If Klara had simply said there was "some simple general knowledge" in Roselle's diary, The Hanged Man—Alger—probably wouldn't have been half as interested. The word "simple" was poison to a man like him. Too plain, too beneath his constant paranoia of signing away his soul to gods, devils, or worse. Deals were dangerous, and he treated hers no differently.
But now? Now that he had heard the so-called "simple" knowledge, his posture betrayed him. He was hooked, even if he didn't truly understand it yet. Curiosity could strangle a sailor as surely as the sea. He leaned forward, voice lowered with forced reverence:
"Mr. Fool, what kind of payment do you want?"
Klara caught Audrey's eager little nods from the corner of her vision. She's practically bouncing in her seat. If she starts wagging her tail, I won't be surprised. The Sun, meanwhile, said nothing, but the way his eyes flicked toward her told the whole story—he wanted answers, too.
Exactly as she had hoped.
Her lips curved faintly as she leaned into her high-backed chair. "Information regarding the Secret Order."
That landed. Alger muttered the name under his breath, thoughtful, like someone tasting the bitterness of an old memory. Audrey frowned slightly, and poor Derrick… the boy didn't even recognize the name. Of course he didn't. The City of Silver existed in its own little forgotten pocket of history. Expecting him to know about the Secret Order would be like expecting him to know how to order tea at a Backlund café.
No… if he did know, I'd have to throw half my theories into the fire and start again. Zaratuls didn't crawl out of the woodwork until the Fourth Epoch. The Order only appeared in its latter half. Nothing about it belongs in Derrick's world.
Twenty seconds of silence stretched thin before Alger finally lifted his gaze through the gray fog. His tone was cautious, deliberate.
"I will accept this request and help you gather information regarding the Secret Order. Can you make payment in advance?"
Klara reclined slightly, hiding her amusement behind stillness. Ah, there it is. Suspicion, dressed up as formality. He's wondering why a supposed deity cares about something so specific. He's wondering if I'm shackled, bound, in need of my 'Blessed' running errands to free me. A deity in chains... he's not completely wrong.
She inclined her head. "No problem. If the information you collect exceeds the value of the answer, you'll receive further compensation."
And if it falls short? Well… then you'll just have to swallow it, sailor. It's not like you're in a position to argue with the great and mysterious Fool.
Audrey's eyes lit up like emerald glass catching the sun. She raised her hand—always so earnest. "I want to partake in this deal!"
Klara let out a light chuckle. "Sure."
Truthfully, Audrey was the real prize here. Local, well-connected, with her dainty shoes already dipped in multiple Beyonder circles. Compared to Alger—stuck bobbing about on the waves half the time—Audrey was a walking web of Backlund intelligence. And Backlund was exactly where Klara's divinations told her the threads of the Secret Order would knot themselves.
The Sun finally stirred. After quiet thought, he said,
"I'm willing to use the payment I reserved and exchange it for the answer."
Klara tilted her head in acknowledgment. The boy was still green, but steady. In their earlier deal, he had traded away the Sequence 8 Telepathist formula for Sequence 9 Bard, and she had promised him compensation. Now he was cashing it in.
She had prepared for this.
All eyes turned toward Adrian.
Klara resisted the urge to drag her hand down her face. He sat there, calm as a stone idol, staring back with that maddening indifference of his. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she silently prayed—please, just this once, don't run your mouth and ruin it.
The other three waited, their curiosity sharpened to a point. Each of them was wondering: what price had he paid for such favor, for such closeness? A secret deal with The Fool? A terrifying sacrifice? Something that reeked of mystery and divinity?
Adrian tilted his head, voice quiet, steady:
"Regarding payment, I'll have to give mine after the exchange. It wouldn't do well to give it now and disrupt the flow of events."
Klara deadpanned internally. Ah yes, the daft man speaks. What does that even mean? 'Disrupt the flow of events'? You sound like you swallowed a dramatist's dictionary. But fine—vague is better than disastrous. We'll run with it.
On the outside, she inclined her head in agreement and continued smoothly,
"The so-called Similar Sequence refers to how High-Sequence Beyonders are exchangeable with other pathways..."
She laid it out as carefully as she could, giving them the example of Gatekeeper and Demon Hunter, the rules, the risks. Audrey's delighted gasp nearly broke Klara's rhythm. The girl's green eyes shone like she'd just been told she could pick whichever candy she wanted from the shop window. Yes, little lady, the pathways are a marketplace. Just don't try to haggle at the counter and get yourself eaten.
