Just as in all the previous attempts, the wind was the culprit.

Gwen watched as a gust off the ocean pushed the scaffolding's exposed corner — the one everyone was worried about, and for good reason. This slight kiss from a gentle sea breeze sent the whole structure twisting. It didn't fall — not right away. The massive framework bowed out then back, almost like it was doing that swaying dance she and Royce had enjoyed at The Blue Parrot. Each time it rocked, however, it twisted farther and farther.

Men raced down the steps; others slid like raindrops down the anchor ropes. At the bottom, everyone scattered. This was the third and final attempt to build a structure that would grant them access to Drumindor's bridge. The first scaffold had collapsed before reaching halfway. The second made it to the three-quarter mark before it blew down. This last one had come so very close, but there was a growing movement to the framing. No matter how much they anchored it, it continued to wobble. Seeing something that tall move at all was frightening.

Now, with a terrible tilt, lean, and snap, the scaffolding splintered, shattered, and fell. The majority of it came down upon itself, imploding like a tower made of straw, except it had been built of the biggest logs that could be found. Some toppled over onto the dock, punching holes through the boardwalk, but the very top had fallen into the bay, where it caused a huge splash. A series of waves burst white against the dock and sprayed the plaza, wetting the backside of the statue of Andvari Berling who, Gwen noticed, had a white cloth on his hammer that morning. Boats that had been moved to what was believed to be a safe distance bobbed at anchor as wildly as children's toys in a violent bath. Once the worst was finished and the last of the cracks and groans quit, workers jumped to the task of searching the wreckage for the dead and injured.

"That's it, then," Royce said miserably as he sat beside her at the little table on the plaza. "There's not enough time to try again."

It had been two weeks since Gravis had taken control of Drumindor. Full moonrise was only four nights away, and in all that time, no one had solved the problem that one dwarf had caused.

The two sat on the plaza at the tiny café that went by the plucky name Table by the Tea. The dainty little storefront with the happy red-and-white-striped awning serviced a handful of wrought iron tables placed out front. The café was squeezed in between the Hammer & Anvil and the Drunken Sailor, a pair of boisterous open-air bars that, given the early hour, were presently vacant and therefore quiet. Yet even the café suffered unoccupied tables.

The city was emptying.

Gwen and Royce had made a habit of eating breakfast at the café each morning. Along with coffee, tea, and fresh-baked pastries, the shop provided the best view of the South Tower. The Table by the Tea was also one of the few places still open. Word had circulated, and ships departed from the harbor each day. What had been a forest of towering masts was now a deserted cove.

The turists were the first to leave, and with them went most of the business. At first, shops opened for only a few hours each day, and then, not at all. A greatly pared-down food market continued to serve those who remained. The price of the produce was slashed as farmers sought to turn their commodities into coin as fast as possible. Those who couldn't afford to book passage on a ship left the city by mule-drawn wagons. Some departed on foot.

With little else to do, the remaining inhabitants of  Tur Del Fur came down to witness the battle to save the city. Royce had directed engineers to attempt to bore into the face of the tower, but after two weeks, they had hardly made a shallow depression, and they had spent more time sharpening tools than working.

Not content to rely on any single plan, Royce — who had determined that the stone surrounding the South Tower was more pliable than the tower itself — had also ordered the digging of a tunnel aimed at burrowing underneath, but the excavators discovered the tower's granite base just kept going down.

Unhappy with Royce's progress, and also not satisfied with relying solely on him, Cornelius called in locksmiths from all corners of Delgos to no avail. As Royce had repeatedly explained, there was no lock to work on.

One fellow, a mason who had moved to Delgos to learn stonework from the dwarfs, proposed building a sister tower but admitted it would take longer than a month.

Even Arcadius studied the issue. He suggested creating a balloon that would be inflated with hot air that would rise. He explained that an empty wine barrel could be attached, and a passenger could be lifted to the level of the bridge. This was believed to be ridiculous by everyone, and the idea was flatly ignored, frustrating the professor to no end.

Finally, Royce recruited an army of carpenters and directed the engineers to erect the scaffolds.

Each day the crowds witnessed failure after failure, and as the days passed, the audiences grew smaller and smaller. The collapse of the scaffolding that morning heralded the end. This slapdash pile of scavenged wood had been their last hope.

