"sdfjhBKLDFK?" says Alice, or someone who is at least partially Alice.

"Uh," says Zaid, or someone who is at least partially Zaid. He somewhat absently lets his hands fall away from their previous locations.

Oh damn, did the thing that just happened to her not just happen to—

"...soooo," he says, "did you just get hit with some kind of alternate universe past life memory where we never dated because you were busy getting kidnapped by slavers from Barbarian Fairyland and I was busy making a deal with the devil for sketchy superpowers?"

...ah. Okay. Cool. Good.

"Yes," she says. "That definitely just happened. Care to speculate about what the fuck?"

"I got nothin."

Slight pause.

"...man, we were in college, both of us. That's weird."

"It's not really the weirdest part."

Snort. "True."

"...man, I remember trusting you a weird amount," she says. "Like. You had that whole thing with—I didn't exactly ask, but—"

He winces. "Yeah I sure did have a whole thing. I don't super wanna talk about it, to be honest. But - no, you're right, the other you did trust the other me more." His hands are retreating farther.

"...I will admit that the fact that they were in no danger of having sex probably helped but I'm not gonna break up with you quite that fast, mister," she says, pulling him firmly into a cozy hug.

"Oh." Tentative smile. "I—yeah. Okay."

Cozy hug.

It is at this point that they may notice that they are suddenly not alone.

The thing standing behind them is tall. At least seven feet. It's clad in thick plate armor, and its helmet has mostly opaque lenses over the eyes and mouth. It is pierced in a dozen places, and bleeding - the blood is red, for what it's worth. There is a dazzling halo above its head.

It says something entirely incomprehensible, and tilts its head minutely to one side.

"...what the shit???"

Competing instincts war within him about how best to Protect Girlfriend; he freezes up instead of doing anything useful.

Alice is more in accord with herself about how to handle this situation. She sits up and says, "Hey, fuck off!"

The inclination of its head takes on a decidedly sardonic tone.

"KING," it says. A small, featureless key appears, floating above its outstretched palm.

Then it says another untranslatable thing as a small army of creatures bursts through the wall. They wear armor covered in metallic thorns, and they ride on the backs of... demons? Creatures like a cross between a mastiff and a grossly deformed human being, on all fours, the size of horses, with skulls rather than faces.

Their leader beheads the figure as it passes, and seizes Zaid by the back of his jacket.

It is at this point that Alice's instincts fail her, because April could totally have snapped a post off the bed and whacked the lead demonrider across the back of the head with it, but Alice doesn't nearly have that kind of upper body strength, and the failed attempt wastes time she doesn't have.

"Gimme back my BOYFRIEND you DICK!"

It does not deign to reply. Instead, it tosses Zaid onto the back of its mount, and rides off... into the horizon... of her bedroom?

Within moments, it's gone.

Incoherent furious hissing—

—for about a quarter of a second before she abruptly remembers the first guy, the beheaded one. There was some kind of key? She wants that. And she might be able to learn something from looting the body. She scrambles toward it.

It's still standing, actually. Its neck-stump is a red ruin, bleeding freely; still, it stands and waits.

As she comes closer, it moves.

Specifically, the hand holding the key shoves it into her forehead.

(It doesn't hurt. - that's not accurate, it actually hurts immensely. But it doesn't feel like she's having a key shoved through her skull. It feels more like she just drank a cup of boiling coffee through her third eye, and it's traveling through her entire body.)

Oh, still capable of taking volitional actions, are you? Then "fucking EXPLAIN this shit," she demands immediately. And, anticipating the first objection she'd have if someone wanted her to talk while her head was cut off, she looks around for the head to see about grabbing it and maybe lifting it back into place.

The head is lying on her carpet, still encased in its weird helmet. It burbles with wet laughter.

"KING," it repeats. "ALLISON."

As she picks it up, it laughs again.

"THRONE."

"The fuck are you talking about?" she says, lifting the head to a conversational height and trying to let the immediacy of her angry confusion carry her through the aftermath of whatever the fuck that key did to her. "That's not either of my names. What king? Whose fucking throne?"

The helmet vanishes, leaving her holding the head of a man, well into maturity but still strong and handsome. He meets her eyes.

"Angels. Failed. Will. Return."

"Go."

"...fine," she says, tucking the head under her arm so she can grab her coat without dropping it, "but you're coming with me."

As soon as she forms the intention to leave -

the key flares in her skull. White fire bursts from her brow, and envelops her. She vanishes from her bedroom, and lands on uneven cobblestone.

She's in a city. She's surrounded by... people? Aliens? A couple of humans as well. There are carts full of fruit, and strange beings hawking their wares. They turn to look at her, then turn back to what they were doing.

She wobbles a bit, but keeps her feet. Did the head come with? If so, she wants to find a quiet spot to interrogate it. If not, she wants to find a quiet spot to freak the fuck out. Either way, where's the nearest deserted alley, please and thank you?

The head came with. (One of the humans observes this and raises her eyebrow.)

There are so many deserted alleys. The city where she finds herself appears to be a bit of a rat's nest.

When she's situated herself in an alley, the head speaks. "This was not planned," it says. "Already... interesting."

She holds the head in both hands with its face toward her, for a more conversational atmosphere.

"Congrats on learning English so fast. What the whole holy fuck just happened? And how do I rescue my boyfriend from it?"

