"You'll leave your weapons outside, obviously," Quentin insisted, pointing at the side of the door. The young man managed to slip into a tone of respectable authority again, a place that seemed to settle the young man's nerves and returned his comfort and confidence. "Salamanders are dangerous things to take into a granary."

"So are rejects," Bertram replied, gesturing with his knife towards the other unarmed man. "That doesn't seem to concern you."

Samuel smiled, shook his head, and took one step forward. The young man in his path was obviously a leader, someone the others deferred to when real decisions needed be to made. If he let Quentin regain his composure fully, this situation could end badly.

Samuel observed as Quentin shrank back, but held his ground. It was a relief, the act was just enough to put the young man on-edge, but it enough that he'd panic in front of his subordinates. Samuel put on a scowl and raised his voice. "I'm not here asking your permission, boy. And we are not negotiating."

Samuel watched Quentin carefully, marking the flinch the young man made at being called 'boy' in front of his subordinates. "Fine. Tarks, go let our guests know we have visitors. And set up a table in the upstairs dining hall. They can keep their weapons."

Samuel smirked, and stepped forward, deliberately walking up to Quentin. "Lead on. And why don't you tell me about this little cult of yours while we walk?"

Samuel took a deep breath, and let himself recall his current objectives. Keep their leader off balance. Stall for time. And most importantly, learn if Amanda Destir has told them anything.

Quentin smiled and gestured towards the door. "Of course."

Samuel tucked his gun beneath his coat and walked with the young man. Angela and Bertram fell into step just a little behind, and the others gave them a wide berth.

"The Quenched Redeemer? Is that the official title?" Samuel asked.

Quentin nodded. "Stalwarts of the Quenched Redeemer. We work so that humanity might be redeemed in the eyes of the Eternal Fires Below."

"So far, it doesn't seem like the fires care much about us, one way or another," Samuel reflected.

"Can you really say that, with the Gloam?" Quentin asked. "We know the Eternal Fires are real. The Spire is proof enough. And what else could possibly create something like the Gloam?"

Samuel was surprised to find he had no rebuttal to that. "The little I know about your cult suggests your agenda is a danger to the City. Something about wanting to quash the Spire."

"Did you know it was a member of our order that designed the Channel?" Quentin asked.

Samuel searched Quentin's face, his expressions, his mannerism, but couldn't tell if the young man was lying. "Is that so?"

"Think about it, Inspector," Quentin said as he lead Samuel inside. "The Channel is miles of river carved out of some of the most important real estate in the City, just to drown the one thing that keeps the Gloam at bay."

"I was told it was made in case the Spire turned on the City," Samuel said, but there was something in what Quentin noted, a sense that niggled at a decade with the Orderlies, a decade of not putting up with things that didn't make sense.

Samuel grinned, impressed at how good the young man was at reading people. Quentin was already taking stabs at his resolve, careful prods fed with pointed truths. Samuel believed the young man when he said a member of his cult may have designed the Channel, it was the kind of fact a good liar used to anchor whatever else he wanted to say.

"I also heard you were strangely quiet during the Sixth," Samuel said. Something about that truth, something Angela had mentioned off-handed, struck Samuel as something worth prodding Quentin over. "How did it feel, seeing Tabitha a'Loria drown your god?"

Quentin's reaction nearly made Samuel's heart stop. He expected anger, irritation even. He expected some snide quip, a sneer, a rebuttal of some kind. He even expected the young man to have schooled his expressions more carefully, and been unable to read anything.

Samuel did not expect the faint snicker to flit across the young man's face.

Quentin saw Samuel's expression in turn and scowled. "You are a dangerous man, inspector. There are agencies in this City that depend on secrecy. With some schooling in politics and some help, you could become a powerful man."

"This is the third job offer I've gotten on this case," Samuel remarked. He offered some sass, to hopefully distract from how disconcerting Quentin's reaction was. There was a story in that, something dire, but it would have to wait."And I'll admit, it's not the least attractive of the three. Still going to decline, but I'll think kindly of you when you're at a work camp in the fringes."

The entrance hall to the granary had been largely overtaken by a sprawling storage shed, holding small wagons laden with jars of honey, and in a corner, dozens of barrels of this site's current claim to fame.

