Fritz took some minutes weighing the perils of each Floor. After cursory consideration, he decided against the third Door.

  Although it tickled his Trap Sense and seemed to be empty of beasts like the previous Floor, that dread, deadly aura the crumbling city emanated sent a shiver down his spine and caused his stomach to clench. Whatever invisible peril lay in those ruins, he knew he didn't want to face it, not when there were other, far more familiar, more tangible threats through the other two Doors.

  The ghost that now trailed them made Fritz all the more aware, all the more wary, of the dangers that could be fought and those that couldn't. And that city gave the impression of a foe with no blood to spill or form to fell.

  It was a choice between the next two Doors then, one with what he guessed was a great glass beast, or perhaps two, considering how high they had Climbed the Spire, and one with a fort in the middle of a fearsomely large forest. Besieged.

  "Clover," Fritz called out, turning so he could see her.

  "Yes?" she responded swiftly, standing from where she had been sitting against a cave wall.

  "How many Concussive Bolts can you produce?"

  "Uh... I can cast it, uh, a few times," she hedged.

  "Four or five," Mel said. "Then she'll collapse, like the last time she used it heavily."

  Clover frowned, but didn't contradict what the other woman had claimed.

  "Did you not receive a Magical Attribute?" Fritz asked.

  "I did not. I still have to use my Stamina," Clover admitted with some disappointment.

  "Alas," Fritz said.

  She smiled sheepishly. "I'm trying my best. I'll get one at the top, I promise."

  Fritz waved away her worry with one casual gesture. "Nevermind that, I was simply asking to gauge our potential strength against some particular foes. Trudge, you're good at shattering glass, correct?"

  "I am," Trudge said. The words came with some guilt, perhaps he thought that Fritz still held his foolish actions on the first floor against him. "And now I also have a Heavy Strike Ability," he added sheepishly.

  "Requiring Stamina?" Fritz asked.

  "Yes, but I have plenty of Endurance. I can use my Strike at least six times," Trudge claimed.

  Fritz tapped his foot and stroked a patch of stubble on his chin. He nearly grimaced at the scratchy quality and felt the need to shave his face clean. Setting that trivial concern aside, he returned to his real trouble. He didn't know just how well this crew could fight the green-glass beasts.

  Most of them had some blunt weaponry, and a few had Abilities that were well-suited to shattering. But he himself, along with Mel and Toby, had powers and blades that were ineffective, at best, against a monster made of the glass-like, gold-flecked material.

  In that case, the middle Door might be a more appropriate choice. Or their only one.

  Fritz knew he would fare far better against the twig-men. Indeed, if he could hunt down their commander, then there may not be a long siege to endure. However, if that proved impossible, their leader too well hidden or diligently defended to assassinate, then it would be a slog and a half.

  His tutor had said as much.

  Adam had lectured that Siege Floors lasted for three days at minimum without intervention of some kind. Though he also told that they could be ended sooner if certain conditions were met: the loss of a king or commander, the destruction of a totem or shrine, the total rout or absolute annihilation of the monsters or man-alikes.

  Fritz couldn't count on meeting these conditions, and who knew how long the Spire would stretch out the siege? And while he admitted to a curious streak, being always keen to explore new places and see new sights, he also knew that it was better to battle the beast you know than one you didn't.

  That and if the glass Floor was anything like the one he had conquered before, there would be gold, a lot of it, and perhaps a chest.

  Still, Fritz had some reservations. He, Bert, and Sylvia had only just defeated the glass bull. Even though all three of them were agile and able to avoid the worst of the beast's charges, they had taken some small injuries, and in Bert's case some large ones.

  Though by all rights, Fritz understood they should have suffered more from such a deadly construct. With its strange powers and the glass spears that fell from the roof, they should have been crushed or spitted. They had been lucky. but it was also true that they were a match for the glass bull, they had defeated it after all.

  Fritz considered his choices carefully, though eventually caution and a trust in his own experience led him to the conclusion that the Glass Door was the right one to enter.

  He could leverage his knowledge to his and his crew's advantage. In fact, he could have them practise for the battle to be had. After a few demonstrations and then some drills, they would be prepared for the tricks and tactics of their foes and fight all the better for it.

  Also, he doubted that the necromancer could drain the glass statues and strengthen itself as it had with the fish. The same couldn't be said for the twig-men beyond the other Door.

