“And his divine work,” said the Tandosian automatically. Yet she stopped them when they moved to pass her. “And the next bit?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that she needs help,” Gorm said, nodding to the hallway behind the woman. She turned to see who the Dwarf was talking about, earning herself a neat blow to the back of the head from Kaitha.

They dragged the woman back to the same storage room and laid her beside the Elf. “Glad I’m wearin’ this silly getup,” Gorm remarked as they retraced their steps. “Otherwise this might get violent.”

“No alarm has gone up,” Kaitha hissed. “And we’ve learned their password.”

“Passwords.” Gorm emphasized the plural. He held up an empty bucket. “And I’ve spilled all me water in the fights.”

Gaist turned her pail upside down. A single drop splashed on the stone floor.

“It’s fine.” Kaitha said, holding up her own empty vessel. “Nobody will notice.”

They had only gone a little farther before they encountered another pair of Tandosians. The pair wore simple robes and carried empty buckets on their way to the well. “Praise Tandos!” said the taller of the two.

“And his divine work,” said Kaitha.

“For his glorious deeds,” said the second Tandosian.

All eyes turned to Gaist.

“Uh, we don’t need to do the whole routine, do we?” Gorm asked. “It’s just these buckets are heavy and all…”

“Oh, the master’s invocation is very important,” said the first Tandosian.

“Especially with us bein’ new,” said the second. “A big site like this, how could we know even half the people here?”

“If the temple wants to avoid infiltration, we need active security measures.” The taller Tandosian spoke with the rhythmic authority of someone reciting training materials. “Why, for all we know you’re some mercenaries doin’ a uniform ruse.”

“Or even doppelgangers.” The second Tandosian whispered the possibility loudly, as though it carried special scandal.

The first Tandosian stared down at Gorm’s hands. “Come to think of it, why are you carrying empty buckets away from the well?” he asked.

Gorm, Gaist, and Kaitha shared a meaningful look.

A few moments later, they were bearing the prone pair of inexperienced Tandosians back toward the storeroom. “I told you the buckets would only bring questions,” Kaitha said.

“I already agreed to ditch ’em, didn’t I?” Gorm said. The Dwarf labored under the dangling legs of a recumbent acolyte, while Gaist held up the victim’s head.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you.” Kaitha took a deep breath as she shifted the acolyte thrown over her shoulder. “At least we know there’s something good down here. Otherwise they wouldn’t be doing so much to keep people like us out.”

“Let’s hope so,” Gorm growled. “The question is, how long can all this nonsense with the thrice-cursed invocation go on?”

“It shall endure for ages to come!” roared Borpo Skar’Ezzod. “It is a most dependable asset! All of the Lightling banks rely upon the mighty stability of the dragon’s hoard!”

Feista shrank back into her chair, as though she could push herself through the leather and out of the meeting.

“Is that not the problem that your employee has called our attention to?” asked Asherzu Guz’Varda. She stood at the window with her back to those assembled in her office, hands crossed behind her.

“The problem is that the Gnoll you burdened me with is asking questions that need no answers, when she should have been looking at plunder funds and hedge companies!”

Feista shut her eyes and tried to will her tail not to tuck itself between her legs.

“We prefer that you not ussse such agresssive language, Mr. Ssskarr’Eszzod,” said Ms. Thyssisss, a young Naga from Hireling Resources. Her upper body was that of a young Gnome with brown hair, a smart red blazer, and reptilian eyes. Her lower half coiled around her chair several times.

“At Warg Inc., we pay respect and honor to all of our employees,” said Mr. Meister, the head of Hireling Resources. The Gremlin’s deep blue scales nearly matched his navy suit, which made the bright orange bristles of his bushy mustache and slicked-back crest stand out like bonfires against an evening sky. “We don’t like to hear our team members referred to as ‘burdens.’”

“Then perhaps you will fire this fool, and solve both of our problems!” Borpo shook his fist in the air while he shouted, as though throttling an imaginary underling.

“Borpo, enough,” sighed Asherzu, rubbing her forehead.

The large Orc snarled. “It will be enough when you finally⁠—”

The floorboards ominously creaked under a shifting mass. It was sometimes easy for Feista to forget that Darak Guz’Varda was present; the chieftain’s brother-turned-bodyguard was usually as still and silent as a signpost. And like a signpost, he was there to remind people where the boundaries were. If you were aware of Darak, he was aware of you; that alone was enough to make Borpo sit down quietly.

“Were her figures wrong?” asked Asherzu quietly, still staring out the window.

“What?” Borpo’s black brows bunched, twisting up in the middle of his brow. “They must be⁠—”

“Did you check? Was the mistake in the sources, or the arithmetic?” said the chieftain.

Feista bent down to feign scratching her leg, then grabbed her tail and pulled it back behind her.

Borpo’s fists clenched as though wringing a neck, and the threads of his suit stretched and snapped under the strain. “Why should I check math that is clearly wrong? Why would⁠—”

“If only to correct an employee, that would be enough,” said Asherzu, finally turning. “What is more, if what she says is right⁠—”

“It cannot be right!” snarled Borpo, and Darak took a step forward this time.

Feista flinched and covered her face. Free of her grip, her tail tucked itself back between her legs.

Asherzu waved her brother away without taking her eyes from Borpo. “We must act on facts, on information. We must succeed by spotting what others miss, by finding what larger firms pass over. Yet you continue to rely on feelings and common perceptions. We have spoken before of this on several occasions, have we not?”

“But—” said Borpo, deflating a little.

“Three timesss, Lady,” said Ms. Thyssisss, consulting a file in her lap.

“That have been documented,” added Mr. Meister.

“And yet here we are again. Such failure to improve is unacceptable! Your demotion shall be swift and merciless, and the analysis team shall no longer report to you.” Asherzu made the proclamation as one might hand down a death sentence on the battlefield.

The Orc paled. “But… but why⁠—”

“Come along,” said Mr. Meister, guiding the Orc toward the door.

“And when next I see you in the tribe meetings, I expect your beard to be a finger length shorter,” said Asherzu as Ms. Thyssisss slid up beside Borpo.