Good news was easy to see coming. Good news could be seen from miles off, and came so slowly that its vigourless arrival had stripped it of its lustre. Good news was boring and predictable. Good news was easy to take for granted, and hard to justify writing about.

Bad news, though, moved like a shadow and hit like a train.

"I want you working on the Foundry incident," her boss said, dropping a small note on her already crowded desk.

Somehow, between the beginning and the end of his sentence, Natalina Casper went from half-asleep to battle-ready.

"What happened at the Foundry?" she asked, already scrambling for her messenger bag.

"There was an incident. They shut the outflow lines down for almost three hours. If I knew more, I wouldn't bother sending a reporter," Vance Elderman, her editor and her paper's lead writer, said with a hint of irritation in his voice that suggested he hadn't had enough sleep.

"I take it my open assignments are on hold?" Natalina asked.

"Until you've dug so deeply that I stop smelling manure, keep digging. Everything I managed to pry out of my contacts in Oversight is on the note." He said, rubbing at his forehead with his thumb as he spoke.

Finally looking at him, she realized that Vance hadn't slept at all yet. The bags under his eyes were deeper and darker than usual, his hair was disheveled, his clothes were exactly the same as the ones he was wearing yesterday, and he hadn't even tried to wash the ink stains from his forehead or cheeks.

"I'm on it, boss," she said, standing up and reaching for her coat. A quick glance out the window caused her to grimace, as the rain pounded against the streets below.

"You're going to encounter a lot of stonewalling," Vance said. "Whatever the burning hell happened last night involves Research and Oversight. Neither of them are fond of sharing."

Vance had a gift for underselling dire warnings. The Bureau of Research and Development was built almost entirely on secrets, and Oversight shared about as well as most toddlers. Give either Bureau a couple of days, and they may have even covered this incident up.

It meant she was in a race against the two most secretive Bureaus in the City, and they had a six hour head start.

"I'm on my way out, boss. But try to nap a little," Natalina said, as she set the hood of her coat over her head.

"After this obituary," Vance promised.

"Who died?" she asked.

"Colonel Carla Darrower. One of the last heroes of the fifth. Brave soldier, so on and so forth. Come back with news, Caspar. Or..." Vance said, with mock menace.

"Or not at all," Natalina finished, as she stepped away towards the stairs.

******

Newspapers held a peculiar and tenuous place in the City. Although technically sponsored by Parliament, each paper acted as an informal intelligence firm for its sponsoring institution. In exchange for the supplies and access needed to make a newspaper, that paper was expected to provide information to their sponsoring bureau first, and to avoid potentially embarrassing stories.

Natalina worked for the Weekly Tributary, a paper unofficially sponsored by the Bureau of Analysis. As bureaus go, a bunch of researchers and statisticians are easily appeased taskmasters, but were terrible at opening doors. It meant that the Weekly Tributary operated with as close to absolute autonomy as anyone could in the City, but that autonomy came with all the assistance it implied.

There were days Natalina appreciated that independence.

Today was not one of those days.

"Apologies, ma'am," a surprisingly hard voice said to her. Surprising, since it belonged to a woman who stood at most to her chest, with the bearing of a teenaged girl trying to tell you how irritating you were being without actually speaking. Despite her stature, the small woman with faded, worn, glossy black clothes managed to convey the impression that she was willing and able to murder Natalina if the circumstances required it.

Natalina made a mental note about the girl's crossbow, and quiver of bolts.

A hard, hard woman. Even for a shadow.

"This is absurd. Even for your bureau," Natalina exclaimed, hissing in indignation. "I have credentials, I have right and reason to be here." She insisted, but used the time to glance around the platform.

Withering Evergreen Station was fairly large, but struggled to contain the hundreds of people hustling about. An unusual number of them wore black; the unofficial uniform of the evaluators. There were scores of civilians, a few soldiers, and a tall woman in a rust-red coat.

The woman in the coat wouldn't be so surprising, except Natalina knew who she was.

The hair had greyed considerably since she had last seen her, but tall Crafters with red hair stick out. The last time Natalina had seen Tabitha a'Loria was during the ribbon-cutting of the Westerwisp bridge. Tabitha had been credited with the creation of buoyant suspension, which changed the construction time from a year, to six weeks.

