"They're lovely. You're transported to an impossible place, and you see the most amazing things... We can share a few drops after Edward's graduation, how's that?"

"Sure!"

"That's settled, then. Until then, would you like me to teach you Pachisi?"

"I'd be delighted!"

She teaches him how to play Pachisi.

After a few hours of this and similar pursuits, there's a heavy knock on the door. "Open in the name of the law!" barks a gruff voice.

The Singer sighs. "I suppose that's a draw on this round. Don't stay away too long, alright? I can't be worrying about someone, it'll ruin my reputation as a coldhearted bitch."

"I'll do my best!" he promises.

"I said-" continues the voice, banging on the door some more.

The Singer opens the door. "Heard you the first time. He's in here."

"Your cooperation is appreciated," the constable says suspiciously. "You there! Come with me, you're under arrest."

"All right."

Off he goes.

Off he goes! He's transported by dirigible to a vast stalactite above the city and shown to his cell. This cell will be his home for the time he is here; it contains a cot, a hole in the ground, and not much else.

There's also a common area, where he can associate with other criminals.

There's also a large and mostly unexplored system of tunnels. He's warned to stay out of them if he prefers to live out his sentence.

Well, he is immediately sorely tempted to go poke around the tunnels, but he has a job to do and he should probably take care of that first. Who's he supposed to murder again? Maybe if he hangs around the common area he'll find them there eventually.

From conversations overheard in the common room, the Wretched Recidivist apparently stays in his cell most of the time, hoping to pass his brief sentence uneventfully. He comes out for meals, and not much else. His cell is actually fairly nearby, if an agent of the Provocateuse would like to pay him a visit.

He would, as a matter of fact!

The Recidivist's cell is unguarded. "What do you want?" he asks, wretchedly.

"Hello," he says, grinning. "I'm here to murder you."

He blinks a couple of times, then picks up a shiv and launches himself at his prospective murderer.

Oh, what fun! Violence!

Violence!

It's not very prolonged violence; the Wretched Recidivist hasn't got the strength to defeat someone with his opponent's strength and speed, and the shiv is no advantage at all once it's in his opponent's hand. In short order, he lies on the floor, blood gurgling from several stab wounds, and his killer got a free shiv out of it.

He saunters away humming to himself and licking blood off his fingers.

Nobody's going to stop him.

That's one goal accomplished. Does he have any ideas on how to approach the second?

Well, he could always go wander around the tunnels. Maybe the reason you're not supposed to do that is that somebody might stab you with a giant bat tooth and eat your face.

It turns out that's exactly why you're not supposed to wander the tunnels. From the shadows springs a man with scars all over his face, holding a fang like a dagger.

He's got a shiv and a lot of enthusiasm! Let's see who wins!

The Snuffer is strong, and fast, and vicious. But it's also used to facing only those foolish enough to enter its tunnels. Foolishness usually correlates with overconfidence, but this new foe seems to actually know what he's doing. Which is a problem, because the Snuffer really wants his face. It's such a good face!

It lunges and tries to put the Vake-tooth through his chest! If it overextends itself in the process, well, that won't matter because the boy will be dead and it will have his face.

The boy, unfortunately, is quicker than that.

Instead of his face, would the Snuffer like to trade its Vake-tooth for this lovely shiv? Too late, the deal has already been struck. The tooth is in the boy's hand and the shiv is somewhere in the Snuffer's middle bits.

The Snuffer evaluates the situation. Tooth: gone. Wounds: gaping. Shiv: embedded in its sternum.

It reluctantly scarpers.