"Pfah. English. I speak and you hear me. Your... boyfriend... is the destined king. The seven vultures descend, have descended, in hopes to put him in my place and save them from the End. If you wish to rescue him from royalty, you must become royalty in your own right."

Brief pause. "You will complain that I do not answer your first question. Your boyfriend was kidnapped by angels. Angels are terrible. Vermin. Trust them not."

"I've never thought of myself as the royal type but there's a first time for everything. So what's your place in all this, Headless Gandalf?"

"The center," he says flatly. "I am invested in your success, but I am not your Gandalf."

"Fair enough. Where am I, how'd I get here, and what was that thing you put in my head?"

"You are in the city of Throne, at the center of all worlds. You wished to flee, and while this is not a safe place it is far from the dangers you have fled. And the thing I put in your head was a Key of Kings. The Key of Kings, strictly speaking. Your enemies have a hundred thousand each; you need only one. It will open the way for you wherever you wish to go. Also, its implantation has strengthened your body, mind, and soul - though not beyond the level of one with a few centuries' training, five at the most."

"Oh boy, one of those places, huh."

...hang on. That gives her an idea.

"...how serious is that 'wherever', and am I gonna need another five centuries to figure out how to use the thing safely—?"

"Any location you know within the Wheel - the seven hundred and seventy seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven worlds formed by the division and subdivision of the corpse of YISUN. You will need some time, but not centuries - a few weeks' serious meditation should suffice."

"Uh-huh. Do I have a time limit on boyfriend rescue? Is a few weeks of downtime gonna end up screwing me over?"

"It is not likely. But I will say that you should... prioritize. There are many paths to power, and some take far longer than a few weeks."

"Gotcha. Any tips?"

"No. Many things need doing, and I think you will fare quite well without my guidance."

And with that, she is no longer holding a severed head.

"Thanks. Dickhead," she mutters at thin air.

Okay, fine. She'll fare well without his guidance, will she? Then clearly the thing to do is get her coat the rest of the way on now that she won't have to juggle a severed head to do it, and head out into the streets of Throne (what a name) in search of the most helpful-looking being she can find.

There's this plausibly human woman, her skin so black as to be purpleish, wearing a white toga bound with a simple golden clasp. She's the one who raised her eyebrow at the severed head. She has a gem embedded in her forehead that, at a second glance, is probably a Key.

She says something to Alice as she exits the alley, in what might be Greek.

"Can't understand a word you're saying, sorry," she says cheerfully.

"Ah," she says, chuckling. "English. On Rayuba this language is forbidden. It is a taste of chaos. I asked if you enjoyed your head."

"We had a lovely chat. Taste of chaos, am I? Suits me."

The woman nods, looking her over. "I must say that you have me at a disadvantage. You know my master, I am sure, but all I know of you is that you are someone of potence."

"I don't actually know who you are or who your master is. I'm pretty new in town." She thinks for a second, then says, "You can call me April."

The woman looks like she is much too well-bred to look confused. "And you may call me Esther Septima. Descendant and emissary of Solomon David. I am here on business, of course, but in business there is always time to talk with an interesting novelty - like a keybearer I do not recognize."

"To say I'm not from around here would be putting it lightly." At least, it would if you call her April, because she collectively suspects that April is not from any of the umpty-seven worlds of the blah blah blah dead guy, especially not if you construe April as being from, heh, Barbarian Fairyland. There's just something about the aesthetic. You could probably say the same of Sean but she's less confident there. "What's your business, if you don't mind me asking?"

Esther smiles slyly. "While Grandfather attends an urgent meeting, I am to perform certain awfully tedious trade negotiations he had planned with the servants of Nadia Om, who are of course covering for their mistress' presence at that selfsame meeting. While I negotiate, naturally an underling tends to my own business - and one lower to his - and so on, I imagine, until at the bottom of the chain we find work which can be deferred until tomorrow. Is not the bureaucracy of gods a marvelous thing!"

"Personally I like a little less bureaucracy than that in my life, but you do you. Am I going to have to learn about local politics?" she wonders. "I bet I'm going to have to learn about local politics."

Esther considers Alice for a moment, and her eyes widen slightly. "You are an interesting woman... April. I would share a drink with you, if you care to, somewhere more private. I have not the time for a more involved liaison at the moment, bureaucracy being what it is, but I can spare the time for a coffee."

"Sure, I'll take a coffee."

It's surprisingly easy—maybe it shouldn't be so surprising—to hold herself with April's casual confidence, the confidence of someone who has been through some shit and is also in the process of making friends with the single most terrifying man in all of Barbarian Fairyland. She doesn't actually think he's in range to come rescue her—he never managed to reach April while she was with Sean, though that wasn't for very long—but she can still feel the shadow of his unadorned certainty settle around her shoulders like a mantle, if she thinks about it the right way. The thing to remember, he'd tell her, is that your will is yours, not anybody else's. They can't take it unless you give it to them. So don't.

Simpler when you're older than the written word and have been a nearly unbeatable warrior for most of that time, she suspects. But it's a comforting memory to keep in mind. Even though he's not here, she knows that if he was, he'd have her back.

Esther takes her into a small coffee shop, orders them a couple of drinks - "My treat," she says like someone enjoying a private joke - and sits them down in a booth.

Then she says "From my tongue and to your ears; no one listening shall hear."

