Damien
Month 10, Day 3, Sunday 11:00 a.m.
Sebastien lived in a slum. Damien hated to acknowledge this, even in the secrecy of his own heart, but the evidence was undeniable. Since getting out of his carriage a couple of minutes ago, Damien had seen no less than three people openly sporting gang symbols, one surreptitious handover of goods wrapped in a suspicious brown bag, and a woman whom he suspected was a banshee. He didn’t have hard evidence, but she had eyed Damien’s body with an avariciousness that he feared had little to do with his appearance and instead more to do with how much tender meat she thought could be simmered off his bones.
Damien had seen the Mires before. This area was much cleaner and wealthier than that, so perhaps “slum” was the wrong word, even if the living standard was completely incomparable to even the poorest areas of the Lilies. “Crime den” might be more appropriate. Even the children playing with an old leather ball on the side of the narrow street—each wearing some raven feather trinket somewhere on their body—stopped to stare at him in a way he couldn’t help but feel was menacing.
Sebastien was waiting for him on the sidewalk.
Damien had already opened his mouth to admonish Sebastien for his choice of living residence, but he froze with his mouth half-open as he took in his friend’s appearance. “You cut your hair!” he accused, the words slipping from his mouth without thought, loud enough to draw even more attention to the two of them.
Sebastien ruffled the platinum strands, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, holding plenty of volume without even a hint of styling wax. “The stylist said this was an avant-garde cut that suited my aura. What do you think?”
“They…have good taste,” Damien admitted, self-consciously touching his own hair. He had recently consoled himself that no matter how outstanding Sebastien was across various aspects, at least he had more luxurious hair than Sebastien. He was no longer sure that was true, and couldn’t help but deflate slightly. Sometimes, being the best friend of someone so excellent could be a hardship. Still, Damien quickly consoled himself. Being the most-trusted confidant of the person he believed Sebastien would someday become… Even if he could merely keep up enough to stand at Sebastien Siverling’s side, it was still probably amazing enough for the history books. He could be the Milton to Sebastien’s Aberford Thorndyke. After all, Milton was actually—technically—the protagonist of those stories. Aberford Thorndyke was too abnormal to be relatable to the reader. And without Milton to stabilize, support, and remind him to eat, Aberford Thorndyke’s eccentricity might have led to his downfall in any number of ways.
Sebastien waved for Damien to follow him around to the back of the residential building and up the narrow, rickety stairs leading directly to the attic.
This reminded Damien of his earlier intention. “Sebastien,” Damien started firmly, though he kept his voice low to avoid being overheard by any of the neighbors, “even if you don’t want to stay at the University, you should know that you’re always welcome at Westbay Manor. We have so many rooms”—he threw his hands wide for emphasis and ended up banging his knuckles against the rusted railing—“I promise it’s not an inconvenience! No one has even been using the green room since you left.”
“I like to have my own space,” Sebastien replied simply, unlocking the door, which he’d at least had the good sense to add several layers of wards to.
Damien stopped at the threshold, examining the wards around the doorjamb for a moment. “Wait. I thought you weren’t taking artificery.”
“I’m not,” Sebastien agreed easily.
“But these are…advanced.” Damien leaned closer and began to parse one of the ward layers more thoroughly. “Did you hire a Master artificer?”
“I…got access to some restricted information from someone in our…group. Come in and close the door behind you. You can never be too careful about eavesdroppers.”
This distracted Damien’s attention completely, and as he obeyed, his eyes roved around the attic apartment with dismay. He wanted to ask Sebastien if he had run through all the gold he’d earned from sales of his tapestry and his share in Lord Dryden’s textile business—because that was the only reason he could think of that someone would live in conditions comparable to the University’s base-level dorms—but set that aside in favor of the more urgent topic. “Our secret organization gives out restricted information to the members? What kind of stuff?”
Sebastien’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Oh, you know. This and that.” He counted on his fingers. “Some useful things, some interesting things, some secret things,” he said, holding out a hand with three outstretched fingers.
“That tells me nothing. How about this? What level of amazed would I be with the information? With one being information that I might find on one of the upper floors of the library, and ten being shocking revelations that would upend my life.”
Sebastien frowned and pressed his lips together thoughtfully, then gave Damien a pitying expression, but remained silent.
“What does that mean?” Damien asked, his voice involuntarily rising. “Is it shocking revelations? Is it?”
Sebastien stepped backward as if he was afraid Damien might try to shake the truth out of him, coughed awkwardly to change the subject, and said, “I have some things for you.”
“A gift?”
“Supplies. From the higher-ups. Standard gear, you might say.”