  Fritz looked around the room, then at the thorny Well. It frustrated him that it took up so much of the space; it would be difficult to teach the crew anything in such cramped conditions.

  "Can those thorns be cut back?" he asked.

  "I dunno," Reed said with a shrug. "They look more like quartz than plants."

  Fritz stepped forward, drew Quicksilver and slashed the Well. The vines broke like painted clay, chips and chunks clattering, rather than being sliced like flower stems. He watched the crystalline thorns for any movement, any retaliation for his assault. There was none.

  "Alright, clear away the Well," Fritz ordered.

  "What? Wont that make the Spire angry?" Mel asked.

  "Hmm. I've never heard that rumour," Fritz replied. "If so, it will simply be a lesson learned."

  "Should we stuff them into bags? Take the vines with us when we leave?" Trudge asked, smashing a thorny swathe with a swing of his hammer.

  "Oh, no, don't bother," Fritz said. "Everything you find in a Well room turns to dust outside of it."

  "Water doesn't," Mel said, slashing idly with her shortsword. A section of vines fell to the floor, breaking to pieces as they did.

  "Except water," Fritz agreed, joining the rest of the crew clearing the Well away.

  Soon, the crystalline plants were cut back to a central, coiling bush. This last protrusion of thorns, only about a yard across and tall, wouldn't yield to their blades, hammers or Abilities. Fritz supposed that this was the true core of the Well, and explained as such to the more intrigued members of the crew.

  "What does that mean?" Clover asked.

  "I'm not sure," Fritz said. "It's just that you can't completely destroy a Well, or drain it dry. It will always be left with an unbreakable bit, the core as it were."

  "As it were," Toby repeated.

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  Fritz frowned. "Anyone got a broom to sweep away these fragments? They'll get in the way, or cut us up."

  "Right, yeah. Here I got one," Mel mocked, not quite keeping the scathing notes from her voice. "Here next to my mop and bucket, and my sponges and soap."

  "If anyone needs soap, it's you," Reed sneered.

  "What did you say!?" Mel challenged. "I need soap!? Why is that?"

  "You're rank," Reed said, his face blank. "Sweat, dirt and silver fish. It's awful."

  "You're no better," she accused, glaring.

  Reed shrugged. "Maybe not."

  "Then why are you comin' after me?" Mel spat.

  "Don't like you givin' lip to the Captain," Reed said.

  "I was only jokin'," Mel protested, sheathing her shortsword then crossing her arms.

  "That's what Bucket said," Clover said gloomily.

  Mel scowled. "I ain't nothin' like that dead and drowned prick." When the crew said nothing in response, she added. "Why are you all lookin' at me like that? I said I ain't like him. This is stupid. You're all stupid." Her face was growing redder by the second, and she seemed as though she was on the edge of shouting.

  "You're right, of course," Fritz interrupted, lending his voice his Dusksong. "Not about the stupidity, for I only see the gleam of hard-won wisdom in all your eyes. Though you're correct in saying you're not like Bucket. You don't make the same mistake twice. You're clever... and loyal... aren't you?"

  She nodded. "That's right. Loyal to the Shade and the Captain."

  "And the Storm," Fritz urged.

  "And the Storm," Mel agreed, reluctant, yet resolute.

  "Good," Fritz said, smiling. "Get to work with that broom."

  "I... I don't have a broom."

  "Us district folk are resourceful, make do with something else," Fritz said glibly.

  "Us district folk," Toby repeated, again.

  "Are you a parrot?" Fritz asked him, turning to face him and letting some annoyance lace his voice.

  "No, Captain," Toby said, hiding a smirk. "No beak or wings, you see."

  "Just the brain to match, then?" Fritz retorted.

  Toby's face did break into a smirk then. "If you say so."

  "I do. And I also say that you should help sweep," Fritz commanded genially.

  Toby shrugged, then joined the efforts to clear away the glittering detritus. Though the shards and scattered thorns appeared sharp, no one was cut while cleaning them into a corner. It turned out that the jagged edges were both brittle and soft, unable to piece anyone's clothes, let alone skin.

  It made sense, Fritz reflected, that the Well wouldn't be able to harm Climbers. It was there to heal and provide magical power, not prove another peril.

  Once the Well Room had most of the thorns curtailed, Fritz called his crew to attend him. From there, he explained his choice of Floor and what they would likely face beyond the Door. They didn't argue or gripe, no, they seemed to have taken to heart his explanation and now respected his expertise.

