So...let's recap! I ended up in a far flung foreign city in a weird costume, got completely lost, had a minor meltdown, threw in with someone who knew the local area, ended up half-naked at an aid station, and then almost got stabbed in a back alley brawl. When you think about it, there really isn't all that much separating my adventures in South Figaro from your average stag do. I mean, sure, there's generally more paintballing and less bounty hunters (unless you've gotten really esoteric) but if Locke and I had been chased through a nightclub rather than an art gallery you'd probably struggle to tell the difference.

That aside, you might be wondering why I, having had such a terrible first experience of South Figaro, eventually chose to make it my home. In fairness, that's not quite true (I live on the outskirts, in a charming little village called Eleusis) but every day I hop on my bike and fight my way through the same impossibly thick crowds all the way down to the Royal Figaran Hospital. Despite everything that's happened, you've got to admire the resiliency of the South Figarans; eight years on, they're still loud, self-absorbed, and (I've since discovered) have an understanding of road traffic laws that would shame a five year old. Having almost been knocked off my bike by both cars and pedestrians more times than I can count, I'm pretty sure I'd be completely justified in welding axe blades to my wheels and charging down Kavalas Avenue like the world's most middle-class magically-enhanced post-apocalyptic road warrior. Try selling me traffic light fish then, Kostas!

Still, while I have no doubt that that would be extremely (if temporarily) gratifying, the fact remains that their intransigence is a large part of why I decided to settle here. When the dust settled and everything was squared away, I spent a couple of years being bounced around the globe doling out aid (and Sentinel-related propaganda) to just about everyone who stuck around long enough to listen. During that period I spent quite a lot of time navel-gazing, and while Terra frequently invited me to move in with her and her kids I very quickly realised that that was probably coming from a subconscious desire for things to go back to How They Were. Had I taken her up on it, I've absolutely no doubt that we'd have ended up as a pair of creepy, co-dependent twins getting on each other's nerves and raising a bunch of orphans on the edge of civilisation. What I really wanted was independence, and so as soon as I could I took a posting that was literally on the opposite side of the planet, in a city that serves my temperament about as well as an erupting volcano serves the All Comers Narshian Annual Ice Sculpting Competition. I'm sorry, Tee, but you know that it was the right thing to do.

That being said, there were several times in that first year when I seriously considered taking her up on her offer. South Figaro was noisy, crowded, and thanks to my (recently acquired) celebrity I was being constantly harangued during work, after work, and even at the Sentinel barracks. After eleven months of that I was a frayed wreck, and when I finally moved to Eleusis I needed to take an entire month off just to decompress. That move proved to be an excellent choice, though, as it meant that I could both appreciate the hustle and bustle of the city while having a quiet, peaceful hole to crawl back into at the end of the day. I also discovered something about the Figarans; while they might seem self-absorbed, it's actually because they genuinely give their all to the people inside their bubble. If you're able to actually break into one of those, you'll find some of the friendliest, most helpful people you could ever hope to meet. They'll lift you up when you're down, almost always have a funny story to tell, and think absolutely nothing about inviting (read: dragging) you into their parties, houses, and lives. For a Vectoran like me, that's a godsdamn blessing...and if they could just collectively work out what the little red glowy eye on the traffic light means, then we'd be golden.

One final little point before we move on. That art gallery we were just in? Yesterday, my fiancee held a (staggeringly successful) exhibition there, including the first showcase of some of her most recent works! I would like to invite you, the reader, to applaud rapturously both for my darling beloved and for the team who did such an amazing job reinstating that blood-stained hardwood floor. Unless you know exactly what to look for, you'd never know anything was wrong.


Although I had a whole forest of questions, it was pretty clear that they were going to have to wait. We wasted no time in quickly and quietly sneaking out the fire escape into yet another small alleyway, and from there entered the tram station through a disused, squeaky iron door that felt like it probably should have been more locked than it actually was. I followed him down an old, dusty corridor and up a flight of stairs to yet another door, but as he put his hand on the handle he stopped and turned to me.

"Better put on yer hat, pal," he said, "I know it's horrible, but the only people who'll know what it really means are them's who attended that meeting. For everyone else, I reckon that a Sentinel with green hair'd be more memorable. People ain't used to things like that."

"Tell me about it," I sighed, and quickly pulled the sweaty, smelly hat out of my pocket, "And before you ask, we did try to dye it. Well, my sister did; she got tired of the nicknames."

"And?"

"It undyed itself. From root to tip in thirty six hours. It was really weird to watch."

"Well, when we get to the train station we'll have to look into gettin' another hat," he said, "If we get a grey one, I reckon people'll just think it's a non-standard Sentinel beret."

"Good idea," I said, and tugged the hat down hard, "Everything covered?"

"It'll do," he said, "Now come on. Tram'll be leavin' soon."

Locke carefully opened the door, peeked, and then quickly slipped through, gesturing for me to do the same. As we hurried across the small, simple platform to the small, simple tram a shrill whistle pierced the air, and we slipped between the doors just as they slid firmly shut. A couple of fellow travellers looked up curiously as we found our way to a pair of empty seats, but returned to their own activities without further comment.

"Phew!" he said, and flopped down on a well-worn seat, "That were cuttin' it a bit fine!"

I nodded silently and sat beside him. A moment later, there was a 'clunk' from somewhere in the undercarriage and then the tram was rolling silently out of the station and onto the street, slowly picking up speed as it went. Before long, the brilliant white buildings of South Figaro were a blur, and then we burst out into a world of gently rolling farmland. Deep brown, freshly turned fields stretched off into the horizon, separated by low stone walls and olive groves, while grand manor houses sparkled on the hilltops. Occasionally I saw someone working in the fields, sweating beneath broad brimmed hats, but aside from them the plains seemed completely empty, a deserted dreamland lost in shimmering heat.

"Comin' up for the hottest part of the day," Locke muttered, apparently catching my puzzled glance, "Smart people're inside."

"You mean, people who aren't us?" I asked dryly. At the sound of my voice a number of passengers looked around sharply, and Locke gave me a gentle nudge.

