Dawn crept by degrees over the Strahl as the sleek little airship sliced through the clouds. Below, the world stretched from horizon to horizon, glittering like a jewel in the rising sun. Shafts of light broke through the morning mist. Far below a flock of white birds winged their way south.
    "An auspicious day to acquire some goods, wouldn't you say?" He leaned over from the pilot's console, glancing out the Strahl's forward viewport. "Just imagine all those opportunities, ripe for the picking."
    "Information on a mark, I have." She spoke in her usual understated way, but he could sense a thread of mirth too subtle for laughter. "I heard tell of a 'Mushroom Kingdom.' Ruins in its sands, there are. Dangers, too."
    He gave a sigh of pure pleasure. "That's the sweetest thing I've heard yet today. Do keep talking."
    "There is rumour of monsters." Her tall ears swivelled back.
    "I'm not hearing any deterrent, here."
    "The undead." One ear made a quarter-turn forward.
    "Do you remember that time in Golmore when we fought that very thing?"
    "Terrible plagues. Stricken, all who dare linger." Both ears swivelled out to the sides.
    "Fran, please. The leading man is never ill."
    She arched a brow at him, her silence affectionately mocking, even as both ears slowly turned forward.
    "Well, all right, there was that one time," he conceded airily. "In any event, they're digging there for a reason. Secrets and silver, and treachery afoot."
    "A royal entourage, too, there will be," Fran continued. "Their princess in attendance."
    The Viera's words rolled in slow and exotic inflection, but he'd gotten used to her odd speech patterns years ago. Fran cast him a significant look, red-brown and hazel eyes meeting; lifted a brow almost imperceptibly in unspoken question.
    Balthier rubbed his jaw and idly considered the options. "That's tempting, at least in the short-term gain... but hostages are such a damned messy business. That sort of thing rarely ends well."
    Mahogany eyes slid back to the viewport, and he took her dismissal as acceptance. She scorned idle chatter and counted her words like silver. When she spoke, she meant every one of them. He'd come to know and even appreciate the different kinds of stillness she brought to his life. They spoke a language of silence, and days could pass without a word. None were needed.
    "If we can get in before the expeditionary forces, we might find something worth our while. Fran, take over the controls, if you would? I'd better have a word with Nono. See about clearing the cargo hold. Sounds as though it wouldn't hurt to prepare my rifle, either."
    "It is good, to ready your weapon," Fran remarked. They stood and she took his place in the span of a breath; he felt the ghost of a touch along his shoulder.
    The corner of his mouth twitched. "Wonderful. Means I'm readying it for a reason. Things are more interesting when they're... well, interesting."
    "There is rumour also of monsters," Fran continued, ignoring his commentary. "The undead. And 'ware the catacombs, for I fear we'll not be alone down there."
    He whistled a toneless whistle, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Well, well. This is sounding better by the moment. I find I'm looking forward to a piece of proper action. Keep her steady, Fran. I'll be back before you know it."