Northwatch Hill mead. The only thin connection that had lead Samuel to this place.

"So, what made you so willing to offer Silas sanctuary?" Samuel asked. "You can't have fallen so low that his murderous rampage is actually an inspiration."

"Of course not," Quentin bit back. Samuel grinned, understanding better and better that Quentin was accustomed to being in control. Not being the most powerful man, or woman, in the room was a new experience for him.

"I hope you aren't trying to torture that girlfriend of his for Research's trade secrets. I have fourteen different families who could tell you why that's a bad idea," Samuel added. "It's a big risk just to learn how the heat resistant alloys that go into Salamander barrels are made."

"Right, because Amanda is involved in anything so trite," Quentin scathed as he lead them up another flight of stairs. "Do you know that the labour of the rejects holds up the City?"

"I'm beginning to get an appreciation for that," Samuel said.

"Her work has been making her sick. Silas happily shared that much with us," Quentin said.

A slow, relieved sigh escaped Samuel's lips. His admission of his limited knowledge, presented to gloat, meant that Amanda hadn't told them anything.

But when Samuel looked at Quentin and noticed the sly smile on the young man's face, he knew that he had just revealed that Amanda's information was extremely valuable.

And that Samuel himself was privy to what Amanda knew.

Quentin lead them the rest of the way in silence, seemingly content in what he has learned from Samuel. Eleven stories up, as the granary tower narrowed, they were lead into a large, round room. A single table, also round, was set in the very middle of the room. The table had a dozen chairs placed around it, with eight of those chairs already occupied.

Samuel recognised two of the people sitting in those chairs. Amanda Destir still looked sickly and pale, with deep bags under her eyes and unsteady hands. One of those hands was held or captured, in a hand connected to a gold-embossed coat, worn by a young man with an elaborate, fussy haircut.

Silas Miller.

Bertram's hand immediately went for one of his knives, but three other people at the table saw the movement, and their hands blazed with fire. Samuel put a hand on Bertram's shoulder and shook his head. "Not yet. We talk first."

Samuel stepped forward and pulled one of the three empty chairs. He very deliberately met Silas' gaze until the boy flinched and looked away. "Mister Miller. I'm sorry about your mother."

Samuel felt himself slip into that familiar mindset of the interview, of having a conversation with an objective in mind. It was calming and helped focus his thoughts.

"Go throw yourself in the Spire, you disgusting wretch," Silas replied, in an impressively bombastic voice. "I'm not about to forgive what you did to my mother."

"Pretty sure that was you," Angela said as she sat down next to Samuel. "None of us can burn a hole through someone's chest."

Samuel glanced at Angela and nodded, with a grin on his face. Her response was aggressive and direct, but blunt. Simple reasoning to refute an accusation, tinged with disgust at being accused.

Angela's career should be a brilliant one, assuming they lived through the day.

"How's your shoulder?" Bertram asked.

Even Bertram appeared to be picking things up. As the shadow, Bertram wasn't going to be a sympathetic character to Silas. But the reminder of how a professional like an evaluator deals in violence should help reinforce the idea that they did not murder Silas' mother.

After all, a shadow would have used a knife. Oversight didn't need to cover up a murder in the course of their work.

"Your father is on suicide watch right now. It should only last a few days, until he starts to grow numb over what he's lost. But he's unlikely to be a free man for the rest of his life. And even if he is, there is no climbing back from the height he's fallen from," Samuel explained. "The heights you pushed him from."

"You ash-smeared shit!" Silas exclaimed, but the bite wasn't as pronounced.

"Shut up, boy," Samuel snapped, rapping his fist against the table. "I'm not finished. The man who used you to get a bit of revenge, Clovis Hannover, is in extrajudicial detention. That means he has no rights. No advocate, no letter to his family, no assurance that he won't be left on the far side of the wall with a torch and a day's rations. Those friends of yours who attacked Research are corpses now, or at least the ones that aren't hot ash. Starting from the fourteen people you murdered at Billows Station, you have left a trail of bitter tears and cold corpses behind you."

It wasn't Silas that Samuel was talking to, but the woman beside him. The woman who unconsciously drew her had out of Silas', and shrank into her seat. "And now you've drawn this woman you're in love with here?" Samuel asked. "Sheltered by a cult that wants to plunge the City into darkness?"