"Listen, pal," he said quietly, "Yer speakin' Vectoran, in a Vectoran accent, while wearin' a Sentinel uniform an' a horrible yellow hat. I know yer got a tonne of questions, an' so do I, but try an' keep it down, aye? Let's try not to draw attention."

I nodded.

"Good," he said, "'Cause while it were knives in South Figaro, out here it'll likely be guns."

I felt a sudden chill and looked quickly around at the other passengers. For the most part they looked pretty innocuous; some were clearly dressed for work, while others were out with their families or, based on their luggage, taking longer trips. Even so, those thugs in South Figaro hadn't exactly stood out…

"Calm down, pal," Locke said, "Yer not gonna do us any favours if yer have an aneurysm."

"Well, maybe don't talk about gun wielding assassins, then!" I hissed, "Why didn't they use guns in South Figaro, anyway?"

"You saw the crowds, didn't you? You stab someone an' its possible you can vanish back into the crowd. If yer try to shoot someone, yer'll probably hit someone else by accident an' yer might start a stampede," he snorted, "The police take a really dim view of that."

"But they're okay with stabbing?"

"It's more precise. If someone gets killed in South Figaro, chances are it's related to a family or business feud, an' the police know all about who's having it out with who. It might look like bedlam, but ain't much happens by chance in that city. Yer just gotta know what to look for."

"If you say so," I murmured, and then leant back with a sigh and closed my eyes, "If I never see that place again as long as I live, it'll be too soon."

We hummed and bumped through the farmland for another fifteen to twenty minutes, and then I felt the brakes engage with a slight jolt. A short while later, the tram came to a halt next to a rather crowded platform, and we dutifully got off and forced our way through the throng of individuals apparently desperate to get back to the madhouse. From there, it was a short walk down a simple, covered walkway lined with vibrant pink peonies to a grand, semi-circular plaza. Two fountains stood directly before us, jetting water overhead in scintillating arcs, while across the plaza itself bright, colourful stalls were laid out in neat lines. Each was packed to the gills with various knick-knacks and random goods, and there were the now-familiar cries of vendors hawking their wares. Beyond them, though, was-

"Wow," I said, and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

-the grandeur of South Figaro's train station. Even as someone who had seen St. Padaston, I was impressed. Before us stood a dramatic arch of wrought steel and glass panes that caught the light and reflected it into dazzling and hypnotic patterns on the stones below. The metal was more than just simple steel rods, though, it somehow seemed to flow, with each piece woven together to form a seamless, elegant curve without beginning or end. People streamed continuously through two grand, gilded doors that stood slightly apart under the apex of the span, and above them, the words 'Kallikrates International' were spelt out in silvery letters that glowed brilliantly, almost painfully in the noonday sun.

"Impressed?" Locke said, in a tone of distinct amusement.

"Well…" I thought about it for a moment, "St. Padaston is bigger."

"Aye, an' a damn eyesore. Size ain't everythin'."

"I'll leave that between you and whoever you were trying to convince, mate," I said, "But St. Padaston is still bigger. Vectoran engineering's the finest in the world, you know."

"Oh yeah? Who says that?"

"Well, ah...mostly Vectorans," I admitted, and cast around for some criticism I could level at the admittedly gorgeous design, "But...this plaza really should be covered. What if it's raining?"

"If it were covered, where could yer get yer cheap touristy tat?" Locke pointed out the vendors and their wares, "Speaking of which…"

"You think we're going to find someone who's selling hats here?"

"You'd be surprised what yer can find here, pal," Locke said, "If nothin' else, we need some water. When was the last time yer had something to drink?"

"I…" I thought about this. When was the last time I'd had something to drink?

"If yer have to think, it's been too long," he said seriously, "And I ain't gonna help my reputation if I let you die of dehydration. Yer got any money on you?"

"I...um…" with a self-conscious little smile, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Celes' wallet for Locke's inspection, "I was given this. It's got...well, take a look."

It wasn't until I handed it over that I realised how naive I'd just been, but luckily Locke just opened it surreptitiously and then slammed it shut just as quickly, his eyes wide.

"Sod!" he said, and handed the wallet back to me, "D'ya know how much is in there? Who'd you get this from?"

"A...friend?"

"Yer'll have to introduce me someday," he said, "Someone who can throw this kind of money away is clearly someone worth knowin'. Now c'mon, and let me do the talkin'."

I followed Locke into the small bazaar, and immediately found myself lost in a sea of bright awnings and chaotic noise. Merchants were everywhere, selling things from clothes to books to food to spices, and all of them seemed to want my attention. As I looked desperately for my erstwhile guide I found myself repeatedly accosted, through shouts, tugs at my uniform or even having goods rammed hard under my nose by hopeful salespeople with bright, cheery smiles. I did my best to fend them off, but they were absolutely relentless. Where the hell was Locke?

"Hat. Hat and water," I muttered under my breath. If I couldn't find that blasted guy, then I was just going to have to do this myself. In the middle distance I thought I spied a small stall that had several on sale in amongst a pile of sunglasses and bottle openers, and with an apologetic smile wrenched myself free of my current captor and surged across the stalls towards my target. The vendor, an elderly woman with a well-lined face, looked up and gave me a bright smile as I approached.

"Kalimera!" she said.

"Um, kalimera," I replied, "Um...hat?"

"Hat?" she said curiously.

"Hat," I said again, and pointed to my beanie, "Hat."

"Oh, kapélo!" she gave me a toothy smile and gestured at her wares, "For you? Two thousand."

There was a strangled gasp from behind me, and I looked quickly to see Locke bearing two bottles of water.

"Two thousand? C'mon, Macaria, you're havin' a laugh!" he said, and her expression suddenly darkened, "I wouldn't pay more than five hundred for one of these! Look at this workmanship; yer call this a cross-stitch?"

"Quality work!" she protested, in only slightly broken Vectoran, "My sister made these herself!"

"Then you should sack yer sister."

"Tell you what; one thousand eight hundred."

"I'll give you six hundred. The embroidery's lopsided," he picked one up and scowled theatrically, "Is this even real cotton?"

"Of course! You think I'm some kind of crook?"

"I know yer some kind of crook! Yer trying to charge my naive, foolish friend-"

"-hey!-" I complained.

"-two thousand for some half-stitched bodge job!"