"There's a lot of important toes being stepped on right now, ma'am. You're in good company. Return to your seat," the tiny shadow said.

Vance wasn't kidding about being stonewalled. She hadn't even managed to get off the train.

The next voice, coming from her left shoulder, actually made her jump. "Abigail, rule ten," someone said.

The voice belonged to a tall, grim faced shadow wearing an odd looking hat. His clothes, dark grey with an unusual chemical sheen, were smeared with ash and soot, and had burn holes in a dozen different spots.

"Aye, sir," the small shadow said to the one in the hat. She stepped aside, and waved towards the station. "Go on in," the short woman said, the edge to her voice gone.

It took Natalina a moment to regain her bearings. No one, not even the heads of a bureau, were treated with that kind of respect.

The tall shadow moved past her with a grace that made her just a little ashamed of how bad she was at walking, as he seemed to slide through the crowd like a stone dropped in water. Despite his height, and his hat, Natalina had a hard time tracking him in the crowd, and soon gave up trying.

"Okay, who is he?" Natalina asked Abigail. "Some division chief?"

Abigail chuckled, and shook her head. "Not officially. He has a few dozen people he hand-picked to act as the hit squads of last resort. We call ourselves the 'Nannies'. No, I'm not telling you his name, and we both know why."

No living shadow was allowed to be named in any official publication. The rule was in place because Crafters tended to be well liked in the City, and even the ones that weren't still had friends capable of burning buildings down.

"Don't worry. I've already forgotten yours," Natalina lied, hoping it sounded reassuring. She'd personally rather go to prison than violate the publication ban around living members of Oversight. Ignoring that rule could get shadows killed, and have her paper shut down. "What's rule ten?"

"Secrets are stupid," Abigail replied, with a shrug.

"I agree. What's rule ten?" Natalina asked, grinning to hide her irritation.

"That is rule ten. Secrets are stupid." Abigail explained.

"Secrets are stupid? In your bureau? Are you sure it's Oversight you work for?" Natalina asked, unable to hide the laughter in her voice.

"I ask that every once in a while. Then shit like this happens, and our bosses spend a few weeks kissing our asses," Abigail explained, glancing towards the Foundry and scowling.

"So what actually happened?" Natalina asked.

"I don't know. I wasn't part of the hit detail he brought in to clean-up their mess. I do know that she was brought in, though," pointed directly to the Crafter.

"They summoned a Crafter to assist them?" Natalina asked, bewildered.

"No. The guy in the hat summoned that Crafter, by name," Abigail answered. "Which means she's scary for a Crafter. I pity the poor bastard who ends up as her final evaluator."

Natalina thought for a moment, then said "Does the publication ban extend to shadows killed in action?"

"No."

"Mind if I write about the friends you lost, last night? The fallen members of these 'nannies'?" Natalina asked.

Abigail pondered the request for a moment, then said "Rule ten applies. As long as you respect the publication ban for any living shadows. Rule eleven applies there."

"Rule eleven?" Natalina asked.

"Secrets are secret for a reason," Abigail said.

"I know how to keep secrets. I protect my sources," Natalina insisted.

"Trisha Adams, and Gaharm Stanfordson. Members of the Bureau aren't allowed to talk about last night, but she's under no such restriction," Abigail said, pointing to the Crafter still surrounded by a dozen shadows, including the tall shadow in the hat.

She wrote the names down quickly, and pushed her way into the crowd.

"Why isn't this Crafter at headquarters, yet?" someone asked, loudly. Natalina didn't recognize the voice.

"I've already given you my assessment, Chief," a more familiar voice said, and Natalina recognized the speaker, as well as the hat he wore.

"You're fairly chatty for someone up to their nose in shit, Aranhall," The unfamiliar voice responded, and Natalina guessed the man speaking was the current Deputy Bureau Chief. The current head of Oversight was notorious for playing political games, and rarely dealt with problems directly.

Which contributed to Oversight having a new Deputy Chief every year and a half. The deputies tended to be thrown under the cart, to keep the chief's position from being undermined.

Tonight might spell the end of this man's career.

"Your shit, Chief. And I've lost people cleaning up this mess," the tall shadow in the hat responded.

