The trek to the stone island was quiet, save for the sloshing and splashing as they waded through the cool pools. No one had anything to say in the open, but the crew's expressions told a story of suspicion and unease.

  Fritz himself was silent too, pondering what he should say to ease their mistrust and his own conscience. Sure, he'd hidden some things from the others, but he had intended to eventually reveal the ghost and his secretly gathered wealth. Once he was rid of the more mutinous of the crew.

  He held back a sigh, then set his features resolutely. Unremorsefully. If they saw doubt on his face, it would only worsen their wavering trust.

  After half an hour, they arrived at the island and set down their packs. Fritz was the first to speak, heading off the questions that had damning answers.

  "I know you may all have some things to say and ask. But firstly, Clover, did Bucket harm you? I noticed you've been limping."

  "It's only a bruise," she claimed, meeting his eyes and not shying away from his voice as she could have.

  "You should still take care to treat it while we rest here," Fritz suggested.

  "I will," she replied.

  Fritz nodded, then swept his gaze over the rest of the crew, observing them and attempting to judge their mood. He pushed on his Awareness, watching for the threads and motes that often appeared in his vision.

  Those ethereal lights gradually slid into focus, as did a web of thin, transparent strings. Most, though not all, of those threads, gleaming like glass, were connected, clearly, to a place deep in his own chest. A few were more potent, more present, glowing and glittering with vibrant hues.

  The brightest of these bonds was between the brothers Barge and Trudge, then next in intensity there was a murky line that spanned from Fritz to Toby, a debt owed. And lastly, another string the colour of adoring obligation that originated from Clover and led right to himself.

  The other threads were harder to make out; he didn't attempt to concentrate any further on them. Already his mind had begun to tingle unpleasantly from his exertion. He let his eyes relax, his vision widened, blurring as his now unfocused gaze was drawn to the haze of many-hued motes, swirling.

  What he desired was a general impression of what his crew were feeling as a group, not what they each in particular felt. The lights, both dark and bright, darted and boiled in a cloud around them. The colours, many of which he had no name for, being no true pigments that one could see without the power of Awareness, were hard to understand. Though what Fritz did glean relieved him.

  Faint flashes of blue laced with silver and grey floated predominantly, along with the embers of dark red and black coils of murk-yellow veined smoke. While intellectually the colours meant little to him, his deeply engraved instincts whispered what he sought to know.

  The blue and silver were the hues of respect and loyalty, and though those lights were tainted with grey wariness, their lustre, their faith, hadn't completely faded. However, the thin, dark fog and small embers interwoven with those emotions still worried him. Those apparitions were comprised of fear, greed, anger and all manner of black emotion.

  There was also a shade brittle solidity of grim determination, and there, along with it, the bleak outlook one's view was inevitably stained with when born into cruel conditions and still crueller company.

  Fritz withdrew his Awareness, letting it rest while he considered his next words.

  Honesty and generosity had proved effective before. His past Team had thrived once he had been more forthright, and had always been more accepting of his few flaws due to his liberal dispensing of Treasures, gold and knowledge. He wondered why he had abandoned such methods for this Climb.

  Searching within himself, he found something of an answer. It was that he felt trapped, forced to Climb the Sunken Spire like a slave. He didn't consider this crew to be his, being neither vetted by him nor up to his newly risen standards. Fritz realised he'd been holding a quiet, cold grudge, one born of both his own pride and his powerlessness to resist the Nightshark. And worse, he'd held them as accountable, not those who truly deserved the blame.

  There was also disdain seeded deeply. He'd had no help; he'd had to lead himself, Bert and Sylvia to triumph over the Sunken Spire rather than flee it and get a second chance to Climb. Prepared this time, not starved and unarmed as they had been. He knew, though, that the bitterness he felt wasn't warranted either.

  Fritz's conclusions didn't please him; they painted him as petty and petulant. Wilfully wasting a life and risking great peril to punish those that had no say in their own situations. Just as the same as him.

  If he'd been better, more truthful, perhaps, Bucket would still be alive. Or perhaps not, he knew the man was desperate, grasping, conniving and not in the cordially cunning way he himself was. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the thief made his move. Or it could be that Fritz was just soothing his own conscience.

  With new conviction, or rather an old one resurfaced, he decided to lead with honesty and an apology. Though it wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter.

  Fritz cleared his throat, attracting the stares that had drifted into the distance while he thought and found his words.

  "I have to offer you all a sincere apology," Fritz stated. "I haven't been wholly forthcoming, and that has sown mistrust and harmed this crew."

  "Wholly forthcoming?" Nail barked. "You have a bloody pet ghost!"

