from the old world and made its way onto the Frontier by piggybacking inside of someone's skull.

Like my mother's brother's skull maybe. Might be how he got those Sixth Order Spell Formulas even, as those tend to take up multiple textbooks to explain, since it's technically not just a single mathematical formula, but dozens of them working in tandem to create the necessary Spell Structure depending on countless variables at the time of Preparation.

Does beg the question as to why he passed the Arcane Grimoire over to me. I even considered the possibility that my Mama had a Hihiirokane page stuck inside her head too, but I figured she didn't. For one, she would've told my daddy, who probably would've handed it over to the Republic despite not caring much for their policies. Even if that wasn't the case, I can't imagine the Qin knowing as much and just leaving so valuable a resource buried in the ground atop a mesa they most certainly know how to access.

To get back to the matter at hand, what I'm saying is that the Qin got a whole lot more juice than I once gave them credit for. Who knows how Edward would measure up against my mother's brother in a straight up fight, and while I know he'd be happy to kill Elder Chang Sang and anyone who gets in his way, Edward's got enough people going around and treating him like a living weapon. To me, he's family, and you don't point family at a dangerous enemy and leave him to fight your battles by his lonesome.

So instead of giving him a name like he's hoping, I smile a cold smile that don't reach my eyes. "I agree," I say, and Edward beams to hear it. "The Council of Elders got a fair few too many, but that's their cross to bear. Not mine, and not yours Edward. Best we stay out of it and let them run themselves aground trying to pilot their ship every which way except straight ahead."

"An apt metaphor, Howard," Edward replies, giving me a proud smile as he takes in the man that I've become. "I was concerned with how often the papers brought up your lack of education, but I never should have paid those publications any mind. Honestly, the state of journalism in the modern era is absolutely wretched, but all things considered, you've done rather well for yourself under Ming and Rachel's tutelage."

"Really? You think Cambridge would take me in?"

Edward scoffs, just as I knew he would. "Cambridge would jump at the opportunity to offer Cowan a scholarship," he replies, gesturing at Cowie with that air of smug superiority he does so well. "A fine institution for clever engineers and mathematicians, but you Howard? You would be far better suited for an Oxford education, where they educate the finest statesmen, poets, and kings. At the very least, you should aspire to the Royal Military Academy, where noble sons and daughters learn how to properly serve Queen and Country on battlefields and banquets alike. Such is the way of the general and diplomat, though I fear you would make for a poor diplomat."

"You and me both."

Edward laughs to hear it, and I get the feeling he hasn't had anyone treat him so familiarly in a long time. "Quite right," he says, beaming from ear to ear as he comes to his feet. "Now, as delightful as this has been, we all have an early morning, so it's best we retire early." The night is still young, but Edward is nothing if not a creature of habit when he's not out in the field, so I bid him goodnight as he retires to his cabin while I bring everyone over to the bunkhouse barracks Aaron arranged for us. There are other British soldiers staying inside, but there's a section that's been cordoned off just for us with a partition in place to allow the women some much-needed privacy. As for me, I take a seat on the bunk beside Harald and Gunnars to join them in a bit of late-night reading as I get to rearranging my Prepared Spells to better suit my needs.

Detect Abby, Detect Magic, Misty Step, and Mage Armour are all sticking around like usual. Now that I know it's safe to do so, I add Fireball back into the mix in place of Spike Growth which ain't all that useful since the Soulless don't move all that fast or bleed. On Luthor's advice, I also do away with Settle in Shadows, because Soulless don't rely on their eyes to spot you. Or their ears, noses, or any other physical sense, as they rely on otherworldly senses to detect what's going on around them. Makes sense seeing how a good chunk of Soulless are rotting corpse puppets, but that means Settle In Shadows won't do nothing to hide me from them.

Also means the fact that sound don't travel in a swamp don't work in my favour either. Ain't just the sound of Aetherarm fire that draws them in, but the use of it, as that loudness extends into the Metaphysical world, unless the weapon be Metamagicked with Silence. A physical silencer won't help in that regard, which is why I'm only bringing in the Silenced Shortsword and every British soldier and Knight carries a Silenced El-minister.

Problem is, without Settle in Shadows, I don't got a stealth Spell, or a reliable exit Spell since Jump and Expeditious Retreat won't do nothing to keep me from slipping or sinking in swampy marshland. So I do away with those too, and put Levitate in to make up for it, as there are plenty of trees I can climb to get away from them rambling, shambling Abby.