"They took me in! Unlike you, unlike anyone else in the City, willing to kill me for what I suspect! What's hurting her," Silas said, pointing at Amanda.

Samuel understood something, seeing Silas continue to profess his innocence, his victimhood. There was a personal delusion, only half deliberate, that wouldn't let him face what he had done. That he had murdered fourteen people, including a man trying to help him.

Samuel also realised it meant Silas was in quite a bit less control than he had earlier suspected.

"Nothing is free. Have you asked yourself why they took you in?" Samuel asked. "What do you think their angle is?"

"We want to cure the world of the Gloam," Quentin rebutted.

"And you plan to draw the Gloam to the Spire. Which means it needs to get through the millions of people who live here. Silas, this is why they offered you sanctuary, on the chance that Angela can tell them something that can hurt the City."

"We're here to discuss terms," Quentin began to say.

"No, we're not," Samuel said tersely, cutting Quentin off. "I'm here to help Silas see reason. I'm here to help him save Amanda's life."

"How do you figure?" Silas asked. "You can't help her."

"Not true," Samuel said, smiling. "I know for a fact that Amanda hasn't told you anything. We wouldn't be having this conversation if she had. If Amanda gets out and leaves, right now, she can return to her father and try to rebuild something of her life."

Silas hesitated, and his eyes darted to the floor. Samuel felt hope trying to burst out of his heart, and leaned forward to press the wavering boy further. "I can't save you. The last person who could was named Starson Vontusk, and you burnt that bridge rather thoroughly. But Amanda? The people making Northwatch Hill Mead? These crazy burning fools sheltering you? You can save their lives."

"I..." Silas began to say.

"That's quite en-" Quentin began to say, but Samuel cut him off.

"Silas," Samuel spoke over the cult leader, standing up and leaning forward. "If we leave, right now, I can make a few promises. I can guarantee Amanda will be transferred. I can offer you a full interview to help me investigate your mother's murder. I can let you say goodbye to anyone else you care for. I can even offer you a last meal. I don't have the connections to get you a steak, but I'm sure these fools would chip-in a pint of their mead."

Samuel could see Silas wavering. His eyes darted to Amanda, who gave him a smile and a gentle nod.

But someone yanked a door open at the side of the room, and stepped up to the table. "Quentin, there's no one coming. The roads are still clear."

"Then I've indulged this little farce long enough," Quentin said, smiling as the young man found himself back in control. "Have to say, Inspector, you are frighteningly effective. But you didn't know how right you were, when you said this wasn't a negotiation."

Bertram drew his knives, Angela somehow spun and swung the chair onto the table while drawing her Salamander, and Samuel had his own gun pointed at the reject sitting next to Quentin. "I offered you a better way out," Samuel said.

"My way out keeps Silas and Amanda alive," Quentin retorted.

"But Quentin," Silas began to say.

"By the abyss, Silas, shut the burning hell up," Quentin said. "You want to live or not? Do you want Amanda to live? If you do, help us kill these three fools. Because besides promising that you'll die, the Inspector is just blowing smoke."

"You're going to take the word of someone with multiple identities leading a cult of insurrectionists?" Samuel asked. "I'm the side with a vested interest in keeping his word."

"How is that?" Quentin asked.

"He saved two rejects from death last night," Bertram said, staring at Silas.

The shadow's words struck not only Silas, but the other three rejects in the room. "What?"

"Two rejects helped Clovis Hannover take hostages at the Frosty Hearth. Right now, they're working in a prison work-camp in the fringes, planting crops. Working a job where they don't have to use the power no one trusts them to use. He did that," Bertram said, gesturing towards Samuel with a nod of his head.

Samuel was surprised, and impressed, at how hard that revelation seemed to hit the rejects in the room. Silas' looked like someone had just struck him, and the other rejects as if they were looking at Samuel's company for the first time.

"If the Gloam is gone, Oversight doesn't need to exist anymore," Quentin said to them. "These three aren't innocents, but they are standing between us and a world free from the endless siege! Kill them!"

Just at that moment, Samuel felt a pinprick of heat coming from his coat pocket.