Damien’s heart jumped, and he pressed his fingers to his temples to calm his spinning thoughts, then straightened his sleeves and collar and smoothed his hair. With a bit more composure, he asked, “Standard gear for a full member?”
Sebastien seemed almost reluctant, but eventually said, “Yes. You’re getting it early, before your actual induction, because of…recent dangers that have been brought to light.”
Though it went unspoken, Damien knew that these “dangers” were probably whatever, or whoever, had almost killed Sebastien while trying to wipe his memories.
Sebastien went to a box sitting on his bed and pulled out a satchel that looked a little like the one he always carried, but smaller, with fewer pockets and compartments. “One of the compartments inside is expanded, and the whole thing has a lightening enchantment.” He proceeded to pull out a series of battle potions, healing potions, and an ingenious contraption he called a “spell rod,” which he had apparently designed himself. “You have to memorize the exact location of every single emergency item and practice retrieving them in various situations. Think of it like one of Fekten’s drills. If you need it, I can help run them for you.” Then, he showed Damien where a knife, a lock-picking set, and several other small tools were kept within.
“This bag isn’t very stylish. Could I replace it with one I purchase myself?” Damien asked.
Sebastien stared at him expressionlessly.
“No offense,” Damien added weakly, feeling a sudden and ominous premonition about the difficulty of those drills.
Sebastien didn’t reply. Next, he produced a pair of boots with a chunky sole that would make Damien over an inch taller if he wore them, then proceeded to twist a piece of the rugged tread, then flip up a section of the heel to reveal a glowing potion in a hidden compartment. “The healing potion is in the heel because it’s good to diversify your emergency options. A bag is too easy to get separated from, while you’re much more likely to keep your boots.”
Damien eyed the sole with distaste. “But why put it in the boot? Why not an expanded pocket in…my underwear, or something? These are so unfashionable.”
Sebastien’s face got even more expressionless while also somehow indicating that he thought Damien was an idiot. “Do you wear underclothes made out of a suitably sturdy material that can take a space-bending spell? Leather, perhaps?” Damien blushed, but before he could reply, Sebastien continued. “It’s also very difficult to expand space within a tiny area—the spell array has to be miniaturized, so it’s difficult to maintain the necessary capacity—and there have been many cases of explosions when people attempt to store highly magical items within those tiny spaces.”
Before Sebastien could ask the obvious, Damien hurried to admit, “I do not want a healing potion exploding out of a tiny pocket in my underwear. I suppose I will have to take it upon myself to change the current fashions. Ugly bags and clunky heels are in,” he stated seriously.
Sebastien’s mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “I know they’re in. People who think otherwise are behind the times and have the same taste in clothing as my grandfather.”
Damien laughed, and Sebastien opened the other shoe’s heel to reveal a perfectly spherical piece of celerium the size of a small apricot.
“And a backup Conduit,” Damien said, fascinated. “It’s so perfectly clear!”
“That is not celerium.” Sebastien wagged one finger cooly. “That’s a thaumaturge-created diamond. But it’s enough for emergency use as long as you’re not contesting another thaumaturge or casting any big battle spells. I’d estimate it can handle between four to six hundred thaums. It has not been tested. You can also replace it with some actual celerium if you own a piece that will fit.”
Damien was sure the family vault had something suitable, but he tossed the diamond up and down, pleased with the look and feel of it.
Next, Sebastien presented him a golden medallion. “This contains several personal wards against the most common battle magic. Wear it at all times, but keep it hidden under your clothes.” It was similar to the one Damien had seen peeking through Sebastien’s clothes on a few occasions, when the sun was bright or they were doing some particularly intensive exercise in Fekten’s class. However, when Damien asked, Sebastien said they were different, but didn’t seem keen to expound on how.
Sebastien took the time to walk him through the warding medallion’s features, Damien found some of the anxiety he’d been carrying around for weeks now start to settle, even as his excitement rose, pressing against his chest from the inside like an energy-packed potion trying to explode from its vial. “All of these supplies are designed to keep members safe in emergency situations, right? It seems…very thorough,” he said probingly
“There’s still more,” Sebastien promised. “But yes, that is the idea. Unfortunately, this world is too dangerous, and threats are too varied for any preparations made ahead of time to be truly foolproof. Hopefully this will be enough. Perhaps…perhaps in the near future we will be able to provide our members another fallback option when facing truly insurmountable obstacles. It’s enough to be able to escape.”
Damien’s curiosity was almost burning him alive, but he knew Sebastien well enough not to test his patience by prying. Not when he had another, more important objective. “Are we still in danger from…last time?”