"Do you want my children to starve?"

"What, when they get home from the office?" he gave her a wry grin, "You ain't changed that strategy in thirty years, have you?"

"If it isn't broken, why fix it? " she smiled, "One thousand four hundred."

"One thousand," he said, and pointed at my uniform, "He is a Sentinel. You want Callista to hear that yer overcharging her loyal servants?"

"Pah! Sentinels! What do I care about a dead Goddess?" she waved her hand dismissively, but quickly added, "One thousand three hundred."

"One thousand one hundred, an' that's only 'cause we're in a hurry."

"Deal!" she said, and there was a clink as money changed hands, "Whichever one you want, Sentinel."

"Um...thanks?" I said uncertainly. I wasn't quite sure what had just happened, and I was equally unsure who had emerged on top, but with some care I selected a silvery grey beanie that seemed to be in good nick and tucked it away in a pocket, "Shall we go?"

"Aye," he said, "Cya later, Macaria."

"And good day to you, Cole," she said, with that toothy grin of hers, "Do be sure to stop by the shop the next time you're in town."

Locke led the way out of the bazaar, muttering darkly to himself, while I stayed close and tried not to be separated again by the shifting tides of people and merchandise. Just before we reached the entrance to the terminus he spun around and pinned me with an annoyed look.

"Jus' so yer know, I could've easily gotten that hat for seven hundred."

"Okay," I shrugged, "I mean, I was going to pay two thousand for it, so-"

"I know you were. Macaria must've thought she'd died and gone to heaven when she saw you comin' over!"

"Oh yeah? What do you mean by that?"

"That you're the perfect mark?"

"No I'm bloody well not!"

"Oh, no? Let's see, pal; a young, fresh-faced Sentinel with big, kind eyes and an' innocent air? Yer may as well be a baby gazelle skippin' through pride of lions!"

"She wasn't that bad!"

"Macaria ain't, but I still reckon that if she told yer that guff about her starvin' kids, you'd have paid up straight away and probably given her somethin' extra jus' for them!"

"Come on, Locke!" I snapped defensively, but from his expression he clearly knew he'd hit home, "I'm not a total imbecile! I got this far, didn't I?"

"An' how much of that were under yer own steam, pal?" Locke gave me a calculating look, "Yer can correct me if yer want, but I get the feelin' like I'm just the latest player in an international game of 'pass the parcel'."

"I...well..." I thought about it for a moment. Celes had broken me out of that cell, and then Anceleti and Jade had flown me to Tzen, and then there was Setzer… "It was a team effort!"

"Figures," he said, and sighed, "Look, pal, I know that this is all gotta be really confusin' for yer, an' I know yer didn't get out much. I can't imagine that they taught yer much about the real world, either."

I thought about this for a moment. Aside from the occasional trip to Vector or even more occasional trips further afield, our world had basically ended at the gates of IAF Wareydon, "Yeah...you're probably right."

"So what yer need to do is stick close to me, listen to what I'm sayin' and try to pick up on how things really work. Until that bounty comes off yer head it's not like we'll be able to hang out in polite society, so yer may end up havin' a crash course tour of the seedier side of life, too. Jus' so you know, it ain't no place for an innocent young Sentinel like yerself."

"Isn't it?" I said, "Too bad for them, then. They're just going to have to be more accommodating."

Locke gave me a long look, and then laughed, "I like yer spirit, kid. Maybe next time yer could use that on Macaria instead of lettin' me ruin my street cred, eh? She's gonna tell everyone I've lost my edge."

"Maybe you have," I said, "After all, you're doing this for free."

"Who said I'm doin' it for free, pal?" he said, "An' sides, there's more important things than money."

"Like what?"

"Follow me, an' maybe yer'll find out."


While I had (grudgingly) admitted that Kallikrates International was prettier than St. Padaston, the part of me still carrying a torch for the Empire was holding out hope that the interior wouldn't live up to the exterior. As soon as we set foot through the gilded doors, I was strangely delighted to discover I was completely right.

"Ah, yeah," Locke said, "It...may not be completely finished, yet."

"You don't say."

It had to be said, the bits that were finished showed great promise. The main area was both carefully designed and well outfitted, with large, comfortable-looking red chairs sitting in ordered rows before an ever-shifting board of arrivals and departures. Beyond that, however, the station was clearly in need of some additional love. The soft, durable carpet gave way to a vast expanse of smooth, unpolished concrete, interspersed with columns glistening with fresh red paint and cordoned off with red and black warning tape. A small collection of shops had been established near the departures area, including a small cafe, but they seemed lost and lonesome against the far greater number of empty storefronts and signs proudly bearing the words 'Coming Soon!' in large Figaran letters.

"Right, pal. Toilets're over there," Locke said, and pointed to a pair of doors set into a distant wall, "Go an' change yer hat. I'll find out when our train's goin' and then go get us some lunch."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," I said. Sam's omelette had been amazing, but it had also been the only thing I'd eaten in the past forty-eight hours. Doris' porridge, I decided, didn't qualify, "See you in the cafe!"

I set off for the toilets across the concrete expanse. If nothing else, I'd be very glad to be rid of Celes' hat. It had been horrible to begin with, and the various abuses of my travels hadn't done much to improve its appearance or its comfort. The accumulated mass of salt and sand was starting to cause some seriously chronic itching, and even the thought of having to wear this thing all the way to Castle Sacae was enough to fill me with dread.

The toilets were large, functional, and empty, but rather than take any chances I quickly slipped into a stall and yanked the offending article off my head. There was a shower of grit, and then another as I ran my fingers through my hair and shook out whatever else I could. Short of a long, hot shower and access to a chisel, I wasn't going to be making any headway against the strata of sweat and grime that was plastered to my skin, and with a small sigh I put the new hat on and quickly checked it in the mirror to make sure my hair was fully covered. After a cursory examination, I had to admit that it didn't look all that bad; a little baggy, perhaps, but the colour matched my uniform well enough that from a distance I'd look just like a rebellious trainee Sentinel - just like Locke'd said.