Then she says, "First things first: I swear before my grandsire Solomon David, bearer of the word Diamond and god of the seven-part world, that I will not deliberately lie to you while in this café. If I knowingly break this oath, so will he break my neck."

"...damn," she says, visibly impressed. "All right."

Esther shrugs. "I felt that a show of faith was called for. That being said... you are not an emissary. None of the demiurges would send someone so ill-informed to Throne with a star on her brow. Except Incubus, but you are not one of his. That means you are either a very lucky thief, or something new. And I do not think you are a thief."

"I didn't steal this," she agrees with a vague wave at her forehead, "it just kinda happened to me. I don't have any convenient oaths to swear about it, though, unless you'll take 'in the name of someone you've never heard of who gets really ticked off about fraud'."

Esther waves a hand. "I do not need you to swear. I have one question, and in return I will answer as many of yours as you wish - and I can imagine you have many questions. I do not even really need you to tell me the truth, for I learn almost as much from a lie. My question is: whose key is it?"

"I don't actually know! The guy whose head I carried into the alley gave it to me. He didn't exactly say where he got it. Not super keen on explaining himself, that guy."

"Fascinating. Alright, I will answer your questions - any that do not betray a trust, at least. But you may learn of me anything that is common knowledge, or at least not a terrible secret."

She thinks for a second, and then asks, "What's an angel?"

"The secondborn of YISUN after the gods, permeated by the Cold White Flame of Order. A roiling nuclear furnace contained within stone. Each angel has a name, such as 69 Bloody Feather Vanquishes Darkness; the number is how many times he has been reincarnated, the phrase is a fragment of the Law of YISUN which he bears in his heart. This law grants the angels a bone-deep knowledge of all laws, and an equally fierce love for order and hierarchy. Also, a talent for certain celestial martial arts, which they have invariably honed beyond mortal comprehension over the kalpa of their existence."

"Sounds like a bunch of dickbags. Okay, what's a god?"

"We're in one. They were the first children of YISUN, born from the division of YIS and UN; they created the angels, the devils, and the Wheel that contains every world; and then, having created these wonders, they died, leaving their vast corpses behind. Divine carcasses form the substrate of the city of Throne."

"...devils?"

"Formed from the Hot Black Flame of Chaos, in diametric opposition to the angels. In their natural state, primal devils are mindless but powerful. A devil can be instantiated as an individual if someone names and masks it, giving it a personality, the capacity to form memories, and the ability to enter the physical world. A newly bound devil is blue; as they grow older and stronger, they will shed some of their given names and find names that suit them better, and go from blue to red to green to gold to black, with each stage changing their nature. Devils are unpredictable, untrustworthy, and dangerous - but they have their uses."

"I'm much more comfortable with chaos than order, personally. —you said 'the kalpa of their existence' earlier and I don't actually know that word."

"A kalpa is measured as 4.32 billion years. It's generally used as hyperbole. Sometimes it isn't."

"...that is too many years. How do you even keep being a person...? Okay, whatever. Local politics, common knowledge, go."

Esther raises her eyebrows. "This will take a bit. Let me prepare my exposition."

After a few seconds, she starts in on her exposition, conjuring illustrative illusions as she does so. "YISUN divides itself. The gods are born. Reality comes into being. The gods create angels, devils, humans, and sundry other races known collectively as servitors. These four categories are known collectively as inheritors. Then, the gods die, leaving the firstborn angels, the Primes, to guard Throne." She rotates her hands illustratively. "Pass a few kalpa. A human is born. His name is Zoss. He is a master of magic, and of dark science, and of the arts of war, and most importantly, he is royalty. True royalty. Through his science he recovers a fragment of the true name of YISUN; through his magic he wields it to breach the walls of Throne; through war he slays the Prime Angels; and because he is royalty, he drags the rest of the Name from Metatron's dying lips. He becomes the conquering King."

"With the firmament breached, it was not long before others came. They were the ultimate masters of their kind. Heroes, magi, poet-kings. They who inherited God's final works, and would seek to rule over them. They gathered in Throne, the dread masters of the universe, who sought ultimate hegemony. The Demiurges. And thus did the conquering King become the ruling King."

"The demiurges rebuilt the works of the gods, and bent them to their will. They forged bodies for the lesser angels. They bound the devils and stole their numinous secrets. For a time, they were content to live apart from all other worlds, a society of virtuous philosopher god-kings. They coaxed many secrets from the universe, and lived their days in enlightenment, art, and song. It was a fat age, ripe with learning. It was not to last."

"That is where your Key comes in."

"The Demiurges were warrior-kings at heart. They built themselves weapons - capable of ripping through reality and bringing them wherever they wished. And so they conquered, until they had conquered all that was. Heaven was already too crowded; soon the entire Wheel was not enough. At first they pretended their war was civilized, but then their singular hunger for dominion consumed them. They went mad. Worlds burned."

Esther shakes her head, dismissing her most recent (disturbing) illusion. "Anyway. The war for dominion had seven victors. The last of the Demiurges. Seven sovereigns, seven lords of infinity. They made a pact: the Pact of the Seven-Part World. To each, 111,111 realities."

She pauses to breathe. "Sorry, that was all backstory. The proper exposition begins now."

She raises her eyebrows slightly and makes a 'go on' gesture.

