"A fine name. Less revealing than my own, certainly... unless someone is already possessed of certain information."

"Indeed."

Once they reach Spite, the Provocateuse leads the Wastelander into an abandoned tenement-house. They ascend several stairs, all the way up to the roof.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" she asks, glancing over the edge.

"Certainly not."

"Good."

She leads her across a tangle of rope bridges, into the depths of the Flit. Eventually they come to the roof of a handsome townhouse, and the Provocateuse picks the lock on the trapdoor leading inside and beckons the Wastelander in.

The Wastelander follows. 

"I do hope that either this place is yours or you're quite confident the owner won't be back soon. If I wake to screaming I shall be cross."

"It's my brother's, but he spends all his time at the University. If he does come around I'll tell him I've got a project in the lab and he shouldn't go in. Which will be true."

"Excellent."

She leads her into a well-appointed laboratory, which has a Correspondence sigil meaning the knowledge that though not everything is in its place, you are home inscribed in a lead plaque hanging on the wall. The persistent smell of burning lead indicates that the lab is usually used for Correspondence-work. She then goes over to a supply closet and retrieves what can only be called a cauldron.

She regards the Wastelander. "You might want to disrobe."

"Naturally." 

She undresses unselfconsciously, though she does steal quite a few glances at the Correspondence sigil. 

The Provocateuse notices the glances. "My brother's handiwork," she says with a mixture of distaste and fondness. "I'm sure it's something insipid, he's never told me what it actually means."

"...Insipid. I suppose I can see that. Or quite powerful, in the right context."

"Well. Such things often are. Are you ready to attempt to retrieve Dr. Vaughan?"

"Indeed."

The Provocateuse positions her over the cauldron and withdraws a ravenglass knife from her pocket.

As promised, there's hardly any pain. A line of stinging heat on the side of her neck, and a strange sensation as the blood rushes out of her. She feels dizzy, for a moment, and then slips into darkness.

On the other side of the darkness is a slow boat, passing a dark beach, on a silent river. She's surrounded by pale, shivering people. At the boat's prow stands a tall, skeletal figure. The Boatman.

"Hi!"

The Boatman turns to look at her. His face is clean white bone, under a simple black hat.

When he sees who addressed him, he- flinches.

"You are not meant to be here," he says, sounding almost afraid.

"Yeah, I know, but unfortunately there's someone I need and I don't have a better way to get her. A Dr. Vaughan?"

A matronly woman adjacent to the Boatman sits up a bit straighter. "Really? What do you need me for?"

"Some Master or other decided to perform horrible experiments on people and as a result I have a patient for you with a most unorthodox case."

"The unorthodox cases are always the most fascinating," Dr. Vaughan says with a gleam in her eye.

"You can't just poach people from my boat," the Boatman says, somewhat indignantly. "This is my domain."

"What's it matter to you how many people are on your boat?"

"The Land Beyond requires an accounting," he says. "Her vitality is gone; the Mountain's light does not touch her. She cannot be returned."

"Oh, I can fix that." 

She starts glowing.