Locke...now there was a bloody puzzle. The guy couldn't be that much older than me, surely? How was it that he seemed to know (and be known by) just about everyone we'd met, up to and including random vendors in the street? More to the point, if he'd declined the offer of payment by the Sentinels, and he said he wasn't doing this for free, just who was he being paid by? Even more to the point, why had his paymasters decided that he was their best choice for escorting someone with an enormous bounty on their head across the Figaran continent, dodging hired thugs and (presumably) the steadily growing wrath of Imperial Intelligence? To me, it felt like that job should probably fall to a grizzled pillar of testosterone with biceps like bowling balls and a handy book of one-liners, rather than a bloke who's skillset apparently revolved around getting chintzy tat at discount prices. On the other hand, he'd gotten us this far (although that wasn't, admittedly, very far), and alternatives weren't exactly coming in thick and fast…

My mind was still turning over and over when I emerged from the toilets and spotted Locke sitting out in front of the cafe with a pair of shrink-wrapped sandwiches to go with our bottled water. He appeared to be deeply engrossed in a newspaper, but looked up at my approach and gave the hat an approving nod.

"Much better," he said, "Much...less yellow."

"Great," I said, and as I sat down beside him my stomach gave a warning rumble, "Excuse me, but I think I'm actually starving. What is this?"

"Cheese an' lettuce," he said, "I weren't sure if yer were a vegetarian or not. Yer kinda have that air about you, so…"

"Thanks, but I'm not," I tore into the cellophane wrapper and took a big bite out of the sandwich. The cheese was a little sweaty and the lettuce a bit limp, but to my deprived tastebuds it may as well have been a seven-course banquet, "Everyone in the 'Services is a 'Eat-what-you're-given'-arian, and any vegetables were always boiled into a thin grey mush."

"I've heard rumors," he took a swig of his water, "Anyway, I've looked into getting us a couple of tickets to Castle Sacae. The good news is that there's one leavin' in half an hour; express sleeper to Katastari International."

"And the bad news?"

"The only tickets left are for first class an' they're gonna cost an arm and a soddin' leg. We're probably gonna need to use yer...beneficiary's funds."

"For first class tickets?" I winced, "Celes is going to have a fit when she sees the receipts."

"Celes?" he looked around quickly and then leaned in conspiratorially, "Yer don't mean...General Celestine Chere, do yer?"

"The very same. We grew up together. Sorta."

"'Cause she's a Mage Knight too?"

"Magitek Knight, please," I sniffed, "I'm a Mage Knight. She's the cheap, Domanian knock-off variant."

"Yer know I've seen pictures, right? Of the two of yer, she ain't the one I'd be describin' as 'cheap'."

"I thought so too, until she gave me that hat," I shuddered, "Anyway, I guess it can't be helped. If I said it was so we'd be away from prying eyes, she'd probably buy that."

"An' the extra comfort and fine dinin' is just a happy bonus?"

"Exactly," I dug out Celes' wallet, "So how much are those tickets?"

"About...eighty thousand?"

"Eighty thous- Holy Callista!" I choked, "She's gonna have my head for this!"

"Well, if it's a choice between her swingin' the axe an' Imperial Intelligence, there ain't really much competition. At least she might let yer take it home in a bucket," he said, "Can I look at that wallet?"

Still a little shocked by the prospect of spending more money than I had ever seen, I handed over the wallet and Locke quickly flipped it open. He paused, and then smiled briefly.

"Hey, yer seen this picture?"

"No, and I don't think you should be poking around in her stuff," I said piously, before completely ruining it by adding, "What picture?"

He flipped the wallet around, to show me a little black and white photograph, held securely behind a clear plastic window. I immediately recognised it as one Cid had taken just last March, on Celes' eighteenth birthday, and it showed Celes blowing out the candles on a simple birthday cake while Terra and I looked on with big, happy smiles. As I stared I felt a sudden, painful wrench deep inside and then tears were pricking at my eyes.

"Oh, yeah; I remember that," I said, with a watery smile, "When she turned eighteen there was this big General's bash that Terra and I weren't invited to, but after a couple of hours she and Cid slipped away back to his base office. We made her a chocolate cake - well, I made the cake, and Terra made the candles."

"Oh, yer can cook?"

"I had help," I smiled wistfully, "My XO groused and groused about it, but she gave in when she realised that it was a choice between helping out and letting me wreck the squadron's kitchen. The hardest part was actually finding some damn chocolate; I had to trade an entire month being her tea boy for her getting some in from Albrook, and she drinks near-lethal levels of the stuff."

"Vector would've been cheaper, yer know."

"But the best chocolate comes from Albrook," I countered, "Besides, it was worth it. I don't think I've ever seen Celes' face light up quite like when she saw that cake; honestly, I thought she was going to burst into tears."

"That's...sweet."

"It's Celes. People hear that R.P. accent of hers and see her clothes and assume that she's all about the pomp and circumstance, but she isn't. She hates big parties; always has done. Give her a small group and she's happy as Larry."

"Yeah, I know the sort," he said, and gave the photo another look, "An' it's interestin' that of all the pictures she could've had in her wallet, she had one of you three together. Says a lot, doesn't it?"

"Celes cares in funny ways," I said, and added wryly, "Mostly by never actually telling you that she does. I guess it's tough, when you're a General."

"It's lonely at the top, pal - not that I'd ever know," he said, "But hold on to that photograph. It's probably the most valuable thing in that whole wallet. Y'know, aside from all the money."

"You mean the money that we're about to use to fund a luxury tour of Figaro?" I said tartly, "You do know that somewhere she'sjust woken up in a cold sweat, right?"

"Then we'd better make it count, aye? C'mon; finish that drink an' we'll go get those tickets."

The lady manning the ticket counter was very clearly from Albrook; in fact her looks and general demeanour immediately put me in mind of Celes, albeit a Celes who was ten to fifteen years older. She was wearing a seriously impressive pair of horn-rimmed glasses, which she stared over in an impressively intimidating manner as we approached. She gave Locke a brief, dismissive glance, but her gaze softened as she turned to regard my uniform. Nevertheless, I still felt a very slight chill as her eyes swept over me, pausing momentarily to inspect my face and then my silvery new beanie. A moment later, her face split open into a broad, megawatt smile, revealing two rows of gleaming, pearly white teeth.