Sebastien’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know yet. I would say that you are three steps removed from immediate danger, while I’m two steps removed. Everything might be fine, but we should both still remain cautious. There are too many strange magics in this world to be sure of safety, even if you were only tangentially involved.”
Damien rubbed his lips together hesitantly and obediently allowed Sebastien to remove his sympathetically linked bracelet. He had a horrible suspicion, and the more he thought about it, the more sure it seemed. He’d first had the thought while watching over Sebastien’s unconscious body, but the first time he truly suspected the Red Guard—and Professor Lacer—of Sebastien’s near-murder came when they met at Oliver’s house a week ago. When he had mentioned Professor Lacer was looking for him, Sebastien had failed to conceal a subtle flinch from Damien’s discerning gaze. He’d understood the haunted tremble of Sebastien’s eyes. It came from fear and helplessness, from being powerless before someone who held power and authority and had decided to use them to hurt you.
And Sebastien had just hinted to Damien that he was going to ask a “contact” about the frequency of Aberrant incidents. Damien had even guessed ahead of time that this was probably Professor Lacer.
After Damien had the idea, he couldn’t get rid of it, and his composure had almost collapsed under the increasingly powerful, continuous waves of horror as the implications of his suspicion hit him, one after the other. But he wouldn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything, or let on that he suspected in any way—because that might put Sebastien in even more danger. He could only hope that their secret organization could protect Sebastien.
Still, he found himself lying awake at night trying to imagine what had happened, and each mental image filled him with the kind of helpless rage that made it impossible to lie still in bed. He had been pacing the nighttime halls of the manor so often, and scared so many servants, that they’d reported his sleeplessness to Titus and gotten him a sedative from a healer. Damien’s only consolation lay in the hope that he was wrong, that it hadn’t been Professor Lacer.
Sebastien added a few dozen more segments painted in various colors to Damien’s bracelet until it looped around twice. “You don’t know the people on the other end of several of these sets, but you’ll meet them later.”
“Are you still researching Aberrants?” Damien asked bluntly, hoping to catch Sebastien off guard.
Sebastien hesitated, then looked up from the bracelet and met Damien’s eyes.
“You are, aren’t you?” Damien pressed. “Because it’s too important to let go, even after you almost died?”
Sebastien finished with the bracelet and helped Damien put it back on before speaking. His voice remained soft and calm. “I plan to live a long, long time. Perhaps that inflection point we were talking about, when Aberrants start running rampant and it becomes measurably dangerous to cast any sort of magic at all, will come during my lifetime. That’s a threat to my life, too.”
This was as much of an admission as Damien needed. “I’m relieved to hear you say that, because I’m still researching them too.”
Sebastien froze, and Damien thought for a moment that he actually felt his friend’s Will—a phantom pressure—before Sebastien slowly raised his gaze to meet Damien’s again. “You what?” he asked softly, but in a tone that made the hair on Damien’s arms rise.
Damien swallowed hard, but mustered his courage and pressed on. “I know you told me to destroy the research. And I understand why. But I’m not afraid of risking my life to find the truth, either. I did destroy most of it. The boxes and boxes of newspapers are all gone, incinerated along with my random notes and calculations. But I kept the compiled reports and graphs and hid them outside Gilbratha, under a layer of earth, a layer of stone, and inside warded lead chests. And I’ve continued to categorize and file all the old records at Harrow Hill. Actually, leaving out any Aberrant incidents would be more suspicious than just continuing on with the work as we have been.” He took a deep breath. “And I went to the Night Market and managed to find a potion to help me keep this specific secret better, so that I would be less likely to implicate you if something went wrong. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the things the people we suspect of being members of the Architects of Khronos are using to get past questioning when they’re called in for interrogation, so it should be at least a little useful.”
“You lied to me?” Sebastien asked, as if he couldn’t comprehend it.
Damien’s heart clenched with pain. He closed his eyes and nodded. “I did. I’m sorry.”
Sebastien’s chin rose and his shoulders drew back, but after a moment, he deflated. “Everyone has secrets,” he said softly. “Even me.”
This only made Damien feel worse. “Not like this,” he admitted. “This could have implicated you—put you in danger.”
Sebastien flinched, as if the admission hurt him.
“It’s just that I couldn’t bear to let the research go. It’s not just about you and me, not just about the fate of the world—” Damien paused and let out a sharp laugh. “To think that we’re actually contemplating the potential end of the world! Is it just hubris to think we might be able to do anything about it?” He shook his head, not waiting for an answer. “It’s not just about that, though that would be enough. It’s about Newton, too, isn’t it? I was searching for clues about him when I discovered all this, and lately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. If this wasn’t happening, do you think maybe he wouldn’t have broken?”