  Then, he had them run through drills.

  Fritz first focused on evasion, they needed to be able to dodge, roll or dive away from a deadly charge or a goring horn. What he'd seen so far of the crew's ability to avoid injury was unimpressive. Though he considered that perhaps he was too harsh, his Perception and his own hard training had instilled in him a perfectionist's eye, one that sought to spot any weaknesses and exploit them. Or in this case, remedy them.

  He had them practice for an hour, then he let them rest and lectured them on their mistakes, both publicly and then privately. Then, after about fifteen minutes, he forced them up and through the regimen of evasions again.

  Fritz participated, too, of course, needing no reminder that a Captain should suffer with his team. And again and again they practised a false encounter with the glass bull. It was difficult to truly replicate the sensation and the surprise that the glass beast's power to move through walls held, but he did his best.

  Even after two hours, it didn't seem enough. They were too slow, too ungainly to contend with what lay beyond the Door he had chosen. Not to mention many of their Abilities, including his own, were weak against the constructs. Fritz doubted his decision and thought again on the choice to brave the Siege Floor.

  He called a stop. His brow furrowed while he pondered.

  "Still not good enough?" Reed groused between quick breaths. He sat down heavily, then lay down, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Mel followed suit, which was a far more interesting sight.

  Fritz looked away and didn't answer the question levelled at him.

  Clover and Trudge soon sat too, coughing and spluttering. They drank from their waterskins.

  Toby halted beside Fritz. Though he too was tired, he also had the benefit of the Cutter's 'training' and had better conditioning than the rest of the crew. He didn't need to sit.

  "Well?" Reed wheezed out.

  Fritz rubbed at his chin. "No. Not good enough, one of you will certainly be trampled and die."

  "Damn," Reed groaned, slamming his fist against the stone floor.

  "Why not go through one of the other Doors?" Mel asked, sitting up and wiping the sweat from her forehead and nose with her shirt sleeve. "Beats doing all these 'drills'."

  Fritz was also fielding the same question to himself, and decided to think out loud. "Time. For one, the Siege Floor could take days, or worse, a full week. For two: Treasure. The glass Door's statue beasts will have hearts of gold if it’s at all like the one I defeated before. There may even be a chest. And for three, I'm not confident the six of us could fight an army of twig-men."

  "Twig-men?" Clover asked.

  "Bark-skinned man-alikes," Fritz explained. "Or at least, that's what I guess."

  "So it's greed then?" Mel asked. "All this for more Treasures and gold?" She didn't sound irritated at the prospect, just curious.

  "That and haste," Fritz agreed. "Of which I have need."

  "Why?" Trudge asked.

  Fritz shook his head forlornly. "I have much to do and much I am missing on the outside. You must remember that, for me, this Spire is stagnation."

  "That doesn't really tell us anything," Clover observed.

  "It does," Mel said darkly. "He's saying he's too good to be running this job."

  Fritz was about to disagree with her assessment, but was interrupted.

  "He is," Toby stated simply. "He's far too good to be guiding the likes of you... and me... up this Spire. It's only sheer misfortune that has him stuck here with us. Baring the same mark and the same fate as the worst dregs of Rain City."

  Fritz frowned. "You're not the worst dregs of Rain City," he protested. "I believe you all can make it to the top. If I had no hope of that, I'd have forced you to leave the Spire already. Or, if you'd proven yourself true villains, I'd have disposed of you."

  "Got the same disposition as the Storm," Reed said. "Doesn't hold with scum. Or so I hear."

  "Yes... he shares a lot with the Storm. They spend plenty of time together, protecting the refuge... and other distractions," Toby said, a knowing glint in his eye and smirk on his lips.

  Clover blinked, and Mel squinted. Reed scratched his head, and Trudge simply looked confused, the implication flying right over his head.

  "Baseless rumour," Fritz said, smiling sharply.

  "Really does get around, doesn't he?" Mel muttered quietly to herself.

  "Well, that's neither here nor there, and I'll hear no more of this idle gossip," Fritz ordered blandly. "We'll rest for now. Get some sleep. I hope you'll be more skilled in the morning."

  In truth, he held little such hope, but he had to admit that it had been a long, exhausting day. While it hadn't been filled with terror and peril, there was something to be said about the strain of staying balanced upon narrow ledges and the frayed feeling after traversing deadly heights for so long.