"Good afternoon, ma Sentinelle!" she said, in an enthusiastic tone, "I do 'ope you are having a pleasant day!"

"Um, hi," I said, "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see someone from Albrook manning a ticket booth. You're a long way from home."

"And you are not?"

"...fair point."

"I must say, I 'ave not talked to anyone from Vector in several years!" she continued convivially, "'ow is it down there?"

"Grey and rainy," I said, "Y'know, business as usual."

"Well, it is often said that Vectorans invaded the rest of us to get away from that terrible weather," she said, and then her face darkened slightly, "'ave you heard what happened in Maranda? Nasty business with those Titans. Still, I 'eard a Sentinel was the one who managed to put a stop to it!"

"I'm pretty sure it was a combined effort," I said shortly, "Sentinels don't fight."

"Oui, of course," she bobbed her head, "And what 'appened to that Mage Knight? Simply terrible; I hear his poor sister is 'eartbroken. Out for revenge, they say."

"Yeah, it's a right mess alright," Locke said briskly, "Now...about those tickets?"

"...oui, Monsieur Cole," her smile suddenly vanished, "As I 'ave said, the only tickets we 'ave left are in first class. Now, I am sure that we can make room for your Sentinel friend here on the next trip, per'aps in the guard compartment, but unless you can pay then I am afraid you will 'ave to travel separately. The next train will depart in six hours."

"Nice of you to be so accommodating. Don't yer need to see his Sentinel ID to issue free passage?"

"Oui, normally," she agreed, "But 'e is clearly a Sentinel, is he not? I think I could waive the requirement just this once."

"Don't worry, lass," he said, "We wouldn't want to get yer in trouble."

"Oh, it would be no trouble," she said, and gently tapped a little figurine of Callista, sat surreptitiously by the till, "I am always 'appy to help our brothers and sisters in silver. They once saved my brother's life."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, "But we'll be takin' those first class tickets. Turns out we have the money after all."

"You 'ave eighty thousand?" for a moment, the ticket lady seemed genuinely taken aback, "But-"

"One moment," Locke flipped open a wallet - Celes' wallet, I realised with some surprise - and handed her a pair of notes; one orange, the other bright blue. For just an instant I thought I saw a look of annoyance flicker across the ticket lady's face, but she recovered magnificently.

"Of course, monsieur," she said, flashing that brilliant smile of hers once again, "Just one moment while I book your cabin. I believe there is just one remaining."

"Ain't that lucky, eh?" Locke said, handing me back Celes' wallet. I put it away, making damn sure that this time I zipped the pocket.

"Oh yeah. 'Lucky' is basically my defining characteristic," I said sourly, "I just hope that this isn't going to help Imperial Intelligence pick up our trail. I feel like she's going to remember this."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, pal."

"Really? You think we've lost them?"

"Don't be stupid; they knew where you were goin' before you did, didn't they? What I meant was 'I wouldn't worry about her helpin' them pick up our trail, 'cause they're already on it'."

"Ah," I said, and followed it up with, "Oh."

"Exactly. It's like they say, pal, as a rule yer never more than two meters from a Wraith."

"Don't you mean 'rat'?"

"Same difference. Look, pal, yer don't escape the Wraths, 'least not for long, so-"

"All booked! Cabin twenty two!" the ticket woman said brightly, and handed Locke the tickets, "If you would like I can also arrange your onward tickets. I assume that you're 'eaded to Castle Sacae?"

"What makes you think that?" I said defensively, and winced as her lips twisted in triumph.

"It is my job to know where people are going, ma Sentinelle!" she said, "You just make it easier than most."

"That's quite a talent you've got there…" Locke peered at her nametag, "Amara?"

"Oui!" Amara said cheerfully, "I 'ave a lot of experience in such things, Monsieur Cole, and I am rarely wrong."

"You ain't the only one, lass," he said, "Thank yer for the tickets."

"Not at all. I do 'ope you have a… most productive trip."


The train platforms themselves were accessed through a row of turnstiles, at which stood a heavy-set guard who looked like he had been hewn from a nearby quarry. He inspected our tickets dubiously, gave us an even more dubious look, and with a slightly sullen rumble finally stepped aside and let us through. Beyond the turnstiles, everyone was funnelled into a cramped tunnel, made of plasterboard and scaffolding, and then emerged onto a long platform alongside which sat an ornate train decked out in green and red filigree. The carriages were clearly well-used, and although the paint had long since been sandblasted and sun-bleached into a shadow of their original glory, the wheels and undercarriage positively gleamed. A team of technicians were swarming over the nearby carriages, obviously giving them one last once-over before the grand journey, and I leapt to one side as a man came clattering through with a trolley bearing several heavy duty toolboxes.

"The Katastari Express," said Locke, and gave me an amused look, "Got anything longer in Vector?"

"Well-"

"An' yer can save the euphemisms for another time, pal."

"Then no," I said, a touch disappointed, "That's quite a...long train."

"Of course it is," he said, "An' we're at the front. Better get movin'."

We walked quickly down the length of the train, weaving in and out of the various groups of passengers joining us on our trip to Katastari. This train clearly took all sorts; I recognised some people from the tram, interspersed with backpackers, professionals, couples, families, and even extended families. Many were sharing tearful goodbyes, while others were grappling with implausibly large suitcases as they tried to board the train.

As we drew closer to the front, there was a slow but noticeable shift in demographics. There were almost no large families; instead, we were caught up in a sea of men and women wearing smart clothes and suits. Here and there I thought I caught sight of another Sentinel, but they were swept away before I could confirm it, and to be frank I had no idea what I would say to them anyway. From some of the looks I was getting, I was beginning to get the feeling that Sentinel or no, I wasn't entirely welcome in this part of the train. As we drew ever closer to the front the looks not only became chillier and more blatant, but I began to hear not-so-subtle whispers as people closed ranks behind us.

"I guess the whole Sentinel approval thing only extends as far as second class, right?" I murmured, and Locke snorted.

"I wouldn't worry about it, pal," he said, loudly enough to be heard by the people around him, "Who cares what a bunch of stuffed shirts and would-be social climbers think, anyway? Waste of sodding time, the lot of 'em."