"Don't bother paying me," the owner of the Table by the Tea announced to everyone. Her name was Olivia Montague, at least that's what she told everyone. Gwen had come to realize that transplants to the city assumed a "Tur name" that was always more flamboyant than the one they left behind — the first step of a fresh start. Even some turists adopted temporary names, wearing them like masks at a disreputable ball. In Tur Del Fur, everyone was free to be someone else, and no one yearned to be called Bertha or Walter Frump. In this way, Gwendolyn DeLancy felt at home. Her mother, it turned out, was ahead of her time.

Olivia Montague was a woman deep in middle age who made everyone feel noticed and welcome. Like the black tea and the morning sun, the smiling face of Olivia always made the days brighter. "Everything is free. In fact, you can take the cups and plates with you. I'll be leaving tomorrow, and I can't carry it all."

There was a sympathetic and disappointed groan from the patrons, and Gwen joined in. "I'm going to miss her," she told Royce, who didn't seem to hear, as he was staring at the towers like he wanted to kill them. Gwen never joined in his ritual morning glare. She had taken to sitting with her back to the bay. The towers frightened her.

Since the first night after Gravis sealed Drumindor, she had suffered horrible dreams. They always began with the pounding. The beating was so loud the world itself could have been the anvil and the hammer the fist of a god. The sound came from deep underground. In her dreams, she walked down Berling's Way toward the towers, and as she did, Gwen felt the vibration in her feet and legs. So powerful were the blows that she staggered. Fruit and some leaves fell from trees, buildings collapsed, paving stones buckled, and the water of the bay boiled. Something — no — some things very far below were trying to get out. She didn't know how she knew this, any more than she knew how she could see people's lives through the windows of their eyes — she just did. Gwen also knew the source of the banging was not at all good. Bad didn't describe what she felt, even evil was too weak a word. All Gwen knew was that she was horrified by the thought they might succeed. In her dreams, whenever she looked at the towers, Gwen thought she caught glimpses of them. There were three, huge and horrible, and whenever she saw them, she knew they saw her.

"Is that it?" Gwen asked, pointing out at the third pier where the last big three-masted schooner was tied. Men were rolling barrels up the planking onto the deck.

"Yes," he replied. "That's the Ellis Far. She'll be leaving tomorrow, bound for Roe."

"Looks like a nice ship."

Royce scowled.

"You don't like ships, do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm okay with short trips, or boats on rivers where there isn't too much rocking, but oceans and I don't get along."

"So, what are you going to do? The Hansons won't be back in time, and there aren't any more horses for sale."

"Suppose I could walk."

"Most of Delgos is an arid plain surrounded by desolate mountains."

"You noticed that, too, did you?" He frowned.

"The Ellis Far is the last ship, isn't she?"

"The last public one." He pointed at the massive vessel docked at the DeLur private pier that was also in the process of taking on supplies. "That's the last ship — Cornelius's luxury yacht. He'll wait another few days before leaving. The guest list, I hear, is a mark of distinction. I suspect that, in the future, the world will be divided between those who were on it and those who weren't." Royce looked over at her. "You booked passage on the Ellis Far, right?"

"I made reservations for six." She touched the key around her neck. "And we won't be jammed in with the barley bags and the mice. I insisted on a stateroom. Of course, the ship isn't very big, and I didn't want to be greedy. The room normally accommodates only two. So, it's going to be tight, but much better than bedding down alongside the bilge water pumps in the hold."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"I thought you'd never been on a ship?"

"I have a talent for learning things quickly."

He nodded. "Yes, you do." Then he looked back at the towers and frowned. "I'm sorry this didn't turn out better."

"Better?" She sounded astounded. "How can it be better? I can quite honestly tell you, Mister Melborn, that I never once dreamed I might one day laugh under the light of different stars, swim in the Sharon Sea, drink ridiculously expensive wine, and sit in a bayside café sipping tea, much less dance with you on the polished floor of The Blue Parrot. This was the time of my life, Royce. Thank you."

She touched his hand.

He let her.

"I still wish it had been better."

She shook her head and pointed toward the empty chairs beside them. "Just a week ago, we — you and I — sat right there and spent an evening talking with Sir Adwhite."

"The old guy?"

"Yes, the old guy."

"He didn't seem very impressive for a knight."

"He wasn't knighted for his prowess with a blade. He wrote The Song of Beringer. The man is a famous author, philosopher, and world-class thinker. And do you recall the man who was with him?"

Seeing he didn't, she rolled her eyes. "His name was Alfonzo Duran. He's a painter. A good one. I visited his shop; his work is amazing."  Then she gestured at herself. "And I, insignificant little Gwen DeLancy of Wayward Street, spent a night discussing literature and fine art with two masters, while sipping spiced rum on a moonlit bay where both a monkey and a leopard wandered by. I think the reason you're disappointed in this trip is because you haven't been paying attention."

