It’s not long before we clear camp, snuffing our camp fire and packing our gear. I find Gilbert with a wrench in hand, tightening up the gears of large automatons. His arm disappears into the crevice of a torso, leaving only his broad shoulder sticking out.

Four machines are parked under the tree's shadowy foliage. Their form is replicated from riding horses. Gilbert notices my approach and pulls his shoulder back out to wipe grease off one arm.

“How are they?”

“As good as they could get. My Róta will need a change of shoes when we get back to the Creche.”

The Creche may be lean with many things, but mechanical steeds-instruments of battles long past-are in abundance. The foundry at the Creche is known to be the largest in the Empire, after all, so many manners of machinery begin their lives there.

When assessed for his skills upon coming to the Creche, Gilbert’s aptitude for engineering was simply second nature to him. Many men and women from the East seem to have an innate talent for it.

I step in front of a cyborg horse. She’s neither a new or old model, but one that has served me well throughout many missions. I find her name stamped at the base of her neck: Skögul-IV.

I climb over the automaton’s leather stirrup and swing my leg over. My bare fingertips graze over a tempered glass window by her engraved name. The dull gray liquid underneath glows with a shimmering prismatic color at my touch. I close my eyes and flutter my thoughts to the palm of my hand.

A low hum proceeds while the mechanical steed awakens, her joints pulse and her flared nostrils shoot out puffs of steam.

Hooves now mobile, my steed digs her feet and rakes her weight against flattened grass. I take her reins and guide it to the worn trail before us. Thomas, Alan, and Gilbert all follow my lead.

---

We ride at a canter on the main road, which is nothing but densely packed ground. The scenery is mostly pleasant with the typical array of rural farming landscapes. It’s a typical summer day in the southern areas of the Empire: a tickling heat but nothing compared to the scorching deserts of the north.

It takes only a few minutes on our path before we approach a covered wagon. Its various piles of knickknacks are laid out on linen and worn velvet tarps before it. Such sights are common with towns in distress. We slow our horses at an even trot while we edge closer to the full-bellied merchant and his shop of second-hand goods. His face expectantly locks on us.

However, once he eyes our manner of dress and our mechanical steeds, his demeanor changes. It doesn’t take much for him to determine that we would not be welcomed customers.

Instead of smoothing over his apron in anticipation of our patronage, the merchant turns his shoulder from us to barter to a pair of weary caped travelers. A worn palm is held out to receive coin.

As we slowly pass by the shop, I notice a mustelid creature snaking away from the merchant’s wagon. It remains unnoticed and swiftly disappears into the shoulder bag of one of the travelers. It emerges just as quickly as it disappears, carrying a small money pouch in its mouth, as it scurries back into the wagon.

Upon seeing this whole transaction within a matter of seconds, I shoot glances at my covey brothers and realize that they, too, had seen it happen.

Gilbert’s mouth opens to say something but I firmly shake my head at him. Our mission is to reach the village in due time, not to involve ourselves with minor affairs. If we had stopped every misdemeanor we’ve witnessed, we would have not kept with a reasonable schedule.

Creche Children were deployed as law enforcement in times of dire need, though this was simply not the time.

Thomas tilts his head towards them in greeting.

“Good day, sers.”

The liquidator and travelers largely ignore our presence. But as soon as our backs are turned to them I hear a low spat and inaudible murmuring. Shortly, after we cross a small bridge to the entrance of the town.

---

We arrive at a small collection of buildings with steeply pitched roofs and white-painted barge boards. There is little in the way of luxury, though it’s clear that the town’s specialty must’ve been in woodworking. Several workers’ stalls stand vacant with nothing but heaps of wooden beams and thin shavings.

Upon arrival, a flurry of onlookers, children more than adults, swarm us. But once they set eyes on our gray uniforms they turn on the balls of their feet and swiftly retreat indoors.

Children’s collars are grabbed and yanked back by their caretakers. Doors slam shut. Numerous pairs of eyes peek from behind curtains and in-between slits at the windows.

"Creche Children," they cry. "The Creche Children are here."

“They’ve sent four? Why so many?”

“They’ve sold their souls to the Beast.”

“They’ve made pacts with demons? So that’s why they’re able to hunt their own kind.”

Our horses halt at the center of the town. My Skögul turns on her haunches while I look for any sign of greetings. When there is none, I inhale a sharp breath and shout.

“I am Commander Edith Victoria of the 709th covey, Creche of the Empire.”

“I wish to speak to a Mr. Edmund Barnes.”

Silence.

Gilbert grunts, speaking softly.

“Looks like hospitality is lost on them.”

Thomas shakes his head.

“No, it’s not hospitality that they lack. It’s courage.”

“Then what should we do?”

“Don’t fret, dear Alan. They won’t keep us long.”

“Thomas is right. They’ll want us gone as soon as possible.”

Just then, a door whips open and a rail-thin man stumbles out from a forceful shove. The dust clouds at his landing. He recovers as best as he can, retrieving his hat and placing it on his bald head before standing and patting his clothes clean.

“Mr. Edmund Barnes?”

The man scuttles towards us, fearfully and timidly. He nods. A nasal voice emits from his mouth.

“W-w-well met, Creche Children. I pray that your journ-n-ney was uneventful?”

Thomas eyes him sharply.

“If you could call a week’s worth of travel by sea and horseback uneventful, then you would be correct, Mr. Barnes.”

The man bites his lip at Thomas’ comment, probably unsure of how to respond. He tips the rim of his hat to Thomas.

I dismount my steed in one fluid motion. My covey brothers follow suit and our booted heels thud against the well-worn dirt ground. As I approach Mr. Barnes, it’s clear that he’s not only intimidated by our uniforms, but also my height as a woman.

I strike my chest with a fist in an Imperial salute.

“We are from the 709th covey, Creche of the Empire.”

  “My name is Edith Victoria from the Western House of Cerna, Sabine of the North.”

His dark eyes shift up at me, brows furrowed. It’s not altogether clear if he has ever heard of a proper pedigree before. If he had ever served in His Holiness’ grace, then ranks and titles would be easily understood.

I gesture to Thomas and the others.

“This is my Second-In-Command, Thomas Rayner from the Southern House of Cerna, Aria of the Sky. And he is Gilbert Nathaniel from the Eastern House of…”

It’s now apparent that he has no idea what I’m saying. This isn’t unusual. There are plenty of villages that are untouched by martial governance. I drop it completely and clear my throat.

“Ahem, we are here to investigate your town, by order of the Creche, and in respect by the Empire.”

His fingers weakly hold onto his hat’s rim, as if he couldn't decide to take it off in my presence.

“You are this town’s mayor, are you not?”

He shuffles his feet and fidgets his fingers over his hat, clearly indecisive. He pulls off his hat and holds it with two shaky hands.

Mr. Barnes is not much shorter than me, but enough that I could see his head bereft of hair, save for maybe a pinch’s worth of long pitiful strands.

Thomas shakes his head.

“You seem to be confused on how to greet the Commander, Mr. Barnes. Rank precedes gender.”

The mayor then has a moment of clarity. He places his hat back on and stumbles through an apology.

“Ah, I am so sorry. I just did not expect a Commander to be a woman, and I did not mean to offend-”

“No offense taken. Will you provide information and assist us?”

“For an investigation?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Today at the latest, Mr. Barnes. As you are aware, you have quite the hungry Fiend in your midst and your whole town is in danger.”