Waldo wiped blood from her knuckles with a handkerchief. Not hers this time. Groaning, spitting teeth, the overgrown bullies both sank to the floor. The shaggy-haired kid stared open-mouthed.
“That technique…” he murmured. His eyes shone with tears.
“Tell your boss he’ll have his money,” Waldo said. “When I return. Not before. Got it?” The kid nodded. “Good. I don’t want to have to tell him myself.”
She swept past him, Otto in tow.
“That was remarkable!” he said when they were sufficiently past the kid. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“Don’t like to talk about it. Anything you can give me on this case?”
“Only the spot Kirkbuzzer was seen leaving town.”
“How many days does he have on us?”
“Two. Two and a half, really. About-”
“That’ll be enough. You ever travelled in the wilds before?”
Otto shook his head vigorously. Waldo glanced across, looked up and down him.
“You’ll be fine. Follow my lead. If I tell you to do something, do it before you ask me why. When we leave town remember you aren’t the law anymore, just a man in a funny hat. Got it?”
Otto nodded.

At the site he led her to on the outer edge of the torchlight of the city walls, just before what you would really call the wilds began, she put a hand across Otto’s chest and stopped him in his tracks.
“Which way?” she asked sharply. Otto pointed a direction, but his hesitation conveyed that the truth was that all the report had said was ‘away’. Waldo crouched down low and looked all around, scanning for any sign. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the landmarks, places Vangel might have used for a reference point.
Yes!
She straightened up and placed her hand on Otto’s wrist, redirecting it straight and true.
“Onwards, Otto,” she said, and they headed off into the wilderness.
Otto moved through the forest like a small, frightened animal – jumping at the slightest noise and tensed to run constantly. Waldo watched him with some amusement, often disappearing for minutes at a time to scout out the area before returning to find him clinging to a tree for support. He wasn’t cut out for the tracker life.
Suddenly she grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him back. “Two to the left,” she whispered. Otto took the instructed steps, and looked down on his right as he passed a pit, covered with a thin layer of branches and leaves to give the appearance of an unbroken forest floor. “We appear to have stumbled on an uncharted settlement,” Waldo said. “Move cautiously, speak quietly.” Otto opened his mouth, and she shushed him instantly. “More quietly than that.” She looked at Otto meaningfully, and he nodded. They walked close together after that, Waldo’s hand on his shoulder each step.
Before long they reached the edge of what seemed to be a small town hidden in the forest. Waldo spun, hearing a rustling in the leaves, and found a blade at her throat.
“Who dares intrude,” said the black-clad guard, “on the Immortal Shaman’s sanctuary?”

“Have you ever heard of an Immortal Shaman?” said Otto. The guards had taken them to a cramped cell and barred the door with a thick metal pipe, which Waldo was trying to knock off its bracket by putting two fingers through a crack in the wood. It was slow going.
“Not a specific one, and not here. Stories, about a secluded oracle in a silent forest. Magical stuff, not my area.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t tell me you’re into that fairy-story shit.”
Otto looked wounded. “It’s historical. The war between Light and Darkness was fought with magical weapons.”
“Oh, history,” said Waldo. “History says all sorts of things.”

In the morning the door opened and they were each grabbed by two sturdy guards. Otto writhed and struggled, kicking and grunting.
“Hey! Cut that out!” Waldo snapped.
“Don’t you want to get out?”
“Not as much as I want to see where this goes. I may have some questions to ask this Immortal Shaman.”

The path through the village, a simple dirt track, was lined with people watching as the two of them were paraded forth. The many dark-eyed folk stared in eerie silence, as if witnessing the final moments of the condemned.
Waldo began to wonder if escape might not be the right idea after all. If Kirkbuzzer had ended up here, might he not have met his ultimate fate at these same hands?
They were led past the edge of the village, where the path continued on some way into a narrow passage between two low rocky cliffs. The walls of the cliffs were lined with climbing plants which bloomed with pink flowers. At the end of the passage was a simple wooden platform with a canvas canopy. On it lay a plain bedroll and two barrels. On it also lay an old woman.
One of the guards coughed, and the old woman sat up. She had small, piercing eyes that glittered in the dawn twilight and a round, good-humoured face.
“Ah! I have seen your coming, tracker!” she said, and held out an arm. One of the guards abandoned Waldo’s left side and came to her aid, hoisting the old woman to her feet.
“Thank you,” she said. “I see you’ve met my ninja.”
“Those aren’t ninja, I’ve met ninja. Ninja are subtle.” said Waldo, rubbing her wrist where the strong grip of the guard had left a mark.
The old woman shrugged. “Ninja is as ninja does,” she said.
“Your grace,” said Waldo.
“Who’s Grace?” said the old woman. “I’m not Grace.” a gap-toothed smile spread across her face. Waldo closed her eyes. This was all she needed.
“I had no intention of disturbing your… community. You have my humblest apologies.”
“Ah,” said the Shaman, “but disturb them you did! And penance must be paid, or the balance of things will be forever against you, Malison Waldo!”

The Shaman charged the pair to remain among the people of the village until she found a suitable task to act as Waldo’s penance. At the least, they didn’t have to stay in the cell. A small hut on the outskirts was to serve as their new home for the time being. During the night they would be guarded by the shaman’s so-called ninja, and during the day they were taken out to work for the village, conducting repairs and the like when such things were required.
When darkness fell, they were led away from the centre of the village, where the people cooked and ate together at communal firepits, back to their hut. There was no furniture except a couple of straw mats which acted as seating and sleeping arrangements.
“When are they going to feed us, do you think?” said Otto, while Waldo paced around the room.
“I try not to think about things like that. You just end up hungrier when you’re wrong,” she said. Otto nodded thoughtfully. He had noticed Waldo’s tendency towards perpetual motion before, when they made camp in the woods. She would walk in circles for hours, until the very moment she fell asleep, rather than allow herself to rest. He laid down and closed his eyes, trying not to think about food.
Just then a heavy fist knocked on the doorframe (there was no door) and a deep voice announced: “Dinner, hot from the fires of co-operation.”
Waldo rolled her eyes and took the bowl of stew that was offered. She passed it to Otto, now upright, and held out her hands, awaiting a bowl of her own.
“That’s plenty for both of you,” said the voice, and a strong hand pressed a second wooden spoon into her hands. She glared at the guard, but sat down opposite Otto without another word.
“Malison Waldo, sharing?” said the yellow-haired man, a small smile creeping onto his lips. Waldo dipped her spoon into the stew and lifted it, refusing to indulge his amusement. He scratched his chin, where quite an accumulation of stubble had built over their time in the wilderness, and began in with his own spoon.
Waldo had to admit, it was good food. Especially after the meagre days of water, stale bread and salted meat they had endured in making it to this place. It took all her resolve not to snatch the bowl from Otto and take it all for herself. After a few days of work which went according to this template, interruption finally struck in the form of a great commotion that ran through the village.
“Someone’s fallen into one of the traps!” was the whisper, soon confirmed by the arrival of two stout ninja guards bearing a stretcher between them. Waldo gasped.
Lying there on the stretcher, groaning and semiconscious, was a man Waldo had met before only once. He had tanned, leathery skin, and a gold tooth flashed in his twisted mouth.
His name was Vangel Kirkbuzzer.