Alger leaned back, the gears in his head grinding visibly. His silence was worth more than words. Hook, line, sinker.
Derrick, meanwhile, wore the expression of a boy realizing half the legends of his home might've been lies. His thoughts were an open book: mausoleums, vanished chiefs, curses not so cursed. Klara didn't need to be a Spectator to follow the thread of his dawning comprehension. Keep it together, boy. Don't choke on revelations too big for your throat.
And then Audrey spoke again, hesitant but bold:
"Mr. Fool, may I ask what other pathways are exchangeable with the Spectator pathway?"
Her voice trembled, but not with fear—with excitement. The question came out like a child asking for a second dessert. She even tried to butter her words with payment: gold pounds, of all things. Klara nearly smirked. Sweet girl. Gold pounds? Do you think I'm running a pawnshop?
She gave her gentle refusal, wrapping it neatly into the ongoing deal about the Secret Order. Audrey looked like she might apologize—then rallied, biting her lip, trying to appear brave.
That was when Klara heard it.
A low chuckle.
Her breath caught sharp in her chest. Oh no. Not now. Not him.
She turned, heart sinking, to find Adrian smiling faintly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade hidden in velvet.
"Well then, perhaps I should pay my dues, if it means helping out Lady Justice."
Audrey lit up like springtime, surprise and delight written all over her face.
Klara?
Klara wanted to flip the table, march across the gray fog, and shake him until his head rattled. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair, smiling serenely on the outside, while internally screaming, ADRIAN, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SACRED, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!
The air in the gray fog shifted.
It was subtle—no thunder, no great tremor—but Klara felt it, the way a taut string feels before it snaps. The others hadn't noticed, too busy looking toward Adrian. He had turned his head, not toward them, but toward her—straight at her throne, into the endless mist where The Fool was supposed to dwell.
Klara froze.
That sharp glance was no accident. It wasn't the empty, wandering stare of someone who stumbled into a mystery too large for him. No, this was Adrian's deliberate move, eyes cutting through the fog with the precision of a knife. For a split second, she was convinced he could see her sitting there, lips pressed thin, holding her breath.
Then he spoke, voice calm, even stripped of its usual sardonic color:
"Regarding the Secret Order. Information about them would prove to be difficult to acquire outside of the capital."
Klara forced her hands to remain still on the armrest. On the inside, her mind hissed: So you're starting with that, are you? Just casually offering the thing I was trading for? Perfect, brilliant, why don't you start handing out all my cards too while you're at it, you daft troll.
But the others didn't know what she knew, didn't hear the weight behind the simplicity. To them, Adrian's words sounded like a thread dangling from a hidden tapestry. A bait. And true to form, the Mirror didn't bother dressing it up with grand gestures or honeyed tones. He continued without flourish:
"The Secret Order that you have read and learned about from these… diaries and other historical recordings are simply outdated, as the Order nowadays is more focused on cleaning up the mess they all so perceive."
Cleaning up the mess? Klara's brow twitched, intrigue cutting through irritation. That wasn't the phrasing of a man parroting rumors. That was someone who'd been close enough to see their hands dirty. Close enough to make them bleed.
For the first time that meeting, she leaned forward. Not as The Fool—but as Klara. She urged him with a light tilt of her chin, her silence beckoning: Go on. If you're going to burn the curtain down, at least show me the stage beneath it.
Adrian inclined his head once, as if he had always intended to go on.
Klara groaned inwardly. Of course. Of course you don't need my permission, you just like making me feel like I gave it. Gods above, why did this dragon have to make a mess in my home?
"The Secret Order is no longer looking into controlling the world in the shadows," Adrian said, tone dry, unshaken. "They are more upfront with their schemes nowadays. As Lady Justice must have heard, there has been quite a ramp on the… incidents that I had fortunately culled before they became real issues."
Lady Justice perked like a flower toward sunlight. Audrey nodded rapidly, her curls bouncing as her eyes widened with admiration. "Yes! I—I followed all of the reports! The disappearances, the disturbances in East Borough, even the thing with the counterfeit talismans—you handled them all. I was so impressed."
Adrian returned her enthusiasm with nothing more than a faint nod, his expression unreadable, almost bored. Then, as if to pour oil on an already burning curiosity, he added:
"As you may have already surmised, they are all from the Secret Order."
