"Arr-arresh-arresht these invaders!" bellowed the God of Wealth, waving his arms so wildly that one of them smacked into the side of his palanquin. "Oooooh," he moaned, clutching his wrist.

As guards came running from all directions, I whispered, Go, to the Accountants.

Most cast scornful glances at the guards and marched away, but White Night didn't budge.

"You should go while you can," Floridiana advised him. "We'll be fine. She can talk her way out of anything."

Aww, look at how far we'd come! Look at how much she trusted me! I'd have petted her head if it wouldn't have spoiled my pose of outrage.

"Nevertheless." White Night stood his ground even as the guards encircled us, spears leveled at his and Floridiana's hearts. (Perched on her shoulder, I was above it all.)

"You there! Surrender peacefully or we will use force!" barked the most senior guard. (At least, I assumed he was the most senior guard, since he wore the fanciest helmet.)

Standing up even straighter on Floridiana's shoulder, I stared down my nose at him. Is this how you treat the Director of Reincarnation and Wealth?

The guard's eyes popped out, although not quite as much as the God of Wealth's.

"What ish thish – thish – farce!"

I hold the seals of the Director of Reincarnation and Wealth. Therefore, I am the Director of Reincarnation and Wealth. Is this not how it works?

The God of Wealth blustered and blathered but couldn't deny that whoever possessed the seal of office was recognized as the official holder of aforementioned office. It really was convenient.

With one stamp, I can strip you of your positions and sentence you for defying the authority of the Bureau of Reincarnation and the Ministry of Wealth.

Right on cue, White Night pulled a blank scroll from his sleeve and started to record the guards' crimes. "Obstruction of a Director. Obstruction of a Director in the pursuance of her duties. Direct defiance of a Director. Direct defiance of a Director in the pursuance of her duties. False accusation of a Director. False accusation of a Director in the pursuance of her duties...."

Some of the guards gulped. The rest looked queasy.

"Those sound like very serious charges," Floridiana remarked. "What sorts of punishments do they warrant, White Night?"

Without glancing up, the Accountant listed them: "For obstructing a Director, three days of being burned in the Trigram Brazier. For obstructing a Director in the pursuance of her duties, an additional four days of being burned in the Trigram Brazier. For defying a Director, being chopped into ten thousand pieces. For defying a Director in the pursuance of her duties, being burned for four days in the Trigram Brazier and then being chopped into ten thousand pieces. For false accusation of a Director, having their tongues ripped out with hot pliers. For false accusation of a Director in the pursuance of her duties – "

Let me guess: Being burned for four days in the Trigram Brazier and then having their tongues ripped out with hot pliers.

"Correct."

A shiver ran around the ring of guards. The imp palanquin bearers grinned, the red light making it look as if their mouths ran with blood.

"Ah." Floridiana nodded sagely. "Those do seem like severe punishments."

"I'm not done yet." White Night took out a second blank scroll and continued to write. "Taking up arms against a Director. Taking up arms against a Director in the pursuance of her duties...."

Tell me, how does one chop a criminal into ten thousand pieces when they've already been burned to ash in the Trigram Brazier?

The guards swayed as if buffeted by a gale. That was to say, they swayed back, away from us.

"Oh, the Trigram Brazier doesn't burn the criminal to ash." White Night never looked up from his scroll. "That would be too gentle. Rather, it smokes them. I have never witnessed such a punishment in person, mind, but by all accounts the smell is reminiscent of roast suckling pig."

At the thought of tender, succulent flesh topped with a layer of crispy golden-brown skin, my belly rumbled. The guard directly in front of me gagged, and I winked at him. It didn't seem to reassure him any.

"Arresht them! Arresht the imposhter! Arresht the imposhter!" screamed the God of Wealth. "Why are you jusht shtanding there?!"

I let the moonlight glint off the seals at my throat and tossed my head so the bronze clinked. Enough. The seals embody the authority of the Directors. I hold the seals. Therefore, I hold the authority of the Directors, and I speak with the weight of my two Bureaux. Lower your spears.

One spear drooped, followed by another, then another, until all of them pointed at the ground.

Now. What to do with guards who have transgressed so badly?

"The Code of Heaven lays out clear punishments," White Night stated, "as well as a clear protocol for implementing them. Although, as a Director, you do possess the authority to modify them as you see fit."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Of course I did. As far as I could tell, Heaven operated on the principle of leaving plenty of wriggle room for gods. I could pardon these guards and send them home with all their limbs and organs attached, or I could punish them and turn them into dumpling filling. What a thing of convenience. What a thing of beauty!

Unfortunately (or fortunately?), that wriggle room was more or less what we'd come to eliminate, wasn't it? And what better way to start than by winning these guards to our side?

I shook my head, feigning regret. That will not do, I'm afraid. The rule of law must apply equally to all in Heaven. Punishments cannot be adjusted based on a whim.

Floridiana picked up on my intent at once. "Ah, so you could not lighten these guards' punishments even if you wished to show mercy. What a shame, in light of the...confusion over identities."

The guards trembled. The God of Wealth raved in his palanquin, but no one was listening to him now.

However, I said, stressing the syllables. However, I believe the Code of Heaven is too severe. Burning and ripping out tongues and chopping guards into ten thousand pieces simply because they were unaware of a transfer of power. That's too cruel! Too unjust!

A few guards perked up, only to slump again when White Night said curtly, "That is the punishment specified in the Code. If you choose not to exercise your privilege as Director to modify it, then that is the punishment that must be executed."