  Fritz nodded solemnly. "Indeed. I do. However, it has been ordered to harm no one. I simply wanted to have it follow in our wake while I decided what to do with it."

  "Why'd you hide it?" Mel asked sceptically.

  "It was out of consideration for the crew. I didn't want to inflict the knowledge of its presence upon any of you. How would you all have gotten even a wink of sleep if you knew the ghastly thing was looming near?" Fritz posited.

  "I would have preferred knowing, despite those kind intentions," Toby said.

  "I know now that I was wrong," Fritz said simply. "I should have revealed it to you. I'm sorry."

  The crew took in the words well enough, nodding or frowning as they either accepted or merely heard out the apology.

  "No harm done," Reed dismissed.

  "Except for Bucket," Barge said.

  "He was going to do something no matter what," Nail said. "He was a traitorous bastard."

  Fritz could have pointed out that it was the same for Nail and Barge, but knew enough to hold his tongue.

  "Yeah. He was the bad sort," Clover agreed.

  "We're all bad sorts," Mel said darkly. "Thieves, thugs, murderers and arsonists. We ain't good for anythin' but hurtin' folk."

  There was a lull as they considered her black declaration.

  "We can always strive to be better," Fritz said. "Despite our... mistakes."

  "Maybe," Mel said, her doubt clear.

  Many of the crew cast their eyes down, staring at the stone beneath their feet or into the surrounding pools.

  The false rain fell, puncturing the quiet with soft, sporadic plunks.

  "Well, even if you don't believe it, I do," Fritz said. I have to. For my own sake, he added silently.

  There was no response.

  From the corner of his eye, Fritz noticed the necromancer slowly drifting closer to him, taking advantage of his distraction. He frowned. The ghost was suspiciously resistant to his Treasure's binding. He wondered if it was the steadily dimming brand, the splintering of the staff or a trait of the man-alike itself that was allowing it to dissent as much as it did.

  "Stop," he ordered it.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  It glided to a standstill, and all the crew's gazes were drawn to its grey form.

  "What are you gonna do with the ghost?" Clover asked nervously.

  "I don't rightly know," Fritz explained. "I wanted to test it. See what it was capable of. So if I was ever in the terrible position to meet another ghost, I would know what to expect. Though this thing is troublesome. It fights my commands at every turn."

  "You should kill it... again," Reed said.

  "I will," Fritz replied. "Once I'm done with my observations."

  "Observations," Toby repeated quietly.

  "Yes, there are things to be learned," Fritz claimed.

  "Can you tell it to go away, or turn around. I don't like it staring at me," Clover complained.

  He glanced to the ghost and sent it away with a wave and a word.

  When it had floated away, almost sulkily, Fritz asked, "Any further questions?"

  There were none. It seemed that even though he himself regretted the death of one of the crew and the subsequent Spite, the rest didn't care too much. Bucket hadn't endeared himself to anyone, and none could call him a friend. He wouldn't be particularly missed.

  After drinking down some water, Fritz stated his intent to inflict his investigation on the pale shade of the necromancer.

  "Anyone want to join?" he asked absently, not expecting much interest.

  "I will," Toby said.

  "Me too," Mel said.

  "Count me in," Reed agreed.

  Fritz nodded and motioned for them to follow him, away from those who wanted nothing to do with the ghost.

  Soon, they were standing around the spectral figure watching it intently. It was still as the grave, which Fritz thought was appropriate.

  "What do we do?"

  "First, I want to see what kind of effect its touch has on the living."

  "Uhh..." Reed said, taking a step backwards.

  "Oh, not on any of us," Fritz explained, smiling slyly. "There's fish in these ponds, did you not see them?"

  He, of course, hadn't noticed them until recently, even his Door Sense had failed in discovering them in the first place. An odd occurrence, but not too worrying. It was, just as he claimed, impossible to tell everything about a Door just by looking at it, even with all his Senses.

  "I saw something like a silver streak or two, but I didn't know they were fish," Reed said. "Thought they was eels."

  "Eels are fish," Fritz stated.

  "Eels are eels," Reed retorted.

  "True as the rain," Fritz agreed, then he turned on the ghost. "Follow."

  It obeyed, and he led them further into the pools, finding one that had quite a large fish slowly swimming in its shallow depths. It was at least as long as his arm span, and its scales shimmered like silver. Its fins and gills had a slight golden tint, and its eyes were burnished bronze. All told, it was a fine creature, and he wondered if it tasted any good.

  If Cal fried it up, it would likely make a good dinner. Far better than the horrible rations.

  He remembered his team wasn't with him and sighed inwardly.

