Turner awoke in familiar surroundings, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him. His head throbbed painfully as, groggy at first, he waited for the mist to lift from his mind. He was at home, on the couch in front of the hearth, although he had no recollection as to how he'd got there. And where was Dorothea? He dimly recalled feeling a sharp pain in his head and then nothing. He recognised none of the faces about him and it dawned on him that he might still be in danger. Where were his parents? Had they been taken? Turner leapt up from the couch, his head screaming in protest, and grabbed a black poker from the smouldering fireplace. Turning his back to the fire, he brandished its hooked nose at the group of men and women before him.

"Take it easy with the iron there, boy-o," said one with a leathery face covered with fine wrinkles and a purple birthmark that surrounded his right eye like a patch. "We aren't here to hurt ya." The man had his thumbs hooked into his pants inside his jacket, revealing the gun discreetly tucked away in his waistband. "You need to take it easy. You've suffered at least two hard knocks to the head."

"Who are you?" Turner demanded. "What are you doing here? Where are my ma and pa?" For all his bluster, he knew his situation was hopeless. There were four of them and at least one had a gun. They weren't wearing the ubiquitous grey suits of his pursuers, but the fact that they were complete strangers in his home made them no less dangerous.

"Think you can take him, Gorso?" asked one of the group, chuckling. She was a petite, dark-skinned woman, with braided raven hair that fell to her shoulders, bright grey eyes, and full lips. "Or do you need our support?"

"Don't listen to her kid," said the man called Gorso. "We're harmless."

"Speak for yourself," a young man retorted, seated lazily in a corner armchair. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat atop a mat of blonde hair. Curls framed steely blue eyes and a great many freckles.

His eyes never leaving the small book in his hand, the blonde man pulled a silver revolver out with his free hand, catching and twirling it about on his fingers, before finally sliding it back into its walnut holster he wore on his hips. The speed of the act was dazzling. There was a twin gun holstered on the opposite side. He was the only member of the Brigade who appeared to carry such weapons. "I'm a downright menace."

"Calm yourself, boy!"

Turner whirled around and spotted his father in the doorway.

"They're our friends," Travis added, "you hear? Friends! Don't go jabbing them with anything."

Turner's mother rushed in from the kitchen through the crowd, a look of angst on her face.

"Turner, my love, I'm so sorry. I was only away a moment." She pried the fire iron from his hand and dabbed a warm flannel against his aching head. "There, now..."

Turner ducked his head, embarrassed by his mother's ministrations before all these strangers. "I'm fine, Ma."

"See, Penelope? I said the boy'd be fine. Thick skulls run in the blood."

"I know," Penelope retorted.

Turner looked around. "Where is Dorothea?"

A man stood and came forward. He wore a brown, buttoned top with rolled up sleeves and tarnished green pants. A paisley bandanna hung loosely around his neck.

"The Commission made off with her," he answered. "By the time we found you and brought you back here, the ship had already left."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Silverio Herrera, and this motley lot are my comrades. It's good to see you awake, Turner Hullin." Herrera had the worn and worldly look that Turner recognised and admired in many of the men he saw toiling by the wharf, the sort who had seen and understood much of the world, who always had a story to tell and rarely the same tale twice.

"Herrera," Turner repeated. "You're the one Dorothea told us about, the man who tried to snatch her from onboard the Commission's ship."

Herrera perched on the arm of the couch. "Yes, we tried to rescue her, but failed."

"Rescue? She almost died!"

"Our only intention was to help young Dorothea. And when it appeared she had perished, a great regret filled me... But then, a miracle!" Herrera suddenly became more animate, gesturing with his hands, "Shortly after we made our escape, we saw something rise from the ocean below, a titan larger than maybe ten men standing on each other's shoulders.  And imagine our even greater surprise when we spied Dorothea nestled in the heart of thing! It was astounding. Unbelievable. Like a child born from the sea itself, and in the vein of its parent, an existence made purely of it, it strode towards the shore of this fine town."

"A giant of water..." Travis mumbled.

"Did you see it?"

"Nobody saw anything that night – besides the boy."

Herrera looked at Turner, eyes bright with excitement. "You did? Please, tell me."