"Two of your 'nannies'. Which makes twenty-seven evaluators, hundreds of civilians, and half of a production line that makes Valkyries. This is the worst scourging in years, and you're standing there like it's your average abyss-touched Tuesday," the Deputy Bureau Chief said.

"It is a Tuesday," the man in the hat reflected.

"You weren't authorized to call in a Crafter. That alone is grounds to have you stripped of your rank." The Chief said.

"And the way you bungled our initial response is grounds for me to stick a knife through your skull," the man in the hat replied, with a nonchalance that seemed so out of place it was somehow more intimidating than a shout.

Natalina almost screamed when she realized the tall shadow in the hat had a knife resting under the other man's chin. Almost as frightening was realizing that she didn't actually see the tall shadow move.

The next few moments passed in a tense, terrifying silence. No one moved, no one spoke, and no one did anything but breathe as they watched the two men.

"Make a note of who drew their knives to defend you, Chief," the shadow in the hat said.

Natalina looked around, and marked that truth. There were dozens of shadows all around, many of them forming the circle that now surrounded the two men. The knife that sat under the deputy's chin was the only one drawn.

"There was a boy, barely out of the gauntlet, who was killed in last night's incident. He had four different compound fractures, most of his bones had been shattered, and half his body was covered in deep tissue burns," the tall shadow said, loudly, as he sheathed his knife. His voice carried over the crowd, which still listened in nearly perfect silence. "That boy refused to die util he could report what killed him, and by doing so saved my life last night. Does anyone know his name?"

"Erik Ulcet," Someone else said, a younger looking shadow with clothes that looked like someone tried to save them from a furnace.

"A good name. You'll report it, I trust?" the tall shadow asked her, somehow picking her out from the fringes of the crowd and shifting everyone's attention directly to her.

"As soon as someone tells me what happened here." Natalina replied, loudly, looking around. She held her charcoal stick in the air, and waved her small pad of paper in her other hand. "Anyone care to go on the record?"

"Who let the ash-bitten reporter off the train?" the Deputy Bureau Chief of Oversight asked, more irritated than outright upset.

"The military has no interest in keeping this incident secret. Especially since they lost a Colonel last night," the shadow in the hat reflected, and Natalina didn't bother correcting the false impression that answer would leave. She would still be on the train without his intervention.

Or the hospice. Abagail's forearms looked like she bent steel pipes for fun.

Wait, how the burning hell did he know Colonel Darrower died last night?

"What does Darrower's death have to do with anything?" Natalina asked, as she pushed her way through the crowd.

"Darrower died?" the tall shadow asked.

"My editor found out a few hours ago. The obituary won't be published for a few days still. Who were you talking about?" Natalina asked, her mind already whirling.

"Colonel Mastafir Farthington. He was touring the Foundry last night." the shadow reported. "We only identified the body because of his sword."

Certain positions in the City were given weapons forged with a core made of Coldstone, to distinguish the rank and prevent imitations. Members of the Bureau of Oversight were given a single dagger, and commissioned officers in the military were given a sword. These weapons could only be forged on commission, and only in the Foundry.

Which means if they found the sword, the death was almost certain. There weren't many colonels in the City.

"Two Colonels died last night? Burn me, I'll get to that later'" Natalina said, more to herself. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Crafter a'Loria."

"I do mind." The Deputy Bureau Chief said.

"Abagail, you are to act as Crafter a'Loria's evaluator for the day. Accompany her as she takes the train home and rests," Mathias said. "Chief Rustin is authorizing the unscheduled departure of that train behind you, effective immediately."

"I didn't..." the Deputy Bureau Chief of Oversight began, but a single look from the man in the hat silenced him.

Crafter a'Loria stepped beside Oversight's second in command, and eyed him with a hard, fierce glare that seemed to make him wither. "Your chief will throw you to the mob, to assuage Research and the Guild. How you land depends on the public perception of last night's events. And those events are going to be authored by the only reporter that managed to slip past your security perimeter. How ignorant do you want to keep her?"

His voice dropped to a hard hiss, and he said something that Natalina didn't manage to hear. But Tabitha's tone of voice was surprisingly kind, when she replied "I will, sir."