Sebastien swallowed, then looked away and rubbed his mouth. He took a deep breath and blinked several times with shiny eyes. “Don’t go anywhere near those chests you buried. You can give me the location, and I’ll have them retrieved if it’s ever safe to do so. Don’t do anything suspicious. Don’t let even a hint of what you know slip. And…be prepared to give a full report to the higher-ups within a month or two.”
Damien let out a long, slow breath of relief. He had been expecting a lot of anger, and maybe a fight, or even some intrinsic damage to their friendship. But Sebastien had forgiven him just like that; he was softer than he seemed. “I’ll be ready,” he promised, trying to seem mature and serious. “Do you know if there’s any specific direction I should be focusing future research in?”
“Practice finding the supplies inside while you’re distracted talking to me,” Sebastien said, handing him the space-expanded satchel. “Right now, we’re trying to rule out scenarios, narrowing down the possibility-space of the final answer so we know the general direction in which to investigate, and areas that we can safely ignore. We have some leads, but it’s never good to get tunnel vision when dealing with the unknown. Attempt to disprove your hypothesis, and all that.”
Damien remembered Professor Gnorrish’s lecture on the subject, as well as more than one or two impromptu monologues from Professor Lacer on that very topic.
“Have you still been taking note of Red Guard appearances where they cast some kind of extraordinary magic?”
Damien’s heart squeezed painfully, but he tried to keep it from his face as he retrieved the spell rod without looking and popped open its slicing spell segment. “I have. I just haven’t compiled any of the new data for analysis.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you think their use of Aberrant components has something to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastien said. “I’m not jumping to any conclusions, and neither should you. It could be an accidental side effect, it could be a purposeful way for them to gain both power and influence over a world that needs them ever-more, or it could be totally unrelated. I’ve also been trying to consider alternative explanations. Do you remember if any of the large spikes in break events coincided with the discovery or depletion of any celerium mines?”
Damien’s thoughts immediately jumped to the rumors he’d heard about a Crown-funded expedition heading out to sea to find new celerium. “Why are you asking that?”
Sebastien frowned as Damien pulled out the wrong potion and motioned for him to try again. “Because celerium is a non-renewable resource, and we don’t understand it very well at all, but it obviously has special properties. If spikes form around wartime, maybe it’s not because of the Aberrants being created, but because of all the celerium breaking. Large deposits of celerium must also be broken into smaller, lower-capacity pieces during the mining process, too, and especially during the initial excavation.”
Damien’s jaw fell open, and he fumbled the retrieval of a fleetfoot potion. But he quickly regained his composure and shook his head. “Spikes happen around lots of disastrous events that result in an uptick of Aberrants, and some of the spikes with unknown causes could be because of mining, except that I know the last deposit was discovered one hundred and thirty years ago, and there is no corresponding spike. My grandfather had a ten percent stake in that mine,” he explained.
“I thought the Westbay family was in charge of internal security, not mining.”
Damien shrugged. “We are. That ten percent stake was definitely a bribe. How else do you think the Westbay Family could get so wealthy while being restricted to internal defense? It’s been bribes, for sure.”
Sebastien grimaced. “That was a bit of a long shot, I suppose. If it was just about celerium, then you’d think the Red Guard would be more urgently interested in celerium production methods.”
Damien fumbled his attempt to snap open a segment of the spell rod, and Sebastien gave him an exasperated look. “I’m not good at multitasking!” Damien cried. He tried to keep the shock from his face at the information Sebastien had just let slip. His estimation of their secret order’s information network grew impressively.
Seemingly giving up on these “easy” drills, Sebastien turned back to the box and pulled out a small book.
It had a thick cover made of two pieces of leather wrapped around some kind of hard panel, a wide brass border, and pages that seemed to be made from an exceptionally thick silk. Embedded in the front cover, peeking out from a cutout in the outer leather, was a flat, clear gem that Damien immediately deduced was another diamond. Directly below that, as well as embedded in the brass near all four corners, pea-sized beast cores were nestled.
Damien opened the book. In the center lay two flat brass rings. One was engraved with a series of numbers, and the other with seemingly random glyphs, and each ring bore a little knob that he could hook with his finger and use to turn the rings, aligning any number with any glyph.
Damien looked at the brass border again, suspecting that it hid a spell array on the inside, and a hunch about the book’s purpose grew in his heart. Small tabs peeked out of the book’s pages in a cascading row, making it easy to find each section without having to flip through the slippery silk sheets, all of which were still blank.