Turner nodded. "I saw it on the beach. It brought Dorothea here."

"As I thought!" Herrera cried, smiling broadly. "Of course, the Commission had to see it, too. Our vessel had incurred damages, delaying us. How frustrating it was that they had already captured Dorothea, just as we arrived. It was my people who found you and brought you home. Your parent's spoke of how you tried to help her, such a stout heart you have, Turner Hullin. "

Turner sensed the flannel nearing his face again and dodged it. "Not now, Ma, please." So Dorothea had been taken. He had promised to protect her and he had failed. Judging by the light pouring in through the windows, it was hours since they'd entered the tunnel. "You couldn't have stopped them from leaving?" Even as he spoke, he knew what a foolish question it was.

"We are dedicated to helping young Dorothea, Turner Hullin, but we didn't want to fight among the people of this town. The last thing we wished to do, after the incident on that ship, was to endanger more innocent lives."

Penelope reappeared, carrying a pitcher of juice and glasses on a tray.

"Thank you so very much, Mrs Hullin," Herrera said, taking a glass. "Very kind of you." He took a sip. "Ah! This is splendid! Fresh juice! Oh, it almost brings a tear to the eye. How long has it been since you supped something so marvellous, Mr Gorso?"

"Can't say I rightly have in my life, sir."

"Hah! Such high praise, especially from a man who has sampled refreshments all over the world."

Penelope Hullin blushed. "Oh shush."

Turner couldn't figure the strangers out. They didn't act like soldiers, but they had attacked a Commission ship and survived. They seemed personable, yet there was a definite air of danger about them - an impression they knew how to handle themselves in a fight and unlikely to back down from one. "Who are you people?" he asked.

"After the merry chase you led those devils on, I think I can trust you with a truth or two." Herrera leaned forward. "We, your guests, are part of a covert branch of the Davishnan military called the Brigade of Truth. We serve at the pleasure of the Royal Family, investigating matters of international concern in – how would you say? – a clandestine way."

There was a moment's silence.

"You mean you're spies," said Turner.

Herrera smiled. "Ours is an agency as varied in purpose as those it employs. It would do me great pleasure, if you would allow us to introduce ourselves—"

"Corso Gorso," spoke the man with the birthmark, eating an apple slice off a pocketknife. "Physician and navigation. Not a vehicle, map or wound I don't know my way around. I'm the one who took care of that floggin' you took to your noggin. I'm also the Brigade's Second in Command."

The next in the ensemble stood from his chair and bowed rather theatrically. Turner hadn't really paid him notice, until then. Had he really been there the whole time? "Collin Asher, master of the furtive step and arbiter in the ways of infiltration, at your service." Collin was an entirely ordinary looking fellow. He was well-groomed, but his fashion was very reserved and didn't attract the eye at all. 

"Careful that ego of yours doesn't swell any bigger than the moon, Asher," Gorso said. "Gets awful cold in the shade."

"You can't blame a fellow for taking pride in being the world's finest Shadow Man."

"Shadow man?" Turner asked.

"A shadow man, my fine young sir, is a stickybeak of the highest order. It's my job to delve my nose in every place it doesn't belong. Anytime. Anywhere. And with no one the wiser."

"You've been slackin', then," Travis said. "You haven't moved one foot from that there chair-"

Collin pointed skyward. "The bedroom upstairs has a magnificent gallery of framed vistas hanging on its walls, and home to a small model ship, handcrafted, very nicely done." He stamped his foot. "Below this floor is another, packed with more useless scrap than I have ever seen, and my father worked in a junkyard. Your kitchen is well stocked, although you're low on sugar and just ran out of carrots." Collin bit the end off a carrot.

"Guests don't pinch, Collin," Herrera chastised.

Collin bowed. "My apologies."

"Bastion," Herrera said to the pistol-toting 'downright menace' from earlier. "Your turn."

"The name's Bastion," the young man said as he turned a page, his freckled nose remaining steeped in his book. "Bastion Sorbin. Combat specialist."

"Combat?" Turner said. "I thought you'd all know how to fight."

"Oh, we know how to fight," said Herrera. "But to be fair, none of us can shoot quite like Bastion. He hits what we miss. And the harder the shot, the better our Bastion is in its taking."

