Posters have been popping up like mushrooms over the past seventy-two hours, all over the Empire of Archades, and the closer to the Archadian capital one goes, the more of them there are papering the walls and structures of the cities. Groups of them appear in the Skycity of Bhujerba, too, in somewhat lesser profusion.
    The posters are printed in block glyphs and bear an artist's sketch of infamous sky pirates Balthier and Fran. The artist's sketches are wildly inaccurate, though; Fran is depicted as a brunette viera with a surly expression; Balthier is painted as a belligerent-looking man in a white shirt with a moustache, the florid complexion of a drunk, a broken nose, blue eyes instead of hazel, and bent spectacles.
    The genuine article is a great deal more dignified, impeccably clean, and leaning against a wall in the Skycity of Bhujerba as he scowls at the false likeness. He straightens a cuff almost instinctively in the face of the unkempt portrait. The more of the bill he reads, the more disgusted his expression gets:

    "WANTED, BY ARCHADIAN IMPERIAL ORDER:
    "A male hume Pilot of middling years and Cleanly Appearance, answering to BALTHIER, and a viera Archer of Unknown Age, tall and deadly Graceful as is her Kind, answering to FLAN. Their Crimes include the Theft of valuable Imperial property, including Jewelry, various and sundry Parts of Airships, and the hard-earned Wages of the Aristocracy. They are Suspected (but not convicted) of the Murder of Archadian Guardsmen, the Theft of an Archadian Imperial Airship (a prototype of significant Value) and lesser Crimes still.
    "A Reward of great Value is being offered for custody of these eminently elusive Sky Pirates. The criminals must be returned Alive to claim this Reward, lest their identities be Falsified via magick in pursuit of swift Reward. Pittance will be Issued in exchange for satisfactory Proof of their demise, no greater than one tenth the reward Sum.
    "SIGNED BY IMPERIAL ORDER OF JUDGE-MAGISTER ZARGABAATH
    "AUTHORISED BY EMPEROR LARSA FERRINAS SOLIDOR."

    "They've got it all wrong, again. As usual." His disgruntled observation is made to the tall woman beside him, dark of skin and stark white of hair, leaning over his shoulder to stare dispassionately at the bill. He flicks a hand at the poster in exasperated gesture. "Look at that. Can't even get a viera's details right. It's not like viera are that common beyond the Wood, you know. The ineptitude is magnificent."
    "Brown hair, they gave me," the viera observes, exotically inflected words a dull monotone of disgust. "I have never looked so. Some viera, they dye their hair, the to better fit into hume society beyond the Wood. I do not. Have not, ever."
    "Never underestimate the power of stupidity; although I've a suspicion the young lord Solidor has exercised a bit of purposeful obfuscation." Balthier flicks a wrist; tears the paper neatly from the wall, folding it into crisp quarters and tucking it into the inside pocket of his vest. "I suppose thanks are in order, if our paths cross any time soon, although why he would protect notorious criminals is beyond my ability to fathom. Well, this ought to keep the Imperial dogs barking up the wrong tree for quite some time, in any case. Small favours, I suppose."
    "That bill regarding the Necrohol," Fran prompts, red-brown eyes boring into him.
    He shrugs one shoulder. "Oh, yes, I saw that. I'm willing to take a look around if you are. The bill is hardly worth the trouble, but there ought to be more valuables lying around, if that vault's open after being sealed for so long. I've been itching to do something, with the Strahl laid up for so long in repairs. The monsters ought not be a problem for the two of us." He swivels his gaze up to the viera, speculative. "And the Mist?"
    "Will not be a problem." Fran shakes her head, ears bobbing. "I was not so affected, the last time we trod the Necrohol. 'Twas not so much Mist as the battleship, nor the Sun-Cryst's presence."
    "Well, it's settled, then." Balthier allows his mouth to twitch, almost a smile, even as he straightens his other sleeve's cuff. "Down to business, my dear. Two hours in port here ought to give Nono enough time to finish his maintenance, and then it's off to the Deadlands with us."