  Perhaps they were simply incapable in this weary present, and in bright eyed future they would be better able to face their glass foes.

  The crew split up, seeking out lonely spots to sleep. Clover waited and watched, setting herself near Fritz. Faint motes flickered over her head; some were the colour of fondness, but most were of a shade of comfort. Harmless, or rather, safe emotions, unlike the reds, pinks, blacks and greys, flitting around Mel.

  That chaotic haze didn't worry him, though; none of those reds were tinged with bloodlust. No, it was just the normal kind. What actually worried him was the looming spectre in the centre of the room. It was more transparent than it had ever been, a foggy window rather than a frosted one, but its scarlet sigil had also dimmed.

  "Clover, that ghost's binding looks a little weak. Use the staff again," Fritz suggested.

  She hesitated.

  "What is it?"

  "Need gold," she said.

  Fritz sighed inwardly, but fetched his bag of gold and handed out the twelve pieces needed. "What a waste, but it's better than being drained dry during the night."

  Mel scoffed. "You'd like it if it was Sid," she whispered.

  He narrowed a stare on her. She rolled her eyes and lay down with her back to him.

  "What did she say?" Clover asked quietly.

  "Nothing important," Fritz said, smiling kindly. "The ghost, if you would."

  "Right," she agreed, nodding.

  Clover Activated the staff, and the red brand grew bright again, reassuring Fritz.

  "Can you tell it to float further away?" he asked.

  She did, and the spectre hovered into the roof.

  "Do you think it can leave the Well Room?" Clover wondered aloud.

  "Perhaps. You could test it," Fritz said. "Just don't let it go through one of the Doors."

  Clover nodded, then ordered the necromancer higher. Her eyes went wide, then she called it back down hastily.

  When the ghost floated back into sight, she sighed.

  "What happened?" Fritz asked quickly.

  "The staff was shaking," she said. "It's not anymore, though. I think there's a barrier beyond the Well Room's walls."

  Fritz nodded seriously, though he had little idea what that truly meant. He reflected that he likely never would and put the thinking aside for the time being. He needed some sleep; he couldn't be up all night trying to figure out all the mysteries of spectres and Spires. That's what scholars were for. The thought of having one join his team fluttered across his mind for a brief moment, accompanied by a stray chord struck in Dusksong's depths.

  Fritz yawned.

  Clover couldn't help but yawn too.

  "Goodnight," he intoned.

  "Sleep well," she replied.

  Soon, the entire room was quiet, save for the slight sounds of sleeping breath and some errant snores.

  ---

  Despite his fitful sleep, Fritz awoke first, then roused the rest of the crew. They then ate, drank and began to stretch.

  Trudge complained of sore legs, Mel whined about a stiff neck, Clover confessed to haunted dreams, Reed shrugged and said he'd slept worse. Toby brooded; he didn't say it, but he obviously yearned for Jane.

  Fritz was unbearably chipper; he had to be to get the crew moving at a decent pace. He set them through a quick regimen, then ran them through the drills again. To his great relief, they performed much better than they had the previous night.

  Not only were their dodges swifter and their sidesteps smoother, but they held well to the formations he had taught them. He kept them going for thirty minutes, instructing here and there, correcting the more glaring mistakes until he was satisfied that they could face the beasts beyond the glass Door without making any fatal missteps.

  He let them rest after their exertions. They would need their full strength for what lay ahead.

  While he could have had them practice another day, smoothing away a few more of their faults, he felt their chances were about as good as he could hope. That and he was still concerned about time.

  Who knew what could be happening on the outside?

  There was also the dwindling of their gold; they needed more if they wanted to contain the ghost. Honestly, he wished he could just leave the necromancer behind, but he knew for certain it would follow the staff, and he wasn't willing to part with that Treasure just yet. Though the lighter his purse felt, the more he was inclined to abandon the wretched, wooden thing.

  After the crew rested, and had made ready their gear and weapons, they walked through the glass Door.

  The stairway was dry and cool, the walls that same gold-flecked green glass and the steps were stone.

  Fritz's strident tread echoed in the small confines, an unnamed dread growing with each step.

  After three minutes, they entered the Floor proper, ascending into a large, oval arena, and Fritz's unfounded fear was realised.

  Under the spear-coated, domed roof of green glass, there in the centre of the room, was not one statue, nor two as he had suspected, but three.