"He's known in some parts as Bastion the Bookworm," added Gorso, "able to shoot a moving target, even while he's head's in a book. Could probably shoot the tail off a crow in flight, although none of us would ever do such a cruel thing... unless it was evil. Then it would have to die.... Because all that is evil must die, the remains burned and the cinders scattered across the earth, for there is no just place for evil but the depths of utmost oblivion!"

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Our Mr Gorso has a bit of a dark side," Herrera said quickly, "but who in this world doesn't, yes?"

"Yeah, a real hoot at parties, too," said the raven-haired woman who had teased Turner, earlier. She spoke with a certainty that didn't invite argument, "Angeline Rusch. Engineer and demolitions specialist. I fix what needs fixing and break what needs breaking. Took the time and fixed that actuator you had on the table."

"You couldn't 'ave," Travis contended. He took the actuator of the table, amazed to find the thing made whole again. "I've been working on it for months! We just dun' have the parts..."

"The design is dated by an age, but so are a lot of things around here. I took a thrust tube and a few internal bumpers from some of the stuff that's already been cannibalised and made the thing relatively useful again."

"Hah! Hear that Penelope? And you thought I was wastin' my time on this."

"The service life won't be anything special, mind. I'd seriously consider investing in a new one, before it busts."

"Hear that Travis? Thank you very much, Angeline, dear. That was very kind."

Angeline beamed.

"And it is with great pride, joy and the very definition of gentlemanly charm that I, Silverio Herrera, lead this exceptional team. And that, my friends, is us."

"Why have you been spying on the Commission?" Turner asked.

"Not spying, my fine young friend, more so keeping an eye on them. The world states have been downsizing the Commission, intent on abolishing it completely within the next few years. It was a very dark and desperate time when the Commission came to be and help keep things right. But times have changed. Makes a lot of folks very nervous that the largest standing army in the free world answers to almost nobody but itself. Our ears on the inside informed us that the Commission's top people intend to oppose their disbandment and pursue the means to do it."

Igniting a match against his callused thumb, Travis lit his pipe and settled into his favourite leather armchair by the dwindling fire. "Tell me something, Mr Herrera. How exactly does that innocent girl, that sweet lamb of a thing, fit into this, eh? What is it about her that has you cloak and dagger types throwing down with the likes of the Commission, attacking their ships and whatnot? What possible value is she to them?"

"The Commission believes Dorothea is the key to finding a lost city."

Travis snorted. "A city? What city?"

Herrera took a long sip of his drink.

"Oh... the Golem City."

There was a moment's startled silence, broken by a burst of raucous laughter from Travis.

"You're serious?" he spluttered, between guffaws.

"I assure you, good sir, I am. Clearly, the Commission is too."

"Oh, well I can tell them where they can find their city. In the merry world of fiction, that's where! The city's nothing but a myth, a fable told to children. I heard about it from my pa, who heard it from his pa and his pa before him."

Turner stared at his father.

"You never told me that story."

Travis blew a gust of pipe smoke from his pursed lips. "Why waste my breath on fairies, unicorns, and all that other nonsense? They're nothing but diversions meant to put children to sleep. And, boy, you slept well enough without me fillin' your head with that rubbish."

Herrera asked, "In spite that your son and I spied the very same marvel last night, you still doubt?"

"I love my son, as I do trust him. And you seem an all together decent sort, Mr Herrera, who I doubt would brook a lie. But I believe in nothin' unless my eyes have met it. You both may 'ave seen something last night, but that don't make me obliged to believe that it was a golem."

"Wait, wait," Turner said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What I saw was a golem? What is a golem, exactly?"

Travis waved his pipe dismissively.

"They're like statues brought to life with magic or some such nonsense. They never grow old or tired or complain – they just keep on doin' whatever they're told till they're done doin' what they're supposed to do." He sniggered. "Could do with a few of those magical mudmen down in the mines."

"Ok... But what about the Golem City?" Turner asked. "What's its story?"

Herrera smiled. "So bold and to the point. I admire that. I admire it greatly. I would be honoured to share with you a story some would call fantasy but a Davishnan calls history. The story begins where most do involving our world's grim past – with war."