I felt a surge of fondness for the Accountant. Thank goodness he'd stayed!

That is too cruel. That is too unreasonable. If that is the punishment, then I say the Code is overdue for revision. Would you not agree?

Another quiver, the tremor of hope, ran around the ring of guards.

"I agree," said Floridiana.

"It would make Accounting's work easier," said White Night drily. "Counting to ten thousand for however many guards need to be executed is a tedious task."

There! You see? I grinned toothily at the guards. There is no need to punish you after all! We must simply rewrite the Code. I, as Director of Reincarnation and Wealth, will call on the other Directors to do so!

As one, the guards crumpled to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the paving stones. "Thank you, Director!"

There's no need for such gratitude, I assured them. It is, after all, only just. However, there is still the matter of the imposter.

I looked pointedly at the God of Wealth. He'd wrestled the door of his palanquin open, and now he attempted to step out. Tripping over his hem, he tumbled to the ground. None of the imps made any move to catch him.

"Traitorsh! Traitorsh! I'll have you all chopped into meat paste! Guardsh! Other guardsh!"

No new guards came running. All of the ones within earshot must have responded to his first call, and they ignored him now.

The God of Wealth tried to stand, tripped over his toes this time, and crawled forward to whack the guards' backsides with his fists. "Traitorsh! Traitorsh! Get up! I command you to get up!" He stabbed a finger at them, perhaps intending to draw on some godly power to force them to their feet, but instead, a torrent of gold gushed from his fingertip. Boat-shaped ingots pelted them, hard enough to bruise even through their armor.

Whooping with glee, the imps dropped the carrying poles and lunged for the gold, making it vanish the way janitors did dust.

"No, no," choked the God of Wealth. He scrabbled at the gold, trying to absorb it back into his skin.

That's enough! I commanded.

The imps froze, leaving half of the gold still scattered across the ground. One very slowly, very reluctantly took an ingot out of his pocket and proffered it in a shaking hand.

Keep what you've gathered, I told them. Guards, split the rest amongst yourselves and arrest this man who is not only posing as a Director but has physically attacked the Heavenly Guard Force.

"Yes, Director!" chorused the guards.

And spread word that the Director of Reincarnation and Wealth and the Director of the Sky and Academia intend to overhaul the Code. The Director of the Sky and Academia is the Star of Reflected Brightness, by the way. Spread word of that too. We wouldn't want further misunderstandings.

"Yes, Director!"

Good. Dismissed.

With great enthusiasm, the guards scooped up the remaining gold, clapped shackles on the God of Wealth, hauled him to his feet, and shoved him down the street, chanting as they went, "Behold the false Director of Wealth! Behold what befalls imposters!"

By that point, all the palanquin bearers had vanished, presumably to alert their fellow imps to the changes.

Floridiana heaved a sigh of relief. "Whew. That was close."

That was a good start, I corrected. White Night, how long will it take for word to spread through the guards?

The Accountant's fingers ticked imaginary beads on an abacus. "I estimate somewhere between twenty-seven and thirty-four minutes."

So about half an hour.

How many will side with us?

"That is a more complicated question and depends on more factors, including the temperaments of individual guards, the threats and inducements offered by the other Directors...."

I don't need a precise number. Your best estimate will do.

Again, he flicked his fingers. "Assuming that the guards to whom we spoke are representative of the whole, assuming the standard mix of threats and inducements...roughly half will come to our side."

"Only half will obey the command of a Director?" asked Floridiana incredulously.

"There are multiple Directors. They will need to decide which one to obey."

That was why we needed to collect all the seals, so we could speak with the authority of all the Bureaux combined and there would be no conflict in the instructions the guards received.

Let's hurry up and go to the Ministry of Fate.

We were so close to the Ministry of Fate that I could see its orange walls when the Weaver Maidens' cloud ratcheted up in brightness. The Moon blazed like a blood-red sun. From the West Gate came loud alarm bells and barked orders that I couldn't make out. I didn't need to hear the words to know what had happened, though, because the largest dragon I'd ever seen burst out of a cloud and screamed, "I am the Dragon King of the Western Sea! How dare you bar my path!"

A figure balanced on flaming wheels shot up to meet him. "Stand down, dragon! No one will be granted entrance to Heaven until the traitors within its walls have been purged!"

"You dare talk back to a dragon?!"

A gout of water shot at the Third Prince and spun in a tornado around him, nearly quenching the fire on his spear tip.

Looks like Den's back! I said cheerfully as crab generals and octopus and jellyfish soldiers and – oh hey, our old friend the oystragon! – charged the Heavenly Guards.

"He must be...but where is he? I don't see him...." Floridiana stamped herself between the eyes, squinted, and stamped herself again. "White Night, do you see him? Or Dusty?"

The star sprite swept his gaze across the sky, counting and categorizing the Western Sea army. "I do not."

"Then where are they?" fretted Floridiana. "They didn't get hurt, did they?"

The Weaver Maidens' cloud blazed up again. This time, alarm bells and shouts came from the east.

"Well, that's going to throw off my model for the spread of information," grumbled White Night.

In a good way or a bad way?

"The chaos will slow it."

A bad way, then. I was about to ask how bad when two dragons soared out of the night sky at the head of a carp and shrimp army. One of the dragons was Den, with Dusty clasped in his front claws. The other, with a snake hissing into his ear, was Yulus.

Den had brought the Water Court of Black Sand Creek to fight by our side.

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