"First, I will betray my bias by telling you of my grandsire. Solomon David is ruler of the Celestial Empire. Everything there is as it should be. His worlds are united; his works are grand; nothing is unaccounted for in his laws. Every century, he holds a grand tournament, where all the greatest warriors of all the worlds gather to fight for glory and fabulous prizes. The greatest prize of all is single combat with Solomon David. If the champion can draw a single drop of blood from his body, my grandsire has promised them any reward they desire. Any. None have ever claimed it."

"Next there is Mother Nadia Om, his most... civilized... counterpart. Her empire is nearly as vast as his, and certainly far grander... at least, the parts that are meant to be. She sucks the life from each world as she passes over it in her floating citadel. Her minions descend, and they scavenge every resource, natural or living, until the earth is bare sand. In her citadel, and in her trade worlds, there is no such thing as want. In the worlds she drains, there is nothing else. On a more personal note, she is a sorceress of unfathomable power - it is difficult to leverage such a thing as magic on the scale of demiurges, but she does it."

"Mammon, the Hoarder. He was born to a race with no concept of personal property, but he was a mutant, endowed with a greed so potent that he slew his friends, family, and clan out of petty outrage and suspicion that they had stolen from him. Eventually he became so rich that he bought a Key of Kings from its then-holder, and hid away in his bank-fortress of Yre until the war had concluded. He takes little interest in the administration of his worlds, choosing instead to wallow in unthinkable wealth in his bank-tower. But do not think him powerless. He is a potent enemy, even if he is past his prime."

"Jadis was once a sorceress-queen on par with Mother Om, and one who had mastered the martial arts as well. But in her arrogance, she used her powers to gaze upon the infinite shape of reality, and it harrowed her so terribly that she was forced to entomb herself in glass to keep from fading into nothing. Now she desires death, but none will grant it to her. She whispers dire prophecies which are interpreted by her high priests, and she waits for the End."

"Jagganoth is a monster of ceaseless fury. He is a warrior perhaps on par with my grandsire, and his ultimate goal is the destruction of all that is. His existence is tolerated by the rest of the Seven because they know that if they were to turn on him, nothing would stop them from devouring each other in turn."

"Incubus is a pretender to royalty and the lowest sort of scum. No one respects him, and for good reason. He has some measure of psionic power, and he is a passing swordsman, but he is barely tolerated."

"And... there is a seventh, but I shudder to speak its name even under protection. The Queen of Worms, the Great Devourer. Its only saving grace is that it does not care. About anything. It likes to be a celebrity, a source of amusement. While its wants are indulged, it is... as safe as anything is."

...Alice and April are in agreement that if they ever get the chance to invite Tarn into this reality, they should egg him on to fight Solomon David. Because it would be fucking awesome is why.

"What is, actually, the reason why nobody respects Incubus?"

"As I said, he is a pretender to royalty. He did not earn his Key, or his place, or - anything, ever, in his life. He is a poison which tarnishes all it touches."

Esther spits on the ground, then mutters something to make it vanish.

"...do you see how, from my perspective, that's not, like, information—like, I got a key literally handed to me when I had no idea what it even was, and yet you don't spit on the floor when you talk about me, so, clearly there's something more to it—and valid to want to talk about something else if this one guy just really ticks you off, but I'm still curious about what his deal is. And I guess I'm also concerned because the guy who handed me the key advised me that if I want to solve the problem that brought me here I should become royalty, and I have no idea how to do that and apparently if you do it the wrong way people get really mad."

Esther closes her eyes and inhales through her nose.

"The court of Incubus is a midden, rotting from the inside, populated by those he has addicted to loving him. His armies are of the desperate and pathetic, whom he has given hollow strength and broken to his will. His worlds are ravaged by civil wars which he does not care enough to quell. He takes, and takes, and does nothing with it. He pities himself that no one gives him respect, and does nothing to earn it. The state of Royalty is not this. Royalty is taking the world around you and making it what you will; Incubus takes the world around him and makes it as degraded as he is. Is this a clearer explanation?"

"Yeah, thanks, I feel very informed now." Perhaps Tarn should meet this guy, too. No, she should stop wishing Tarn on people like a plague.

"You are welcome. As you say, he really ticks me off."

"I can see why!"

There's a moment of silence as Esther sips her coffee.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?" she asks finally. "The Seven are probably the most important information I can give you, but that hardly means they're the only thing you could be confused about."

"Honestly I'm confused about more things than I think one conversation can solve. But all right. I guess the next big thing is... so I've been advised to become royalty. What would that even mean, how would I do it, what are the consequences of trying?"

"Hmm." Sip. "A difficult question. Royalty is - well. There are a thousand books on the nature of true royalty, many of them self-contradictory. The better-respected ones agree that royalty, at its heart, is a continuous cutting motion, to quote Lord Intra - an ancient demiurge not otherwise of particular relevance. This is often taken to mean that royalty is thoughtless perfection in some art. The state in which one cannot be out-thought, because one is not thinking. However, royalty is often called a burden as well."

The waitress, a blue-skinned devil, comes by with a refill. Esther closes her eyes. "I speak now from Meti's Sword Manual - the thoughts of one my grandsire called the greatest blademaster of all time. To train with the sword, first master sweeping. When you have mastered sweeping, you must master the way of drawing water. Once you have learned how to draw water, you must split wood. Once you have split wood, you must learn the arts of finding the fine herbs in the forest, the arts of writing, the arts of paper making, and poetry writing. You must become familiar with the awl and the pen in equal measure. When you have mastered all these things you must master building a house. Once your house is built, you have no further need for a sword, since it is an ugly piece of metal and its adherents idiots."