Natalina grinned up at the disturbingly tall woman. "Do you have time to answer a few questions?"

Tabitha laughed. "Not enough time to satisfy you, I'll wager. I'm going to have a chat with a former apprentice about his work, which isn't something I want you overhearing. You have until I arrive at Origin Station to ask me anything you like."

Origin Station was nearly an hour away. Natalina smiled, and set the stick of charchol against the page.

"Can you start by telling be why you were summoned to the Foundry last night?"

*****

It took almost three hours to return to the building her paper was housed in, and another hour to get an initial draft for her report on the incident at the Foundry, but it was still four hours earlier than her boss was expecting her.

"You have a draft? Already? You know I can't use a shadow as a source," Vance warned her, and she remembered the irritating part of not being able to publish a shadow's name.

"I had an hour long conversation with Crafter Tabitha a'Loria. Apparently a branch of the Bureau of Oversight called the 'nannies' called her in to help them kill a full Crafter who was scourged suppressing a pipe rupture. I have the names of at least six of the twenty-nine evaluators killed last night."

"The nannies?" Vance asked, more amused than curious.

"Professional cleaner of someone else's crap," Natalina explained. "They're not an official branch of the Bureau, but they get crossbow bolts made of cold-stone, and some very scary training. They act as the hit squads of last resort."

"Not official? That could make for a good Exposé piece for the Sunday review. Did you get the pipe rupture confirmed by someone in Research?" Vance asked her.

"No. But Crafter a'Loria gave me a name, and said he'd be happy to talk to me. Crafter Theo Ratterson," she said.

"Good. Go ahead and write-up what you found out. If you can get Ratterson on the record before tonight, I'll give you until five in the morning to add his statement to your article. Otherwise, we run it as-is," Vance said, as he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

"Among the victims was Colonel Mastafir Farthington. He was touring the Foundry during the initial incident.," she added, and could almost hear the litany of curses her editor was hissing in his mind. "Boss, that's two dead colonels in under twenty hours."

"Farthington. One of the best known soldier in the City. And Varnell was stripped of her commission and dropped down to sergeant," Vance said, before he took another look at the expression on her face. "Oh shit."

"We have to look into this," she said, earnestly.

"Do you have any other facts? Anything else that might suggest this isn't just an extremely suspicious coincidence?" Vance said, leaning forward and rising from his chair.

"No," she admitted.

"Then it goes on the back-burner, until you have more to go on," he said, and held out his hands placatingly. "I agree. It's faint, but it has the smell of a conspiracy. Which is why I'm not telling you to drop it."

"Understood. I'll keep an ear out. How much more do I need before this becomes my only priority?" Natalina asked.

"Only? If another colonel or a Secretary has a fatal 'accident', this becomes your top priority, the only way this becomes your only job is if-" Vance began, but was interrupted by another reporter storming through the entranceway.

"Mister Elderman. We have a publication request from the Army," a young voice called out, as Trevor Dvaral, by nine years the youngest reporter working for the paper approached with a small note in his hand.

"Soot stained bile in the bowels of the Undercity!" Vance exclaimed. It took Natalina about three seconds longer than Vance to understand what had upset him.

The Army put out very few publication requests, and did so only when it had serious news to announce. Serious enough that even the deaths of two colonels wouldn't warrant this request. Unless this was the start of the Sixth Invasion, the only thing the Army would announce would be the death of the current Lord Captain.

The death of the Lord Captain.

Burning Abyss and its endless fires.

"Hand me that paper and get out of earshot, Dvaral," Vance growled, and Trevor nearly dashed away as soon as the piece of paper left his hand.

Vance glanced at the writing, and rolled his eyes. "Yep. Here's your conspiracy. There's no appointed successor."

Natalina recalled what she knew about the military hierarchy. Normally, the current Lord Captain would be appointed by his predecessor, witnessed by the Lord Captain's secretaries, and ratified by Parliament. But without a clear successor, any secretary was automatically demoted to colonel, and a new Lord Captain elected by the colonels.

And two of them were dead.

"I take it this is off the back-burner, boss?" Natalina asked, not really feeling the humour she offered.

"Off the back-burner, and right on the Spire."