"I pay attention. For example, the monkey and the cat didn't just happen past. They were pets."

Gwen grinned and nodded. "Yes! Exactly! People walked by us with a monkey and a leopard as pets. Royce, this has been . . . " She looked up at the sky shaking her head. "I wish Sir Adwhite were here because I can't begin to put into words how incredible this has all been."

"I still wish it could have been better."

"How, Royce? How could this have been better?"

He never replied, but once more he looked back at the towers, which was answer enough. In his mind, he had failed, and she had been there to see it.

Royce and Hadrian surveyed the wreckage around the South Tower. Not much had been done to clean up after the scaffolding came down. With its collapse, the laborers, foremen, carpenters, and engineers abandoned the site because now, all thoughts focused on escape.

As always, Baxter was following Riyria. He appeared continually amused by Royce's frustrations. "Looking for a crack you missed the first twelve times?" the ghost asked.

"Shouldn't you be packing?" Royce asked. "The Ellis Far is leaving in the morning, and you strike me as the sort that has a lot of things."

"Don't need to. My bags have already been stowed in my private stateroom on the Crown Jewel." He pointed to DeLur's yacht, which at that moment was taking delivery of a wagonful of straw-packed ice. Baxter grinned. The iceman apparently thought the expression was for him and he waved back. "The chef from The Blue Parrot will be on board and needs the extra ice for his frozen magpies." He looked toward the boat at the public docks. "But I'm sure the accommodations on the Ellis Far are just as good."

Baxter was goading Royce, or trying to. The ghost had no idea that needling a stone only resulted in a dull point. Royce wasn't impressed by opulence. Jewelry was a hindrance; clothes that didn't serve a practical purpose were pointless, and anything else was generally a nuisance — a chore to protect. And all ships bound for sea were equally unpleasant.

Royce continued to walk around the base of the tower. As he did, he ran his hand along the smooth polished surface. Then Royce stopped and looked out across the ocean. "Which way is the wind blowing?"

Hadrian peered up at the numerous banners and flying advertisements hanging before the shops. "North to south, I think."

"That's what I think, too. It was blowing the same direction yesterday and the day before. I get the impression it usually blows that way."

"Worried about your trip north?" Baxter asked. "I'm no sailor, but I believe they have ways of sailing into a wind. It will be slower, of course. So, it is a good thing you're setting out tomorrow. I believe the Crown Jewel will be heading south, then east along the warm southern coast before heading north and landing at Vandon."

"Good to know," Royce said.

"You've become awfully talkative," Hadrian said to Baxter. "I thought ghosts were supposed to be quiet and invisible."

Baxter shrugged. "You don't have the diary, and you're not likely to get it now. So, there isn't much point of ghosting. This job is winding down, and I'm excited to see Vandon. Never been before, but I've heard it's supposed to be a wild pirate town, a real open port. No laws, no money. Everything is barter, and the only rules are what you can back up with a blade. Should be fun. Why I'm still on this assignment is beyond me. Everyone should have known when the dwarfs abandoned the city it was time to set sail. I mean, if you see rats running for it, you know it's time to go."

Hadrian scowled at the comment. "I'm really starting to see how you found my constant talking so annoying, Royce. I hope I wasn't this bad. Was I?"

Royce didn't reply.

"Seriously? You think I was —"

Royce held up a hand. He was trying to listen.

It sounded like the low rumble of thunder or the roll of big waves, but it came from the city. There was a rhythm to the noise, and soon Royce could make out a regular and repeated thump! pounding like a drumbeat. It didn't take long for him to break out the separate sounds: an army of feet marching in unison on stone and the deep chant performed by a chorus of voices. The whole of it presenting a decidedly militaristic cadence.

A moment later Baxter turned toward the city. "What's that?"

"I think it's your rats," Royce told him. "They're coming back."

Down the center of Berling's Way, marching in perfect rows of five abreast, came a host of dwarfs. This time they were dressed in work clothes, carrying tools and wearing belts adorned with hammers, and over their shoulders were coils of rope. They sang together as they approached the harbor. Once more the words were in the dwarven tongue, which echoed of another age, another time. When they reached the wharf, they turned and marched past the shops and bars as they made their way around toward the southern tower.