"Why would the master of the blade despise it? Why does perfection bring suffering? This is one of the koans central to royalty."

"...huh. That's... not what I expected."

Honestly it sounds like whoever Meti is, they'd have a great time hanging out with Tarn. It can't possibly be as simple as just 'keep going What Would Tarn Do until all your problems are solved', can it? Like, can it???

"...don't suppose Meti's Sword Manual is, like, a book, that I can find a copy of, and read, without having to go on a quest about it first?"

"It is. You could likely find a copy in a used bookstore in Throne if you cared to - hmm, I can't imagine you've got any hard currency or trade goods..."

She considers, then removes a jeweled ring from her pinky finger and hands it over. "Here. If you find a pawnbroker who won't cheat you outrageously, this should be worth as much as you'll realistically need for a while. Consider it a test of your skills - and additional payment for a very interesting conversation."

"Fair!" She pockets the ring. "Any other sage advice or interesting trivia for me?"

Esther thinks about it.

"If you meet God on the road, kill him? It's the best I can think of at the moment."

"...is that more of a metaphorical piece of advice, or..."

Esther chuckles. "It's a koan. I happen to like them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go meet with Mother Om's lackeys. Being a certain amount late is a power play, but leave it too long and you begin to look sloppy."

"Good luck, have fun, don't die!"

"The same to you. I hope we meet again." Esther rises from her seat, hands the demon waitress a few coins, and makes her exit. 

Okay.

So. Time to take a deep breath, emulate April emulating Tarn, and go looking for a pawnbroker and then a used bookstore? Yeah, sounds good.

She will rapidly encounter the problem that she does not actually read the local language. No one appears to have English signage as a priority. Well, except this... statue? Surrounded by signage in a thousand different scripts. English is not prominently represented, but it's there: a sign reading "translation service".

The statue is of a gender-neutral figure in a lotus posture, its hands in strange mudra.

"Translation service?" she inquires of it.

Its eyes snap open, lit with blue flame. "Yes. It has been some time since anyone required my aid."

"Well, there's a few things I need to do that involve talking to people, and I only speak English, which around here is something of an impediment."

Technically she can also get by fairly badly in French and a handful of Barbarian Fairyland languages, but none of those seem especially relevant here.

The angel stands. "I will translate for you if you give me something interesting. I have spent a very long time meditating, and desire that my mind be stimulated. Tell me a thing that I do not know, or give me a thing from somewhere I have never been."

"In a place very far from here there's a man who's older than the written word and his favourite food is the meat of an animal that went extinct before I was born. He told me once that the secret to true dignity isn't caring what people think, and it isn't not caring what people think, it's knowing how much you care what people think and then deciding how to behave based on that. Does that suit your fancy?"

The angel shivers with delight. "Ah. I have heard truths like this from many men, and there are many men who are old and wise... but it is interesting that a one such as you, who speaks only a lesser tongue, who wears peasant-cloth, has met such a one as he. I will be your tongue, for one turn of the blue sun; if I am needed furthermore, you may tell me another interesting thing."

"Sounds good to me," she says agreeably. "First order of business, I'm trying to find a pawnshop but I can't read any of the signs."

The angel nods. "Do you want a good pawnshop, one you can reliably sell something at, or a bad one, the proprietor of which you can rob without regret?"

"I don't feel like robbing anybody today, I'll take a good one."

The angel brings her to a pawnshop!

Its proprietor is a green devil, her mask grinning nastily. She cackles something; the angel intones back. She cackles a bit more; the angel intones a single syllable.

"She will see your goods," the angel says. "She also asked why you needed a translator; I deflected the question, as it was likely an effort to learn if she could cheat you."

She produces the goods, or, well, the singular good.

"I was told I could get a pretty good price for it."

The devil sucks in a breath before she can stop herself. A few cackling syllables. A flash of light, which causes the ring to sparkle. A few more cackling syllables.

"She wishes to know the ring's provenance," the angel says. "Supposedly on suspicion that it may be stolen, which would reduce its practical value to her."

"It's not stolen!" she says cheerfully. "It was given to me as fair payment for my scintillating conversation."

The devil squints, then shrugs. Cackle cackle.

"She offers a tenth of a krim of black glass. Would you like my commentary on her offers?"

"I would!"

"She is making a conscious effort not to insult you with a terrible offer, while still offering an amount low enough that she could make an outrageous profit. She could re-sell the ring for easily half a krim."

"What's your commentary if I suggest telling her I want half a krim?"

"I would recommend couching the offer well," he says mildly. "- in the interest of clarity, one krim of black glass is enough to purchase... hmm, five hundred good meals, or ten untrained slaves, or a fairly-used car. Making her profit at less than one-fifth of the ring's value would likely not be worth it to her."

"In which case I want to end up at around four tenths, if I'm doing my math right. At home that would mean saying I want half and letting her talk me down a little, but maybe things work differently here." Weird to think of Barbarian Fairyland as home, but she doesn't want to get sidetracked explaining. She can save that for if the angel asks for another interesting thing. "Would authorizing you to conduct negotiations with that goal in mind suit you, or would you rather I make all my offers myself?"

The angel considers. "I may be able to manage."