The fog hushed around them.
Even Alger leaned forward, the careful mask on his face betraying the tight pull of his jaw. His voice cut in at last, low and clipped:
"Then why? Why would they reveal themselves now?"
Adrian met his stare with a flatness that bordered on chilling. No preamble. No justification. Just two words, dropped like stones into still water:
"Their goal is simple. My demise."
The silence that followed was absolute. Audrey's lips parted, her gasp too soft to escape into sound. Derrick stiffened, wide-eyed, his hands twitching as if he wanted to grip a weapon that wasn't there. Alger's expression darkened, thoughts spiraling fast enough that Klara could almost hear them.
But Klara?
She understood.
The Secret Order thrived on shadows, on secrets held tighter than blood. They could move unseen, manipulate unseen, because no one dared stare too long into their abyss. But a Mirror? A Mirror wasn't just a man. A Mirror was an exposure, a reflection of truths meant to stay buried. With Adrian walking the world, every thread they pulled could unravel into plain sight.
Of course they wanted him gone.
Of course they would risk breaking their pattern for it.
She sat back slowly, eyes narrowing, lips curving faintly—not in pleasure, but in grim recognition.
"…But I am getting ahead of myself." Adrian broke the tension with an almost apologetic shift of tone. He adjusted his glove, the leather creaking softly. "The payment, on top of the information I handed, is the opportunity to interrogate the Secret Order itself."
The air fractured.
Audrey jolted forward, her whole body alive with excitement. "Truly? You mean—we could see it ourselves? I—I could even learn directly—" Her voice wavered with delight, the thought of standing at Adrian's side making her cheeks flush pink.
Alger's jaw worked once, the teeth-grinding just shy of audible. He masked it quickly, but Klara caught the flicker of it: that competitive flame, the fury of a seasoned man of the sea being forced to weigh himself against someone who spoke like he owned the tides. Wondering if Adrian is a pawn of the Fool, or worse, a rival Blessed.
Derrick, sweet boy that he was, only smiled—earnest, untainted. To him, it wasn't politics or rivalry. It was hope. The idea of facing corruption with someone who seemed unshakable was more than enough.
And Klara?
Klara smiled too.
She had to, sitting in this throne, cloaked in mist. She had to appear calm, gracious, approving.
But inside—inside, she was a storm.
Seriously!? You smurf. You actual smurf. RUINING MY LIFE. Do you have any idea what you've just done? With Daxter's disappearance, I can't get Audrey the precise knowledge she needs, I was going to stretch this bargain, work it carefully, play them into my hand—but nooo. You, you magnificent, terrible troll, you drop a dragon's corpse into the middle of my table and call it a gift.
She wanted to slam her head into the throne's misty surface. Instead, she let the storm whirl quietly until one thought struck her.
She stopped.
Wait.
No, this wasn't carelessness. This wasn't him tripping over her plans. This was bait.
Klara's eyes sharpened.
He's not giving them the chance. He's giving it to me.
Because Adrian wasn't stupid. Reckless, yes. A troll? Absolutely. But stupid? No. He had probably come to the assumption that she wasn't some deity. He knew she was balancing on the knife-edge of their perceptions, and this—this was his way of tossing her the rope. By saying interrogate the Secret Order itself, he had planted the idea: that The Fool could sanction such a thing. That The Fool had the authority to send forth her Blessed to pry open the Order's mouth.
The realization poured cold water over Klara's inner fire. Slowly, she exhaled, her panic melting into a calculated calm.
"Very well," she said at last, voice even, regal. "I shall let Miss Justice accompany you on this interrogation."
The girl gasped, practically glowing. "Thank you, Mr. Fool! I—thank you!" Audrey's joy was like a beacon, spilling light across the fog.
Adrian's expression didn't shift. Still, still, still. But Klara knew. She knew him well enough now to catch the subtle change, the microscopic tightening of his jaw, the faint shadow at the corner of his eyes.
He was displeased.
And Klara, behind her calm mask, lampooned in glee. Oh, you didn't expect me to throw her at you, did you? That'll teach you to play games on my board. You don't just drop bait in my lap and walk away clean, oh no. If I have to suffer, you're going to choke on it too, smurf-judge..
She leaned back into her throne, the smile never leaving her lips, while inside she whispered silently to herself:
Round won, Klara. Round won.