To round out current my Spell list, I got Entangle, Grease, Hunter's Mark, Force Barrier, Spiritual Weapon, and Mental Fortress, but I'm not loving the selection. If I'm expecting to keep Mental Fortress up, then Entangle and Force Barrier are both no good since they all require Concentration. While those two Spells might keep a crowd of Zombies or Ghouls at bay, I can't afford to drop Mental Fortress if there's a Mimic around just waiting to hit me with an Enchantment. More to the point, the Soulless ain't big on ranged attacks, nor will I be using many of them, so Force Barrier and Entangle are kinda redundant.

So is Grease now that I think about it, as I'll need flat, dry ground and moving Abby to make use of it, so all three Spells go the way of the dodo. That's also why I don't have Shield prepped, as guarding my mind takes precedence over guarding my body. As for Hunter's Mark? While it too requires Concentration, it'll also let me hurt any Mimics hiding inside of a flesh suit. Not so useful if it's only a scant shard of a Mimic inside of a Zombie, but super useful if it's the lion's share of the Spirit is hiding inside of a powerful Ghoul, Wight, or Wight Lord. Might well be worth the trade off, so even though I still think Hunter's Mark ain't all that useful, I'll keep it around all the same. As for my three empty Spell Slots, I got a fair few options in mind, but eventually I settle on Conjure Weapon and Conjure Armour before leaving my last spot free for a Spell I been trying to learn. One I'll likely need to get the packages out of the Deadlands without relying on Edward's goodwill, or Elodie's ability to Wildshape and blend in with the surroundings.

So I do some extra studying, staying up longer than I should since I don't need a full eight to replenish my Aether reserves. Not the best practice, going into the Deadlands on less than a full night's of sleep, but I figure a solid six hours of uninterrupted sleep is good enough for tonight.

And it is, as I wake up bright and early the next morning and head out to cook us up some breakfast. While I'm doing that, the rest of our party files out to greet me, with Edward, Aaron, and Luthor all showing up soon after I'm set up, and the others coming in after I'm done cooking and have settled in to eat. Nudging me with an elbow, Luthor nods towards Chrissy who's marching over with her big, hoopy earrings on and pack in hand, albeit with the addition of her fiddle in its case sitting up top. Giving me a knowing look, Luthor signals me to get right on that, because like he said, we can't be carrying no dead weight out into the Deadlands.

Loathe as I am to disappoint Chrissy, I take a seat beside her once everyone's got a plate of beans and toast. "Chrissy," I begin, giving the fiddle up top of her pack a gentle tap. "How about we keep this in the wagon? Wouldn't want it to get wet or broken while we travelling through the swamp, right?"

Chrissy doesn't respond right away, just looks at me from over her plate. "No music?" she asks, her eyes going wide and sad without changing her expression one bit.

"Best not to," I say, striving to stay strong before her sad, violet gaze. "It'll just be extra weight to carry while we out and about all day. Why don't I lock it up safe and sound in the wagon for you?" I reach for the fiddle, but before I even lay hand on the case, Chrissy's hand reaches out to cover it up. "C'mon now Chrissy," I say, at a loss on what to do now.

"Howard, if I might interject?" Looking more concerned than I've ever seen him, Edward dabs at his lips with a spotless white handkerchief in a surprisingly dainty fashion given the giant honking knives on the ends of his fingertips. "It's only a fiddle. How much could it possibly weigh? Four, five-hundred grams at most? Be reasonable. It's not as if we won't have time for a song or three while taking shelter in a waystation."

"Aye laddie," Luthor says, struggling to hide his smile as he does. "Have a heart. It's just a fiddle. Tell you what Princess, I've got a strap here we can fix to the case so you can carry it around like a purse." Producing said strap before my disbelieving eyes, Luthor shuffles over and accepts the fiddle case and all from Chrissy who's still watching me with a guarded look.

Can't help but laugh to see it, because Luthor got me good. "You both right," I say, accepting that I've lost this round. "Don't know what I was thinking. Couldn't see the forest for the trees. My bad." While Luthor looks pleased as peach to have Chrissy's favour here and now, I give him a look that says I'll get him back for this, and he grins to see it.

This right here? This is just how it is with family, because don't no one know how to pull your leg better than those who love you best.

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