"I'm guessing you're not looking to make many friends on this trip, then," I remarked, as the atmosphere around us chilled perceptibly.

"Hey, if someone's gonna judge someone based on what they wear or where they've come from, I ain't interested. When yer been around the world like I have, yer learn that people are people, wherever you go."

"How very...egalitarian of you."

"It's true, though."

The very front of the train was almost completely deserted, aside from a few very finely dressed individuals, waiting with clear impatience as a bellboy in a crisply-pressed red and green uniform carefully loaded their expensive luggage into the hold.

"I say, be careful with that!" one barked, as the bellboy fumbled with a heavy-looking suitcase. Their voice was a strange, nasally mix of public school Vectoran mixed with what I could only imagine was upper-class Figaran, "Do you have any idea what it's worth?"

"They're...speaking Vectoran?" I frowned, "Didn't expect that."

"Oh aye," said Locke, "'Used to be that all the best schools were in Vector, so the families who could afford it packed their sons off to learn how to be businessmen or nobles or just, y'know, less inbred. It doesn't happen so much anymore, but speaking Vectoran is still a status symbol amongst the Figaran elite."

"That's handy. For me, I mean."

"Because yer the kind of person who regularly lunches with baronets an' princes, aye? Personally, if someone's gonna sneer at me, I'd rather not know which part of their boot they want to scrape me off-"

"Excuse me, you two!" a sharp, commanding voice came from behind, and we turned to see a man with an impressive handlebar moustache and an even more impressive hat. In one hand he held a cane in a vaguely threatening manner, while the other played idly with a monocle that hung by a filigree gold chain. Behind him stood a similarly well-appointed, woman carrying a delicately embroidered parasol, "Are you aware that this is first class?"

"Oh, aye. We're well aware of it," said Locke, and flashed our tickets in front of the man's eyes, "We wouldn't want to be associatin' with that riff-raff down in second class, yeah?"

The man winced, and then his eyes narrowed as they fell on my uniform, "But Sentinels travel in coach! My taxes don't pay for you to go gallivanting around the country in the lap of luxury!"

"Umm…" I hesitated, and looked over at Locke for support. This man was clearly used to being in command, and the part of me that was used to being commanded was strongly inclined to listen to whatever he had to say, "Well…"

"I shouldn't worry, pal," Locke's expression was friendly enough, but his tone now held an edge of iron, "Yer taxes ain't payin' for squat, an' if anything yer should be grateful that yer got yer own personal medic along for the ride! I've heard nasty things about gout, y'know."

"It's horrible," I agreed, "Really painful, too."

"And personally, I'm jus' glad that we're having the opportunity to associate with our betters!" Locke said, and smiled at the well-to-do couple, "Out of curiosity, how hard do you have to hit the lobster to crack it open again? Only last time I tried it the damn thing basically exploded."

"I-"

"I suppose it was my fault, really. They did say not to use a lump hammer-"

"I've believe I've heard quite enough, thank you. Please do not intrude further on my time," the finely hatted man said, "Come along, darling!"

"Aye. See you at dinner!"

With a superior-sounding sniff he went to brush past Locke, but as he did so he tripped on an innocently-misplaced foot and was sent sprawling across the concrete platform. A few of his upper-class fellows looked briefly at the commotion, but aside from a couple of very ungentlemanly snickers they obviously decided it wasn't worth their time.

"Michalis!" his wife gasped, but Locke was already helping the man to his feet, carefully patting down his clothing in an attempt to get the worst of the concrete dust off.

"Sorry, pal!" Locke said, with a short laugh, "That was clumsy, wasn't it?"

"You imbecile!" Michalis snapped, his face a beet red mixture of pain and humiliation, "Could you not see I was walking there?"

"My mistake. Very sorry," Locke said, and stepped back with one final brush of Michalis' coat, "Won't happen again."

"I should hope not! And you!" his furious gaze passed to me, "Don't think I won't be filing a complaint with your superior!"

"Me?" I blinked, "What did I-"

"Leave it, pal," Locke said, quietly, "Let him go."

Michalis pinned us with a deadly stare for a few moments longer, and then turned away with a flick of his cloak and stalked off, leaving an air of wounded pride in his wake. His wife gave us a scornful look and then quickly scurried after him.

"Was that really necessary?" I said, "I know he was an arse, but-"

"Oh, aye, it were necessary," Locke said, "An' we better be boardin' ourselves. Train'll be leavin' shortly."

"Yeah, you're right. Cabin twenty two, wasn't it?"

"Hold on-" with a flourish, Locke produced our rather gaudy tickets and inspected them carefully, "Nope. We're in cabin eight. See?"

I looked carefully at the tickets. Sure enough, in the row marked 'Cabin' there was a large, stylised number '8', "But I could've sworn that Amara-"

"-was spendin' too much time attemptin' to charm a poor, naive Sentinel into headin' out alone to check the cabin number? Yer right," he said, and added, "Incidentally, yer ever met anyone from Albrook called 'Amara'?"

"Um…" I shrugged helplessly, "No?"

"Me neither," he said darkly, "Now c'mon."


By now I think we've pretty well established that, as a Trainee Sentinel, my monthly wage was low enough that I was basically paying Callista for the right to train. For that reason, the section of the train marked 'first class' had always been a bit of a mystery to me; a world of tall hats, large monocles, and throaty laughs hidden behind a jealously guarded ornate door. It was therefore a little surprising to discover that the first class section wasn't all that far removed to what I had been used to. I mean, sure, the cabins were a bit nicer, and the carpets were a bit thicker, but my first impression on stepping aboard was that it certainly wasn't worth the additional limbs the train companies were demanding.

"Aye, yer probably right," said Locke, when I complained, "But that ain't why these guys're travelin' first class. They want the privacy, same as us, an' they don't want to have to interact with-"

"People like us?"

"Well, that ain't our problem."

"Still…" I looked around, "Where's the butlers? The masseurs? The performing artists? Don't tell me that she was feeding me a bloody line all this time!"

"Yer know, the more I hear about yer friend, the more I like her," Locke said, with a wry grin, "If yer lucky there might be a string quartet at dinner, but it'd probably be better for us if we jus' stay in our cabin. Speakin' of which-"

Locke came to a halt in front of a door with a large, golden '8' on the front, and waved the ticket towards the lock. There was a 'beep' and the door unlocked with a click, before swinging inwards silently on well-oiled hinges.