Along their route, doors opened, shutters were thrown back, and people came out to see what was happening. No one tried to stop them. Even when the column reached DeLur's harbor there were no guards, and the gate was still open. No one was on the docks except the three of them and the longshoremen busy preparing the ships. All of whom paused to watch the procession pass by.

"What do you think they're up to?" Baxter asked.

From out of the DeLur Estate, dignitaries issued. Ernesta Bray and Oscar Tiliner were at the forefront of the opulent mob. Both held drinks in cut-crystal glasses. If Royce had to guess, he'd say the passengers of the Crown Jewel were all holding a multi-day celebration to commemorate the death of the city, a sort of advance wake. The lady was there, too, the one with dark hair and eyes who had granted Royce and Hadrian an audience with Cornelius DeLur. This time she wore the appropriate black mourning gown, complete with elbow-length gloves.

The dwarfs ignored all of them and continued across the battered boardwalk, advancing relentlessly toward the three. For a moment, Royce wondered if they were coming for him. Trapped against the sea and seeing what looked to be several hundred dwarfs bearing down on him was alarming — a sort of nightmare scenario. Then they stopped, and the strict lines dissolved. Without a word, the dwarfs set to work clearing the debris of the old scaffold.

Bray, Tiliner, and the woman in black spotted Royce and Baxter.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked with more authority and anger in her voice than would be expected from a receptionist.

"Standing here, much like yourself," Royce replied.

The woman showed little patience and gripped Baxter with her eyes. "Explain. Now."

"Actually, he's right, Cassandra," Baxter said. "We have no more to do with this than you."

The woman whirled to view the small army who had already cleared a narrow path. "Where did they come from? Why are they here?"

One of the dwarfs, a female who had a towel draped around her neck, heard her and looked up. "We live here," she said, seemingly dumbfounded by the nature of the question. "We have fer more than five thousand years. And as fer why"— she extended her arms, then clapped them on her sides — "it's because this is our home. Always has been. We made this place, built it with our hands, poured our blood into it. We buried our dead beneath its rock. That's why we're here. Why are you?"

"Are you here to stop it?" Ernesta blurted out, pushing past Cassandra and spilling her drink. She most certainly had heard the conversation that took place directly in front of her, but Ernesta was angry. After all, she, Oscar, and Cornelius had a pretty good thing going. Watching it all erased by something as ludicrous as a disgruntled ex-employee had to be aggravating. But buried beneath the slurred frustration and bombastic arrogance, Royce thought he caught a tone of hope as if she believed this parade of dwarfs was the happy ending she'd been looking for. "Are you here to open Drumindor and get that lunatic out?"

Perhaps imagining himself to be the voice of reason but still sounding like a drunk parent scolding disobedient children, Oscar threw in, "If you're here to put a stop to this nonsense, you're arriving awfully late! We could have certainly used your help building the scaffolding or cutting into the stone!"

The female dwarf stared at them with the not-unexpected expression of disgust and bewilderment. Then she shook her head. "We can't open the towers any more than you."

"What?" Oscar gestured at the workers stacking aside the logs. Two had already set up a station and were sawing the timber into more manageable lengths. "Then what are you doing here?"

"They're begging Gravis to stop," Hadrian said.

Everyone looked at him, including the lady dwarf. She didn't say anything, which said a great deal.

"What are you talking about?" Oscar bellowed. "That crazy saboteur is almost a thousand feet up. How is he going to hear them beg?"

Hadrian pointed at the banner on the bridge. "That's a warning to get out of the city. It's written in the dwarven language. I've never met Gravis, but I suspect he could have written it in Apelanese so everyone could read it. He didn't because the warning wasn't for us. He was telling them." Hadrian gestured at the dwarfs — several of those close enough to hear him stopped working to listen. "He let his people know so they could save themselves. And he gave them plenty of time to pack up and get away. Only they didn't. Just by being here — by showing themselves — they're letting Gravis know they haven't left and they're not leaving, and that if he goes through with it, he'll be killing all of them. You're right, he can't hear them beg, but I suspect it's hard not to notice a thousand dwarfs, even from that height."

"He'll still do it," Royce said, but not to Oscar, Ernesta, Cassandra, or even Hadrian. He was addressing the little lady dwarf with the towel around her neck. "This isn't entirely his decision. He's not alone up there."

Enough concern crossed her face and those of the other dwarfs to prove they knew nothing about Falkirk.

"Doesn't matter," the dwarf said. "It changes nothing. This is still our home . . . our only home. We have no place left ta go."

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