He turns to the proprietress and says something more flowery-sounding than his previous statements. She raises her nonexistent eyebrows and cackles. He shakes his head, makes a counteroffer. She squints at him. A final-sounding cackle.

"She is not interested in giving more than 35% of a krim," he reports. "But she offers as lagniappe a free pint of Blue Devil Liquor, which will grant you the power of tongues for as long as you can keep the lesser devil it contains imbibed within you, and a good-luck charm. The charm may be a loss leader. The liquor is not. It is something you likely want, at a value that you should likely accept."

"Sure, all right," she says. "I'll take it."

The angel communicates this. The devil snatches the ring and hands over a bottle and a sack the size of a camping backpack. The angel hefts the sack measuringly, then nods once. He hands the bottle to Alice.

"You may drink it in measures or all at once," he says. "Once it has all been drunk, you will begin gestating a lesser devil, which will allow you to speak any language you can hear. After several hours, you will regurgitate the devil; if you then eat it, you will gain the ability permanently."

"Exciting. How hard are these things to subdue?"

"Not. It will cry annoyingly; that is all. - the devil will be approximately the size of a human heart."

"Great. A pleasure doing business with you both." She gazes consideringly into the bottle. "—will I still need your help reading signs?"

"No, the devil will allow you to read and write as well as speak, just as you would in your native tongue."

"Well, I might still want you as a cultural translator, but I'll understand if that's not the job you signed up for."

She downs the bottle.

It tastes vile, and the consistency is even worse. As soon as it's imbibed, there's a weird double-vision effect in her hearing; the faint bustle outside is still alien jabbering, on one level, but she understands it as well.

The angel shrugs. "I am willing to remain on task for the duration agreed upon," he says in the same solemn, crystalline language he used to speak with the pawnbroker.

"Ah, drinken tha devilflask quickwise," cackles the devil. "Knows tha thon drinksmonger's ways! Seeks tha aught else in us's ickle shopfront?"

"You may, for instance, still require help with the Black Speech," the angel adds neutrally.

"...I see what you mean," she says to the angel, still in English.

And to the shopkeeper, in the language the angel has been using, "I don't have the time for idle browsing at the moment, but maybe you can help me anyway, if you happen to deal in books. I'm looking for a copy of Meti's Sword Manual."

She grins. "Us's got one. Ben't worried, us can talk fine pretty when us wants..."

She mumbles to herself as she sifts through various objects. "There's tha!" she crows, coming up with a vellum scroll, neither mint-condition nor terribly abused. "Us wants three shins for it, haggle us not. - thon little glass bits in thon sack."

"It's a deal." She opens the sack to extract three little glass bits.

And the proprietress hands over the scroll. "Hast tha fun. Aught else? Us's got needlers, bleeders, cutters..."

"She refers to different varieties of dagger," the angel notes.

"And swords!" she adds. "Finely swords, all kinds, wicked choppers and slashers and puncts."

"No thanks," she says cheerfully. "My next order of business is to find somewhere nice to sit and read this. After that, if I want a sword, maybe I'll come back."

She heads out.

The devil waves cheerily. The angel follows her.

Finding a place to sit isn't so difficult. Finding a nice place to sit might be harder.

She'll take a place to sit that has decent light and isn't actively sensorially upsetting.

More plausible. The angel sits beside her.

She opens the scroll and reads attentively.

It's... an interesting read, despite its brevity. It is almost entirely unconcerned with swordsmanship techniques; it is, at its core, a philosophical text, and a message - a message to one woman, who is not Alice.

"Meti ten Ryo is a figure of some historical interest," notes the angel when she seems to be done. "She did not know how to be a person, and so she became a great warrior instead. But in her unrivaled strength, she found that she could not live without threatening everyone around her. Thus, she made herself nothing, that she might live beneath notice."

"I can relate," she says, thinking of Tarn again.

The angel nods. "We-"

There's something of a ruckus through a nearby window. "-forgive me for the violence I am about to inflict!" calls a strident voice.

"-hmm. That is a thing I have not heard recently," the angel says.

...her instinct is to decide this is not her problem, but perhaps this is not a good instinct for her current circumstances. She peeks in the window, from off to the side in case something or someone is about to come through it.

Inside, violence is being inflicted!

There is another angel, slenderer than Alice's, beating the living shit out of an alien twice its size. There's another alien sneaking up behind it, surprisigly stealthy, with a mace the size of a flagpole.

This looks like a situation that she does not need to intervene in. Gawking seems fine, though.

The angel hears the mace moving through the air before it makes impact, but after the window to dodge it fully has closed; the mace sends splinters of angel-flesh flying. Still, despite its injuries, it crushes its first opponent's ribcage and sends the second flying through Alice's viewing window.

How'd she know! How'd she fucking know!

She moves back from the window and asks her translator, "Got any interesting cultural context for me?" over the sound of breaking glass.

"Oh, yes," says her angel. "Given his recitation of the Prayer for Forgiveness, my brother there is a traditionalist. A traditionalist would not engage in combat if he had another choice."

As he speaks, the alien is standing up and looking around groggily. Its eyes alight on Alice.

"And for the record," says her angel, "you did not pay me for defense."

Realistically, if she tries to fight this fight, she will get her ass kicked and possibly die.

She can feel April's Barbarian Fairyland instincts complaining about that, though. And hesitating isn't doing her any favours either.