"Clever," I remarked, as I followed him into the cabin. Compared to my first-class related fantasies (and Celes' outright lies) I had to say I was definitely disappointed. On one side of the room there was a small wooden table and a pair of chairs, securely firmly to the wall, while on the other was a pair of bunk beds covered in crisp, white linens. Aside from those, the only other feature of interest was a door that, I guessed, probably led to an equally disappointing ensuite.

"No performing artists in here, either," I said, and sat down on a chair with a sigh. In fairness, it was more comfortable than it looked.

"I'm sure they'll be along," the door clicked shut, and then a ticket appeared in my field of view, "Yer may want to hold onto one of these-"

"Ah, no," I quickly sat on my hands, "I can't."

"You... can't?"

"I might end up scrambling it," I said, "A couple of years ago they tried switching to swipe cards at IAF Wareydon, but in the end they had to get me a key. Cid said it was due to my 'electromagnetic personality'.

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, it was a pretty good joke by his standards," I said, "You'll have to keep hold of 'em."

"Sure, fine," Locke said, and sat down across from me with a serious look on his face, "Now, I reckon it's about high time we started answerin' each others questions. Yer wanna go first?"

"Okay," I said, "What was all that in South Figaro? You knew that Nick guy, you knew that the Wraiths put out a bounty on my head, and you knew there was a...meeting? How?"

"That one's easy," he said, "'About noon yesterday I got a message through my...connections-"

"Connections?"

"Aye, connections," he said, in a tone that said he wasn't about to elaborate, "This guy wanted a job doing. Easy target, substantial pay-"

"A million gil, yeah? I'd probably kill myself for that sort of money..."

"You an' me both, pal," Locke grinned, "An' yer see, I had this thought. I'd heard about everythin' that'd happened in IAF Wareydon, and I figured that I'd go along and see what was up. If it were important then maybe I could go an' mess it up good and proper for 'em."

"I'll admit, I'm amazed they let you in. Surely they'd know about your...political leanings, right?"

"I don't generally brag about them, if that's what you're thinking," Locke leaned in, "Truth be told, I've done work for the Empire in the past – nothing big, mind you, an' I certainly never killed for them, but little things, just to earn their trust."

"I...see," I didn't see at all, "Do go on, anyway."

"Well, the man at the meeting were a proper piece of work, if you ask me. Wraith to the core," he shivered, "It weren't a long meeting, neither; he just gave us a description of that blasted yellow cap of yours an' sent us packing."

"No name?" I frowned, "No nothing?"

"'Course not," he said, "Nick might've fancied his chances against a Mage Knight, but not everyone attendin' is that reckless. If yer name came up they would've either run a mile or demanded a load more cash."

"So they just wanted the hat," I said, and pulled out Celes' hat with another small shower of sand, "This hat."

"Aye," Locke nodded, "He was really emphatic about it, too. 'Fact, he told us to bring us the hat as proof we'd killed yer, head attached or otherwise."

"Lovely," I shuddered.

"Oh, aye, he were a gentleman and no mistake," he picked up the dirty, tattered beanie and turned it left and right, "He also said out that there were no point in faking the hat; apparently, there's summat special about this thing that we wouldn't know abo-"

Suddenly the sound of an enormous horn tore through the air with enough force to make the cabin reverberate. There was a moment of silence, and then it sounded again.

"Bloody hell! Ow!" I winced, "Was that-"

"Yeah, we're about to leave," Locke said, and as if on cue there was a jolt and a sudden feeling of forward motion. Idly, I turned to look out of the window as we left the cool interior of the station behind and started out across the Figaran countryside. For a moment, the hat was forgotten as I stared curiously out at the rugged, grassy plains, interspersed with neatly planted olive groves and the occasional tall, white house.

"So what d'ya think it is, then?" he said, "That's special about this hat, I mean?"

"Good question," I frowned. Aside from being extremely yellow and entirely hideous, it seemed entirely unremarkable to me. What would the Wraiths know about this hat that I wouldn't? Or was it something odd that I did know about, but had just dismissed as being 'normal for Celes'?

"I mean, it ain't a designer brand or anything, is it?" Locke said, "I don't see a name-"

"Name! Of course!" for a moment I felt like kicking myself and then turned the hat inside out. Even upside down, I could see a poorly stitched 'Celestine Chere' in the lower brim of the hat, "She puts her name on all her clothes. Always has done."

"That's odd."

"That's Celes," I said, and then added in a defensive tone, "We're all odd in our own ways, aren't we?"

"Some of us more than others," he said, and gave me a long look, "Yer mind taking yer hat off, pal? Ain't nobody else around to see yer."

"...I guess," I said. With some care, I took off my new hat and then ran my fingers through my hair. First chance I got, I was definitely using that shower.

Locke gave my hair a brief look, and then his face split into a wry grin, "I can see why yer wearin' grey, pal. That's gotta be a nightmare to coordinate with."

"Really?" I blinked, "That's it?"

"What else do yer want me to say?" he said, "Yer got green hair. Lots of people have green hair. Granted, most of 'em use hair dye, but so what? Like I said, people are people, wherever you go."

"But...you're not afraid of me?" I said, "I'm a Mage Knight! I could go off at any time!"

"Oh, I've seen the propaganda," he said, "Yer know, the ones where they kinda insinuate that yer a seven foot tall bronzed god of destruction? Compared to that, you ain't so scary."

"I suppose."

"An' let's not forget I found yer havin' a good cry behind a bunch of bins in South Figaro."

"I'd quite like to forget that, actually."

"Well, it's hard to be terrified of a kid bawlin' their eyes out. Tell yer what, though-" he said, "-if yer accidentally turn me into a pair of smokin' boots, I'll let yer say 'I told yer so'. Deal?"

"...deal, I guess."

"Good," he said, "Now...why're you goin' to Narshe? What's going on there?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "Someone wrote me a letter telling me that it was the only way I could help my sister."

"Ah, yeah- Terra, wasn't it?" he said, and I nodded, "She knows yer alive, right?"