Herrera's gaze was far away as he recalled the tale. "Five hundred years back, the Davishnan Empire was dragged into a vast and terrible conflict between several rival states. It wasn't by choice. Our lands were rich in bounty, and the armies of the warring nations were ravenous. Always a peaceful state, we were inexperienced in the ways of conflict. We made many tactical blunders and soon found ourselves at the brink of defeat. It was at our darkest hour that a man visited our capital, a man claiming he could offer us assistance against a common enemy. According to what some account as legend," he said, acknowledging Travis with an amiable nod, "this man saved the Davishnan people with a golem of his making. It was a mighty thing, unlike any foe they had ever faced. It scattered the enemy forces with such ease that it left not a single fatality on the field."

"But, if he didn't manage to kill anyone, how can you claim he saved you? Wouldn't they have just kept trying?"

Herrera smiled.

"The humiliation of not having suffered so much as a single casualty, combined with the ever-present golem at our side was enough to ensure the enemy wouldn't take us on again. Also, after this most stunning victory, the tides of fortune turned much in Davishna's favour. Many enemies hesitated facing us on the battlefield, fearing we commanded whole armies of golem, some even surrendering to us without so much as a fight."

"Sounds like this magician of yours won the whole darn war for ya."

"He may very well have, Travis Hullin, but what made him shine even more brightly in our eyes was the dream he had, the dream to build a city like no other, a city made and managed entirely by golem."

"And that's the lost city? The Golem City?" Turner's expression was sceptical.

"It was to have been an escape," Herrera continued, "a paradise whose location was known to none but its maker and those who would live there, a place where the refugees of that war five hundred years back could leave behind the painful memories of yesterday for the prospect of a better, more peaceful tomorrow."

"Did he really build it?"

"Oh, yes, he built the city alright. He dedicated himself wholly to the task. According to the story, it took many years to complete. The only problem was that, by the time he returned to the world, the war he had feared would never end had ended."

"It did?"

"It did. Even so, the mystic was hesitant to teach others the ways of golem-making, fearing they would become targets of the nefarious, as had been the fate of his brethren. He reclaimed the golem he'd left to defend the Davishnan capital and announced that when, and only when, people were ready to apply such wisdom wisely, he would ensure the Golem City and all the knowledge of his order could be found again."

"And did he?"

"None can say. He vanished, never to be seen or heard from again, and no one has ever been able to find that most fabled city."

"So, let me get this straight," Travis said. "The Commission thinks Dorothea can somehow help them find this Golem City they can build themselves what? An army of mud-men?"

Herrera shrugged.

"A sound scheme, should the city yield such a craft. With an army of golem akin to the one from legend, even all the states in the world together would not stand a chance against them."

"If they were real."

"You're certainly not alone in your scepticism, Travis Hullin. Admittedly, none of the other states share our beliefs and would certainly condemn Davishna for taking action against the Commission without solid grounds or proof of their treachery. This is why we of the Brigade engaged their ship on our own. We did not know why the Commission believed the girl could lead them to the city, but there was too much at stake not to try. And to be saved by that titan of the ocean proves there is certainly something very special about the young Dorothea and a real chance the Golem City might be found through her."

"I'm telling ya the city ain't real!" scoffed Travis. "Why has all the world fallen for this barmy notion? There ain't an ounce of proof either the golem or the city exist. None."

"Much of Davishna's history was lost long ago, when the Great Davishna Earthquake destroyed our old capital," Herrera said, a slight edge to his voice, "but the empire hasn't forgotten that its continued existence is owed to that man. His existence is as much a reality to us as the sun in the sky, and we don't intend to allow the Commission to abuse his sacred works."

"They've taken Dorothea," said Turner. "That's bad enough."

"Most certainly," Herrera agreed. "There's still a chance the Commission haven't yet learned what she might know. If so, this Brigade is going to do everything in its power to keep that from happening."

Turner stared at Herrera.

"Are you saying you know where they took her?"

"The very same den of despair they were headed to last night, I believe." Herrera stood and walked over to the dining room table. "Might I be so bold as to ask for the table?"

"Travis!" Penelope barked, sweeping her arm in the general direction of all the mechanical bits and pieces that littered the table. "Get this rubbish outta here."