As she hesitates, the giant moves with implausible speed and puts her through the wall.

She feels... kind of okay about it, though. Not nearly as pulped as she should be. Is this what the head meant when he said the Key had strengthened her body?

...fucking fine then, time to go full Barbarian Fairyland.

"That," she snaps, rising from the rubble, "was rude."

She stalks back out into the street, but doesn't immediately make another aggressive move, mostly because she is taking a moment to figure out how, mechanically, to hurt this person. It would look silly if she took a shot that failed to connect, but neither aliens nor giants were covered in Tarn's basic 'how to hurt someone who is trying to hurt you' crash course, and April never got the chance to progress to the independent study on megafauna.

In that case, the giant will make a move for her.

Dodging: totally covered in the crash course.

Taking advantage of the overextended enemy you just dodged: also covered, in principle, though she's a little shaky on exactly how to adapt the lesson to someone this... large. Whatever, she'll give it a try.

The giant howls as its leg snaps, and flails at her as it collapses.

She skips back out of the way.

"You done?"

"...not paid enough for this shit," it grunts eventually. "Done."

The "traditionalist" angel, looking through the broken window, nods. "I apologize for inflicting this vermin's company upon you. I imagined the Magus Gate on your brow proof of your competence to subdue him, but I generally prefer not to involve bystanders in my conflicts."

"And what is this conflict about, exactly?"

"The servitor's employer is a pimp and drug-lord. I pursue him for the crime of embezzlement, but also for enslaving young women. Which is not a crime, but is distasteful to me."

"Fair enough! Good luck with that."

Nod.

Then, with a blur of speed, the angel vanishes.

Alice's angel nods approvingly. "As traditionalists go, that is, I think, a good one."

"Seems to be," she agrees.

Then she sighs.

"If people are going to take this thing," she gestures at her forehead, "as proof of my competence, I should probably become competent with it. Suggestions, recommendations, helpful cultural context notes?"

Her angel considers the question.

"There are many who know the operation of a Magus Gate. If yours was granted to you by a Demiurge, you would have a ready trainer in them, or in one of their other minions. However, given your... apparent lack of connection to any such... I will give you a piece of trivia, gratis. There is one living being in all of Creation who once stole a Key of Kings and yet lives. Her name of common use is Ciocie Cioelle. She is a devil, employed by the brothel of Preem Praman Nand, Lord Androsphinx of the Gilded Cage, in Hell 71 of Throne."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. And how might I get there, without already knowing how to use my shiny new teleportation powers?"

"You might take the bus. - hmm. Ordinarily I would not consider this part of my duties as translator, but if you allow me to witness your conversation with the devil then I will help you negotiate Throne's public transit system. I am rather curious what she might say."

"Sounds good to me," she says cheerfully.

The "bus stop" isn't far. It turns out to be less of a bus and more the shambling carcass of a skyscraper-god, driven by a team of devils. Assorted devils and aliens, already perched on the god-corpse, stare at her as the angel helps her board.

"27 Impassive Auditor Considers the Wicked," murmurs her angel, seemingly apropos of nothing. "- my name. I am a Knight of the Geas."

"I have no idea what that means," she murmurs cheerfully back. "Do you go in for nicknames at all?"

"You may refer to me as Auditor if you choose," Auditor says. "I would prefer if you did not call me Wicked."

"My first instinct was gonna be Considers, but Auditor works!"

"Considers would also be fine."

The angel pauses. "A Knight of the Geas has abandoned their place in the world, seeking instead to do some thing - to undertake a quest. Sometimes these quests are limited in scope, though they are never casual - to pluck a petal from the Golden Lotus which grew only in a dead world, or to slay a great evil. Other times, they are more... broad. My quest was to render aid to those lost in the city of Throne - they told me that I would know, when my quest was at its end." He shifts almost imperceptibly. "This I have done since the death of Metatron, he who Zoss slew. From whose head the Ruling King wrenched the True Names of God."

He bows his head. "I do not hate my quest. But... AL-YISUN, even a stone wears away."

It has occurred to her that Considers shortens to Sid, at least in English, and now she is fighting a fierce internal battle on the subject. There's a longish pause before she says, sympathetic and slightly wry, "Been at it a while, huh?"

Nod. "A while."

This confession having been made, Sid appears content to pass the trip's remainder in silence, if Alice has no further questions.

She is content to gaze at the scenery in a companionable, or at least only mildly awkward, silence.

The scenery consists largely of more godcorpses, but they vary enough that it makes for an interesting vista anyway.

They fetch up at Hell 71 after about twenty minutes of the bus trudging through the mists. Sid alerts her to this and accompanies her off the bus.

"I recommend you stay close by me," he says. "And do not accept anything offered freely."

She nods thoughtfully and follows.

Many things are offered in the next few minutes, as they stride into and through an indoor market. "Young pree! Pickled bog devil - you will bear strong sons! Cheap for young pree!" "Manterian blood wine, be pleased to enjoy it, mistress -"

A woman eating a bowl of noodles glances at Alice as she passes by, and inclines her head inquisitively. There's a moment of - not quiet, but stillness - as if the sound around them isn't so much less as less important.

"Girl - what do you think about death?" she asks quietly.

"Broadly against, why do you ask?"

The woman cracks a smile. "Reach heaven by violence, then. - it is a habit of mine to seek wisdom in unlikely places. And to make old jokes."