"Yeah, but that isn't the problem. Celes said that they'd used this thing on her called a 'Slave Crown'. She's-"

"-completely under their control, right?" Locke gave me a sympathetic look, "Ah, pa- Firmament, I'm really sorry."

"Firma's fine, really," I said, "But I have to get to Narshe. If there's the faintest chance I can save her then I'll walk there if I have to. Barefoot."

"You ain't gonna have to walk there, pal," he assured, "But what's yer plan?"

"Plan? I don't have a plan!" I flared suddenly, "What makes you think I've got any idea what I'm doing? It's like you said; I'm this naive, idiot Sentinel who's been tossed out into the world, and now I'm going up against thugs and being chased by Wraiths and god only knows what else!"

"Then we'll come up with a plan," he said calmly, "'Sides, yer also a Mage Knight, so-"

"People keep saying that! It's not helpful!" I snapped, "Being a Mage Knight doesn't mean I'm smart, or brave, or even capable. I mean, you were right about Macaria; I probably would've given her three thousand for that damn hat if she'd asked! How is someone like me meant to go toe-to-toe with Imperial Intelligence?"

"By learnin' quickly," he said, "What's the alternative? Turn yerself in? Give up on yer sister?"

"Of course not!" I said, and put my head in my hands, "It's just...I'm not cut out for this. I don't know what to do."

"Nobody does, pal. Chances are even the Wraiths are kinda wingin' it."

"You think so?"

"I know so. They weren't expectin' both of us to be gettin' on this train. Now they'll be rushing to catch up."

"Is that why you picked that guy's pocket?" I said, and added sourly, "Like you picked mine?"

"If yer suddenly turned up with a load of cash in yer wallet, don't yer think that the Wraiths would've work out who was helpin' yer really quickly?" he said, "Yer need to remember to protect yer friends, pal. That's all."

"And the tickets?"

"A precaution," he said, "If there's any Wraiths on this train, they'll be thinkin' we're in cabin twenty two. The instant they kick in that door we'll know about it, an' we can pull the emergency brake cord an' be off the train before they know what's happenin'."

"Clever. Except for the bit where you involved innocent people."

"If he didn't want to be our patsy, he shouldn't have been such an arse," Locke shrugged, "Ain't nothin' innocent about him. Anyway, I reckon we could both do with a shower an' then yer should get some sleep while yer can. Once we're off this train, we'll likely be runnin' non-stop until we get to Narshe."

"Sure. You go first, mate," I said, "I just...I need to think."

Locke nodded, just the once, and then got up and headed towards the ensuite. Before long, I could hear the sounds of running water and a strange, off-key hum of a song I didn't recognise. With a weary grin and a shake of my head, I dug out Celes' wallet once again and stared long and hard at the photo. Had this really been taken back in March? It seemed so long ago, though; then again, after everything that had happened these past two days, everything seemed long ago. What had I been doing last week? What had Terra been doing…? My mind span uselessly, throwing up snippets of happier times, and I felt a deep sense of melancholia begin to settle over me.

When Locke re-emerged from the shower, still rubbing at his hair with a towel, he found me hunched over on the table staring silently at the small, black and white picture. I had one hand buried in my hair, working uselessly at the matted knots, while the other played idly with the photograph.

"D'ya want to talk about it, pal?"

"What do you want me to say?" I said hoarsely, "'Turns out Cid was right."

"...and what did Cid say?"

"That we'd miss each other when they were gone," I said, "When we were growing up we used to fight all the time. She was just so picky, so damn controlling! For some reason, she needed to mess with every little last bit of my life, and she had this irritating little smirk when she was right that just...ah, Goddess, I just wanted to kick her teeth in! I mean, it's not like I was any better, I'm sure, but at the time…"

"I know what yer mean, pal. Believe me."

"One day it got bad enough that Cid sat us down and basically gave us this huge lecture about how we needed to grow up, apologise, and start treating each other properly. Of course, we were young, and proud, and obviously immortal, so...we laughed it off. Even when we were at our worst, I just couldn't imagine her not being there, but now-" I waved the photograph in the air, "-this may be all I have left of her, and when I look at it all I think about is how much time we wasted in pointless fights instead of actually looking out for each other. How bloody stupid!"

"Siblings're complicated, Firma," Locke said, "An' I'm sure yer loved each other, just the same."

"Of course I love her! I love her to bits!" my voice cracked suddenly, "Hell, I loved her even when we were throttling the living daylights out of each other! I probably should have told her that more often, though. Maybe we'd have gotten along better, but...y'know. Stupid pride."

"Did she ever tell you?"

"No. Not once. Honestly, I think the concept kind of confuses her… but on the other hand, she's gone and totally one-upped me by sacrificing everything to stop Kefka from killing me...and that's so bloody like her! So competitive! Always has to come in first!"

"That's love, though, ain't it?" said Locke, "Different people express it in different ways, an' they hear it in different ways, too. Look, I had a brother back in Kohlingen. We were like what it sounds like you an' Terra are; he were always the one with his head in the game, an' I always liked to go out wandering, y'know, finding stones with snails in them and such. We used to fight like blazes over how he were always doing the lion's share of the work while I was off dreamin', but when he took over the family business he always made sure that there were a room for me if I needed it, an' that one time when it were about to go under I helped him out until better times came along. We looked out for each other in our own ways, see?"

"You said 'had'," I said, knowing the answer, but dreading it all the same, "What... happened to him?"

"He died when the Empire attacked Kohlingen," Locke said roughly, "Bomb landed right on our house; killed everyone."

"Oh...I'm so sorry, Locke. Really, I am."

"Ah, weren't yer fault," Locke replied with a shrug, "The point is, yer ain't allowed to pick yer family, an' even magically empowered twins don't have to get along. That doesn't mean yer didn't love each other; she gave up everythin' for yer without so much as a second thought, an' here you are doin' exactly the same. What's that if it ain't love?"

"Yeah, I know," I said, "Sorry. I'm being morose."

"It's okay, lad; get it out of yer system. An' once yer done that, go an' have a shower and a kip. I'll wake yer for dinner."

"You're not going to sleep yourself?"

"Don't be silly, pal," he said, quite firmly, "This train ain't safe."