"And what exactly do you plan to do with this information?" Shen asked, keeping his voice neutral despite his growing suspicion.
The woman's demeanor shifted, her earlier intensity giving way to an almost theatrical charm. "Oh, you know how it is," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm just a frail old woman—" she touched her face with exaggerated delicacy, though she couldn't have been past her thirties. But then, Shen had learned that in Sveethlad, reaching thirty was already considered a remarkable feat.
"I hear all sorts of stories," she continued, arranging her pendants with practiced casualness. "Fascinating tales about what lies below. But people do love to embellish, don't they? Half the time I'm certain they're making things up entirely." She gave them a conspiratorial smile. "I simply need reliable informants for the gossip, you understand."
Kayode shot Shen an alarmed look that practically screamed 'she's dangerous.' Across the room, Surya's expression clearly said 'can you believe this crap?' Even Riley shifted uncomfortably, making her borrowed shelf creak.
Shen didn't believe her performance for a second. Everything about it felt calculated - from her sudden shift to helpless curiosity to her careful arrangement of those obviously significant pendants. But he was acutely aware of their situation: no shelter, no resources, and now apparently famous enough that hospital guards would chase them on sight. They needed allies, even suspicious ones.
"Actually," the woman said as she poured more tea with practiced grace, "I might be able to help with that too. I know a raider who's looking for hands." Steam rose from the cups as she continued casually, "He has materials, tools - everything needed for the job. A friend of mine, though lately he's been more of a trainer for prospective raiders than a raider himself. Even that work's dried up somewhat."
The group's attention sharpened visibly. Riley straightened, nearly bumping her head on a hanging bundle of dried herbs. Even Angela opened her eyes fully.
It was too perfect - an abandoned building in a neighborhood that wouldn't ask questions, positioned conveniently above an entrance to the Undawild, and now a fully equipped raider in need of help? Shen glanced at Angela, remembering her assurance that they could trust this woman. But the neatness of it all made that trust difficult to maintain.
"Something doesn't add up," Shen said finally, setting his cup down. "Why would a seasoned raider have trouble finding hands? Especially now, with the Undawild full of unburned bodies from the failed raid? He should have people lining up at his door." He stood carefully, mindful of the crowded space. "I apologize for disturbing your peace. We should go-"
"Sit down," the woman said, her voice carrying none of its earlier charm. Instead, there was something almost like amusement in her tone, as if she'd been waiting for this moment. She didn't look up from pouring the last cup.
The woman straightened, and something shifted in her face - all pretense falling away. Yet Shen noticed that the warmth she'd shown earlier hadn't been entirely false; it was just one facet of whoever she truly was. She scratched her head, mumbling something about them "hitting their heads too hard when they woke up." The casual reference to their arrival made Shen stiffen.
"For enthusiasts about raiding," she said directly, "you're surprisingly simple-minded." The unexpected criticism made them all squirm, Shen most of all. His borrowed body's face felt hot with embarrassment.
She leaned forward, her pendants catching the light. "Think about it. What happens in a place where burning bodies produces ash that can heal, that can invigorate? Of course ash becomes valuable. Of course it drives commerce. But the Undawild is dangerous, so people team up." Her eyes locked with Shen's. "So tell me - you're a raider. You join with people you met yesterday. They seem nice enough. You all venture down together."
She paused, letting the scene build in their minds. "Then something goes wrong. You want to retreat - the smart choice. But your new friends? They spent everything they had just to get equipped for this raid. They can't go back empty-handed. They need ash." Her voice grew softer, more dangerous. "Where do you think they'll find it?"
Understanding hit Shen like cold water. Around him, he saw the same realization dawn on the others' faces.
"This," the woman continued, "is something every seasoned raider knows, including my friend. The most dangerous thing in the Undawild isn't the spectrals. It isn't the traps or the darkness or any of the horrors that live down there." She picked up her cup again, her movements precise. "It's the person standing next to you, watching as you grow tired, counting your breaths, calculating how much ash your body might yield."
"The best raiders," she continued, adjusting a pendant absently, "rarely venture into the Undawild. And when they do, it's with extensive preparation. Investment agreements, insurance policies, written wills, sworn oaths." Her voice took on a dry tone. "Though such things have a way of meaning less and less the deeper you go, the more desperate people become."
Shen sat with this information, his borrowed body's memories confirming the logic of it. His terminal recorded her words, marking them as crucial context for their mission.
Alexander leaned forward slightly, his natural diplomacy emerging. "What about the nobles who participate in raids? Surely your friend could find employment with them?"
"A fair point," she acknowledged. "Most experienced raiders have indeed been claimed by the elite houses. But my friend..." she smiled slightly, "he's not particularly fond of the whitecoats."
Shen's terminal immediately flagged the term 'whitecoats' - clearly a derogatory reference to the doctors. Another piece of the social puzzle clicking into place.
"I apologize," Shen said finally, "for questioning your generous offer. We would be glad to accept."