"Have fun with that!" she says cheerfully. "I'm not much for wisdom myself but I can quote you some good ones from a friend of mine if you're in the market for that sort of thing."

Her gaze sharpens. "Can you, indeed? And what will you ask in turn of an old mendicant?"

...looking closely, there's... a notable absence on her forehead. Much as Alice and the daughter of Solomon from earlier today both have Keys there, this woman... doesn't have a Key there.

"Hmm. Well, what can you offer me? Sage advice? Book recommendations? Introductions to interesting and helpful people?"

She relaxes infinitesimally. "Alas, I am a fool, and have read only one book. And those who know me generally consider it to their detriment, and are disinclined to be helpful to those I introduce."

She inclines her head, and slurps some more noodles. "Mathangi Mantra ten Meti is my name - Mantra short for 'Murder the Gods and Topple their Thrones'. Thus I add you to those whose detriment it is to know me. If you like you may call me Maya."

"I like your name, Maya. If you like, you can call me April. Is there a specific reason I'm supposed to find it to my detriment to know you? So far I'm in favour of the experience."

(She does spare a glance at Sid to gauge how impatient he is to get to wherever they were actually meant to be going, and also whether he looks like he might have any Cultural Context on offer.)

Maya smirks. "You have known me thus far for half a minute, under the ideal conditions: nonviolent, sedentary, well supplied with noodles. Under any other circumstances I am sure you would find me less agreeable by far. After all, I strive in all ways to emulate my teacher, though I am only an imperfect student."

Sid was looking somewhat impatient, until Maya introduced herself (specifically the words "ten Meti"), at which point he stopped that. He is now looking decidedly neutral.

That's certainly evidence in favour of a hypothesis.

"I think my teacher would be pretty mad if I decided to emulate him in all ways, but hey, if it works for you."

Maya snorts violently. "Mine as well. I suppose it is my revenge on her for dying."

"That's fair! Condolences. Mine's not dead, just very, very far away."

"...farther than your Magus Gate can take you? Far indeed."

"It's a long story and I'm technically on my way to something moderately important right now. Maybe I'll tell you some other time."

She'd lie, or do the misleading thing, but she likes Maya. Sue her.

"I won't keep you," Maya says, inclining her head. "I imagine we'll meet again."

"Looking forward to it," she says cheerfully. "Be seeing you!"

All right, let's get back on track.

Indeed. Sid bows to Maya as they leave.

"You do seem to attract unusual happenings," he comments.

"If I guessed which one book she's read, would I be right?"

"Yes. And, probably, who her teacher was."

"She did introduce herself with a certain name attached."

"Indeed. She might be able to teach you the operation of your Key of Kings, but... she was not lying, when she said that her acquaintance is often to the detriment of those who make it. Less due to her own actions, and more because she has made some very powerful enemies in her time."

"'s a shame, I really like her."

"Indeed."

They approach a vast sphinxlike devil, with a golden burial mask where its face might be. "This is Preem Praman Nand, who calls himself Lord Androsphinx of the Gilded Cage," Considers (Sid?) explains before they're in its earshot. "The devil we seek to meet is his slave. Will you seek his audience?"

"Well, that depends. Is seeking his audience the polite thing to do in this situation, and is it likely to get me what I want?"

"Yes, and no. Diplomacy will get you nowhere unless you have something to offer him, and I do not think you have anything to match his price. Exceed it, yes, vastly, but not match it. I would recommend a skulduggerous strategy, but I confess that being an angel I have no knowledge of subtlety."

"...sorry, wait, how is it that I can vastly exceed his price but can't match it?"

The angel taps the stone in her forehead.

"You do not possess the finesse to utilize your Key to do things that are casual for royalty but incalculably valuable to those around you; indeed, that is why you are here. The only object of barter you have is your black glass, which he has a surfeit of already, and the Key itself... which would be significantly greater than any price he might name."

"Is there any hope of, say, showing up asking to learn how to use my Key, and promising one casual-for-me incalculably-valuable-for-him favour for after I learn it?"

Sid considers.

"It is possible. You may also wish to consider how much you desire to perform such a favor for Preem Nand... but like anyone else, he will be hungry for the power you will be able to wield."

"What reasons might I have for not wanting to do him favours? Is he terrible? Is the favour going to be terrible?"

"Yes," Sid says immediately. "I am an angel, and many are loathsome to me who you might not find objectionable, but it is a very commonly held belief that Preem Nand is one of the worst of this city's flesh-mongers."

"The devil whose counsel we seek is his wife, in addition to being his slave," he says after a moment. "This was the reason I heard most recently."

"In that case, maybe I'd better talk to her first. But if I can't figure out how to do that safely or reasonably, I will maybe have to go with Plan B: offer the guy a favour even though he sucks. So - how might I safely and reasonably find her?"

Sid looks off into the distance. "...can you climb a sheer brick wall," he asks eventually. "That seems to me relatively straightforward, as ways to enter her tower - and so probably there are countermeasures against it, but it is a place to start."

"...I probably can. Sure, let's start there."

Sid leads her to a tower and, without preamble, begins climbing the side of it. An advantage of climbing below an angel, as it turns out, is that he leaves handholds in the brickwork, fingerholes drilled an inch deep. A disadvantage is that this process involves a great deal of brick dust.

Yeah, this is doable. Just be very Barbarian Fairyland about it. And try not to breathe too much brick.