Travis hastily swept the dining table clear of his half-finished works.

"Mr Gorso, the map, if you please."

Gorso unfolded a world chart across the table, smoothing the creased parchment with his hands. There were locations pencilled in that had not been represented on the original print, with names and co-ordinates scrawled alongside. Gorso indicated one of the marks with his finger.

"We figure she's here. Fortress Five."

"Fortress Five?"

"A relic from the last great war," Herrera explained. "The Oceanic Congress built six great fortresses around the world, each a formidable battle platform, designed by their finest minds. After the World Armistice was signed and the Commission charged with keeping the peace, they requisitioned the six fortresses for their own ends. We believe they've taken the girl to this one."

"I know those waters," Travis said. "Ain't too far off our shores. Our fishin' boys steer clear of 'em, saying the Commission's navy don't take too kindly to them bein' there. Maybe that's why."

"We have a way to get past their patrols, but getting to the girl once we're in the fortress is another story."

"Why not just try taking her, like you did the last time?"

"Two reasons," answered Gorso. "First, we'd had sufficient time to come up with what we believed a decent plan, which not only failed but almost made things worse. Second, they're now holding up in one of the least accessible locations on the planet. It would be suicide for us to just charge in and try to take them head on."

"Indeed," Herrera said. "We must temper the flame of our spirits and walk more in way of the shadow. No picking fights, unless we have to."

Turner faced Herrera.

"I'm going with you."

"You're not going anywhere, young man!" Penelope cried, almost dropping the empty tray in her hands. "Not on your life. Tell him!" she said, turning to Herrera. Her eyes widened when he failed to back her up. Instead, he was studying Turner thoughtfully.

"This is nothing light or easy about the mission we're about to undertake," he admitted. "We intend to break into a heavily fortified facility, brimming with soldiers prepared to shoot on sight. A child though you may be, if you're caught in the company of spies like us, you will likely be spared no quarter."

"There, you see Turner?"

"She doesn't have anyone to help her, Ma, nobody but us. If it was me, you'd want somebody to come help, right?"

"Mr Herrera and his crew will help her."

"She's scared, Ma. She doesn't know them like we do. She doesn't know who she can trust."

"I have to admit," said Herrera, "the last time we tried helping the young girl, her hesitance to trust us did almost get her killed. I would rather that not happen again."

"You're not really considering allowing an untrained, untested civilian to come with us, are you?" Gorso was staring at Herrera, an incredulous look on his face. "He's probably never fired a gun in his life."

"Dorothea trusts the lad, and last night hardly painted us in a good light. And it is our intention to avoid a tussle, yes?"

"You see, Ma? It would make things easier if I went along. I'll be fine. I'm sure of it."

"Well, I'm not." Penelope turned to her husband for support, but Travis was contemplating Turner with a furrowed brow, his arms crossed. "Travis," she insisted, "we were lucky he didn't get himself killed today!"

"I have to go, Pa. I promised I'd keep her safe."

"Aye, we both did, lad."

"And a Hullin always helps a friend in need, don't they?"

"Aye, lad." Travis set aside his pipe and sighed. "Aye."

"Travis!"

"He's more involved in this than either of us, love. If the Commission comes visitin' again, the safest place for him to be is with people who can protect him with more than just some broken bit of plumbin'." Travis clasped Turner's shoulder. "Besides, I know not every problem in the world can be fixed at home. Lord knows I've tried. I still say you'd have to be about as mad as a rabid squirrel to believe any of this half-baked golem nonsense, but there's no question that sweet lass is in trouble. You do what you feel you have to. Just try and be safe."

"Will do, Pa."Silverio Herrera shook Travis Hullin's hand.

"You'll take care of him," Travis said to Herrera. It wasn't a question.

"Like he were my own." Herrera looked at Turner and smiled. "Welcome to the family, Turner Hullin." Herrera took Penelope Hullin's hand and kissed it. "Miss Hullin, our gracious hostess, it was a pleasure."

Penelope Hullin blushed.

"All right, you got the boy, Herrera," said Gorso. "Don't start getting ideas about the Misses. I'm sure her husband wouldn't much appreciate it."

Travis Hullin shrugged.