Epilogue

Agnes Monroe carefully removed her clothes.

She folded her pants and shirt. Coiled her leather belt and jammed it into the heel of one of her boots. There was a small recess along the wall of the canal, and she shoved the dry clothing inside the nook for later. It was dark out. All the lights in this section of the canal were broken, casting a shadow the length of several ships. City workers were regularly assigned to replace the lights—and were surprised when they found them broken again a few weeks later. It was the kind of peculiarity that made them mutter about curses or vandals, but it was not so dire that it warranted an actual investigation. They'd simply fill out another form and ask someone to replace it again.

In those shadows, Agnes leapt into the canal. The water claimed her like a child returning home. She knifed downward, hands feeling along the wall. She used the subtle grooves to keep herself from floating upward—guiding herself deeper and deeper into the dark instead.

Her hands found a metal wheel. Patiently, she began cranking it. The process took nearly a minute of patient turning. Enough that anyone who had not worked on the docks for years would grow uncomfortable. Nervous that their lungs might actually run out of air. Agnes wasn't afraid.

There was a subtle rumble beneath her hands. She pulled and the wall gave way. Water filled the space instantly. She swam forward, closing the door behind her, and felt the room pressurize. It was still full of water, but a single pull of a nearby lever opened drains at the bottom of the chamber. The small room began to empty of water. Agnes waited until it was no more than a puddle, and then she began turning a second wheel. The inner door opened to an underground.

A lamp glowed at the heart of the space. That central room honeycombed out into smaller quarters. Each one had a defined purpose. She paused to grab one of the spare robes they always kept on hand, then marched across the room. Harlow was still here. Pacing nervously. Their master stood with his back to them, eyes fixed on a map of Kathor.

"Landwin Brood is dead," she announced.

Harlow's eyes darted back and forth. "We'll have a small window. The buildings won't be occupied during a transfer of power. A few days at least."

Their master made no response. Instead, he carefully lit a candle. The flame flickered like a miniature sun in front of him. They watched him step forward, tilting the candle sideways. He pressed the tip to the place on the map where the Brood estate was marked. There was a subtle hiss as the flame went out, but it left the spot blackened.

Then, one by one, he used the still-hot wick of the candle to mark black Xs over twelve other locations on the map. Agnes knew each one. She could picture them in her mind. She'd researched every building. Memorized guard rotations. Assessed weaknesses and written up reports. Every one of those dark marks represented a city defense that was run by the Brood family. The secret pillars on which the rest of Kathor had stood for centuries.

All vulnerable now.

"Well," Agnes said. "What do you think?"

Their master turned.

"Let's gut the rest of them."