The woman's eyebrows rose slightly. "Actually, you've taken all this rather well. Surprisingly well." She studied them with renewed interest. "Are you certain you're street children? You all seem unusually... well-mannered."
The group maintained their silence, but Shen could feel the tension in the room rise. They'd revealed something about themselves with their reactions, though he wasn't sure exactly what. His terminal marked this interaction as a potential security concern.
Moira steered the conversation to lighter topics - the day's weather (as if there was ever any change in Sveethlad's perpetual gloom), the price of fabric in the market, small observations about life in the district. But as Shen took another sip of tea, awareness suddenly dawned on him. The aches from their escape, the lingering disorientation of inhabiting borrowed bodies, the constant background noise of illness - all of it had faded to nearly nothing.
He tried to analyze the tea through his terminal, expecting a simple breakdown of herbs and water. Instead, he received an error message: "Analysis unavailable - insufficient rank for materials of this complexity." He nearly choked on his last sip.
Looking around, he saw the same realization spreading across his companions' faces. Even Riley's massive Zelion frame seemed to sit more comfortably now, as if the tea had somehow helped her adjust to her new proportions.
"What kind of tea is this?" Shen asked, unable to keep the amazement from his voice. "It's... surprisingly effective."
Moira covered her face in an exaggerated show of embarrassment, though her eyes sparkled with something like pride. "Oh, just a secret ingredient or two." She lowered her hands, giving them a measured look. "Though I might share my secrets once you start sharing what you discover in the depths below."
"A fair bargain," Shen replied with a genuine smile, his terminal recording their exchange.
"Indeed it is," Moira said, and for once her response carried no hidden meanings, no careful calculations - just the simple pleasure of someone who knew exactly how good her tea really was.
The evening had settled into something resembling peace. Moira's house, which had seemed so crowded with mysterious items during the day, now felt surprisingly spacious. She had conjured beds from somewhere, arranged them with practiced efficiency in rooms they hadn't noticed before. The space carried echoes of previous inhabitants - subtle marks on walls at different heights, hooks placed for different sizes of coats, the way certain floorboards were worn in patterns suggesting long-ago foot traffic.
Candles flickered in wall sconces, their light mixing with the smoke from aromatic burners that made the air feel cleaner, more breathable. For the first time since awakening in their borrowed bodies, they felt something close to comfortable. The absence of Dana and Hayazaki hung heavy in that comfort, an unspoken shadow on their newfound sanctuary.
Shen found himself drawn to the kitchen, where Moira worked at cleaning dishes, her movements accompanied by a gentle whistling. He watched her for a moment - the way she balanced practicality and precision, how her apparently casual movements revealed careful training. Her hands moved over fine silverware with the same clinical attention a surgeon might give to instruments, even as she maintained the appearance of simple domesticity.
"I wanted to say," he began, "that we can't properly express what your help means to us. Without you, this day would have been considerably harder."
"I bet," Moira said without turning, but her smile was audible in her voice. She placed a delicate cup on a drying rack with surgical precision. "Though considering I'm sending you into the Undawild to go raiding, I haven't done nearly enough to help." She glanced over her shoulder, soap bubbles clinging to her hands. "If anything, you're the ones helping me, risking your lives just so I can get some juicier gossip."
"We were always planning to raid anyway," Shen said, watching her methodical cleaning.
"Hmm," was Moira's only response, her hands never pausing in their precise movements.
Shen sighed, his mind wandering to the weight of their situation - Hayazaki and Dana missing, the others depending on him, the sheer impossibility of saving a world they barely understood. "There's so much we have to do," he said, more to himself than to her.
"I bet," Moira replied with that same knowing smile, still focused on her dishes. Then suddenly she brightened, as if struck by inspiration. "Oh! I know how I can make it up to you - for all the help you're going to give me."
"No," Shen shook his head. "You've helped us more than you can imagine."
Moira made a show of modest denial, waving one soap-covered hand. "That can't possibly be true. Besides, you're not just helping me - you're helping my friend too."
"We might not even be good help," Shen protested. "If anything, you're doing us the favor."
She dismissed his words with another wave, then leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice despite them being alone in the kitchen. "Since you're such huge fans of the raid survivors..." Her eyes sparkled with barely contained amusement. "I happen to know where one of them is."
Shen felt his borrowed body go still.
"Remember Doctor Salvarose?" Moira continued, her hands still moving over the dishes with surgical precision. "The one who spoke against the raid in the Operating Theatre? Well, as it happens, his daughter..." She let out a small giggle that somehow didn't break her careful movements. "She was one of the survivors."
"Oh," was all Shen could manage. He stared at this woman who had become their unlikely benefactor, who kept producing exactly what they needed with the casual grace of a street magician pulling coins from thin air.
Without another word, Moira dried her hands and left the kitchen, leaving Shen alone with the implications of what she'd just revealed. The candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on walls that suddenly seemed to hold more secrets than he'd initially realized.