  "Touch the fish," Fritz commanded.

  The necromancer didn't need much urging to heed the order, and it flew toward the hapless creature. One pale hand reached into the water without so much as a ripple and then plunged into the fish. Immediately, it tried to swim away, but its whole length seized and spasmed, then it floated, belly up, to the pool's surface.

  Dead.

  Even though Fritz had held his Awareness in mind, he felt nothing from the ghost or the fish, though he did see that the necromancer's shape grow slightly more distinct and its glow was a mite brighter. He guessed that the spectre had drawn strength, or perhaps replenished its spirit from the touch.

  "Do you think we can eat that fish?" Mel asked.

  "I don't know," Fritz said.

  "Doubt it," Toby said. "But we should catch another one and see if there's any difference between them."

  "A sensible suggestion," Fritz allowed.

  "What next?" Reed asked.

  Fritz pondered for a moment, then said, "Now we see if we can harm it."

  They each took turns wielding their weapons and Abilities, attempting to strike the spectre. It was all for nought, each blow and bolt simply slipped through the pale figure without even scuffing its ethereal robes.

  "The lantern?" Reed eventually suggested, after all their attacks had failed.

  "No, this ghost isn't aligned to shadow," Fritz said. "In fact, seeing how ineffective our strikes are, I've come to the belief that this is a shade of pure death. Which I shouldn't have to tell you means it's especially deadly."

  "And why's that?" Reed asked.

  "Well, without another alignment, it has fewer weaknesses. Unless we have its opposite or equal, in this case: life or death magic, we can't hope to harm it. As you've seen."

  "What do you mean?" Mel asked.

  Fritz held back a sigh and reminded himself that their educations had been even more lacking than his own.

  "Usually, a ghost will have an elemental alignment, or one of shadow," Fritz explained. "Something like fire, water or stone."

  "How does that work?"

  "I'm not a scholar, though I have heard that spirits find it easier to animate elements. Something about residual personal magic and the added ease of manifesting with the help of elemental power," Fritz continued, recalling what his tutor had told him. "So that's why ghosts are generally composed of ash and ember, fog and water, sand and dust, rather than pure death, like this one seems to be."

  "So this thing is rare?"

  "In Rain City, yes," Fritz said. "In Tenebria, or other places with death-aligned Spires, they would be more common. To tell the truth, I don't know how this necromancer achieved this state, nor can I guess how to harm it."

  "Your fire?" Reed asked.

  Fritz furrowed his brow. He had the distinct impression that his Eldritch Flame would absolutely sear this necromancer's spirit, crisping it as easily as dried wood. There was only the problem that wielding that weird fire would scorch him as well. His charred glove wouldn't protect him again, not with all the holes.

  "Perhaps," Fritz admitted.

  "What fire?" Mel asked.

  "Greenish-blue flame, like on top of the Spire. He melted one of those golden knights with it," Reed said.

  "Really?" she asked doubtfully.

  "I have a Trait, it's powerful, but I can't use it lightly," Fritz espoused, setting his back straighter.

  "Oh, too bad. Would be useful right about now," Mel said.

  "It would be," Fritz agreed. "However, I think our method of defeating this necromancer is to simply wait it out. If it doesn't gather any more spirit, it should soon dissipate."

  "How long will that take?" Mel asked.

  Fritz wondered the same thing, doubting his own guess but speaking as though certain, "Shouldn't be more than a few days."

  "A few days? With that horrifying thing looming around us?" Mel groused. "What a pain in the arse."

  Fritz nodded, and the others agreed with her. "There's nothing to be done, I'm afraid. We'll just have to renew the binding on it whenever the brand looks weak."

  "Like right now?" Toby observed. "That red brand is not as bright as the wraith's was."

  Fritz peered at the sigil and found himself agreeing. The scarlet glow had diminished along with its bearer, though it seemed to be growing dimmer more quickly than the ghost itself. He stifled a sigh. Though it felt like it was a waste of gold, he knew it was worth the cost. To risk burning himself with his Trait was foolish, perhaps mad and to let the necromancer loose was a worse folly.

  With some small reluctance, Fritz returned to his pack and pulled a bag of gold from it. He fed the full twelve triads to the staff, spending almost half of what he had stored. He lamented the steep price with every piece, then turned the staff on the spectre and Activated it. After a soft hum and a slight shiver in the wood, the insane brand burned brightly again, its blood-red lines and sanguine lustre restored to their original potency.

  The ghost droned in pain, but quieted when he ordered its silence.

  Fritz watched the grey-white man-alike warily, waiting for any apparent flaw in the bond or any allowed rebellion. He was worried that there would be some trouble, that his intense inspection of the staff, or the rough treatment it received while being wrestled over, had damaged it. A minute passed, and he found that it was not so.

  The ghost remained tightly bound.

  Although he sighed with relief, there was that niggling feeling that any damage that had been done to the staff lay deep enough that he couldn't see it. While it was worth dwelling on for longer, it wouldn't do him much good to do so. There was scouting to be done and fish to be caught.

  Fritz scanned their current camping ground, noticed someone missing and asked Trudge, "Where's Clover?"

  "Bathing," he answered. "Behind those stones. She said that these pools will be good to wash all that mine dust off."

  Fritz nodded. "An excellent idea. I'll have to clean myself soon, too. After a bit of scouting."

  "Uh... well...uh... don't scout over there. Where...uh... Clover is," Trudge warned. While the words were awkward, Fritz was impressed that the man had the courage to challenge him.

  He smiled. "Of course not. I'm a dignified fellow. I have not a voyeuristic bone in my body."

  "Right," Trudge agreed, sagging slightly. "I know that...she just...uh... asked me to keep a lookout..."

  "I understand completely. Don't let these ruffians out of your sight," Fritz said, aiming for levity. It didn't land quite right. Barge and Nail scowled while Trudge smiled weakly.

  Fritz decided then to step into the shadow of a stone spike and disappear from their sight. His power didn't hide him for long; the ripples he sent out when he waded through the cool water gave him away. Another weakness of his Cloak of Dusk.

  Sticking to the stone bridges and ridges as much as he could, Fritz scouted.

  First, he sought out the metallic gleams he'd seen, then, when he had thoroughly inspected them, he looked for the highest point on which he could perch. From that tall vantage point, he planned a route through the ponds and pools, committing the lay of the land to memory. Then he scrambled back down from the pillar and returned to his crew.

  More were missing this time. Most of the men had gone, but he could hear them not too far away, complaining of the cold water. Fritz waited for them to return from their own bathing, then recounted what he had found.

  "It's not just fish we've been seeing then?" Mel asked.

  "Quite right, there's veins of bright ore in some of the pools and pillars, as well as the obvious glowing crystals," Fritz explained. "I think we should gather them as we make our way across the Floor."

  "While you were scouting, I pulled one of those crystals out," Toby said, holding up a cloudy clump of quartz. "They lose their light once they're pried from the pillars."

  "Damn," Fritz said.

  "Still might be worth somethin' on the outside," Reed said with a small shrug.

  Fritz nodded half-heartedly.

  "What about the fish?" Barge asked.

  "What about them?"

  "Can we eat it?" He pointed at the dead fish that had been drained by the ghost.

  Fritz shook his head. "I wouldn't risk that one just yet. We'll catch some fresher ones."

  "Yeah, that one's already starting to stink," Clover said.

  She was right, it already smelt rotten, and its scales, fins and gills were discoloured and its eyes had clouded, as white as hard boiled eggs. The fish was likely ruined as soon as it had been slain by the necromancer.

  "Anyone bring a net? Or are we going to have to grab them with our bare hands?" Toby asked.

  There was no net, but that didn't cause them much trouble. With Abilities and Attributes, the fish were easy enough to spear or stun with weapons or spells.

  Toby took charge of cutting and cleaning the fresh flesh, and soon enough, there was a pile of meat and another of glittering scales. Silvery, thin blood pooled beneath.

  Quickly, a fire was built, and they cooked what they could. Small sparks leapt from the flesh as it sizzled, and the smell of metal overwhelmed that of the fishiness.

  "Is it really safe to eat?" Trudge mumbled.

  Fritz took the first bite and immediately felt the need to spit it out. He only just stopped himself and forced his jaw to move. The flesh was beyond flaky, and it was stiff, like he was chewing a mouthful of splinters. What was worse than the texture was the taste. It was as sour as lime and as metallic as if he were eating a mouthful of triads.

  Thankfully, his bones didn't burn coldly, meaning that the fish wasn't poison.

  "It's foul, but not deadly," Fritz eventually said after swallowing harshly and rinsing out his mouth.

  The crew ate, showing just as much disgust at the taste, if not more. But it was still better than rations, and being from the Spire, more mana-dense.

  After they had eaten, and had packed away what remained of the cooked meat, silver scales and bronze eyes, they made to move.

  Fritz insisted they couldn't linger. This was a survival Floor, and although there were no perilous beasts, they still had to be wary of the Spite.

  He left that last part unsaid, but they could all feel the weight of the Spire's displeasure.

  It would only get worse.