Before Damien could further examine it, Sebastien explained. “This was developed based on your recommendation. It’s a communication device. The artifact on the inner front cover allows you to choose who to send your message to, and for others to select you in return. This book’s tag is ‘Two-Delta’ Each section of sheets is a new ‘thread,’ so as long as you ensure you’re selecting the right recipient, you can hold multiple conversations at once. And rather than use ink to write on the pages…” Sebastien reached forward and turned to the book in Damien’s hands to the last page, revealing the inside of the back cover. “You use this spell array to mentally write or draw on the pages with a color-changing spell. Conversations can be easily erased this way. The diamond and central beast core ensure that all you need to use the book is the book itself.”
“It’s like a combination of Ana’s sympathetic journal and a distagram,” Damien understood instantly. “Except totally portable and reusable. Amazing! Even the coppers don’t have this.”
Sebastien smiled. “It cost a fortune to develop, so it had better be worthwhile. We’re calling it a message book. We have also placed hidden relay devices throughout the city to help strengthen the sympathetic connection. You should be able to receive messages even through most barriers and at fairly long distances.”
Damien’s estimation of their secret order’s capability rose again, but after a moment, he felt that this was still reasonable. If they were going to change the world, they had to be at least this qualified, with deep coffers and a few Grandmasters among their ranks. Still, his chest puffed out with pride. “What’s your message book’s tag?” Upon receiving it, Damien adjusted the circular disks on the inside of the front cover, placed his thumb on the diamond Conduit, and used the modified color-changing spell array to send a message to Sebastien.
Sebastien reached into his pant pocket, pulled out the book, and looked at the message within, then raised one eyebrow and looked back up at Damien. “Really?”
Damien giggled, quickly erasing his crude drawing of a pile of poop wearing a top hat. He then immediately replaced it with a drawing of a duck wearing a gang symbol bandanna, smoking a cigar, and holding a battle wand in one wing. He was no artist, but it was easier to translate images directly from his head onto the page than using a pen or pencil.
Sebastien shuddered, closed his message book, and put it back in his pocket. “Have I created a monster?” he muttered.
“I’m so happy the higher-ups actually listened to my suggestion!” Damien said, bouncing on his toes and sending another drawing of a horse with a broken leg using crutches to walk, which Sebastien ignored.
Sebastien asked for his thirteen-pointed star light coaster, then used a stencil to draw some kind of symbol on it using water, frowning intensely. “This is another method to call for help, but you won’t be able to use it for anything until you actually become a full member. However, it can still be used to locate you if you get into trouble. Carry it with you at all times. It can be used to rescue you anywhere on the planet.”
Damien took back the coaster, inspecting it with wide eyes, but found no visible changes. “Anywhere on the planet? No matter how strong your relay devices are, that seems…impossible?”
Sebastien just smiled. “You’ll understand once you’re inducted.”
“Are you torturing me with all of these hints on purpose?” Damien muttered.
Sebastien pretended not to hear him.
“We talked about it before, but I still wonder if there might be other people who know about the Aberrant problem. Reporters, leaders of long-term care facilities and asylums, or maybe even some retired professors who could have been researching something related to this subject. What if we tried to track some of those people down and subtly question them?”
“Absolutely not,” Sebastien said, his voice hard and unyielding. He met Damien’s gaze, refusing to look away until Damien nodded. “If there are people like that still alive, I’d be surprised. But if they are, there is a good chance they’re being watched, acting as bait. It’s especially dangerous for anyone related to me, after what happened recently.”
“Ah. You’re right. It was a stupid idea.”
“Not stupid, just reckless. The concept actually has a lot of merit. I wonder…can you use Harrow Hills archives to track down how many competent shamans over the last thirty to fifty years have either died or gone missing?”
“Why does that narrow down the possibility space?” Damien asked.
“The higher-ups found some relevant information. A strong clue that points in this direction.”
“I know you won’t tell me anything more, just leave me dying of curiosity, but I have to admit, it’s very relieving to know that we’re not working on this alone. Someone else, someone immensely competent, knows about the problem and is taking steps of their own to resolve it.”
“...Yes,” Sebastien agreed, making a somewhat strange face. “How comforting.” He turned back to the box full of supplies and pulled out three more things: a button-pin that was fairly inconspicuous and could be moved between pieces of clothing without notice, that could release a one-time fire-tornado spell to wreak havoc; a gold earring that actually had a hollow, expanded space inside, which stored a tiny knife whose handle was just a hole for Damien’s finger to fit inside; and another of those keychains from the Night Market that were charged with a rending spell that would destroy whatever someone punched with it.
Then, Sebastien forced Damien to practice accessing all of his new emergency supplies while idly firing spark-shooting spells and stinging hexes at him, which Damien was supposed to dodge. To top it all off, he seemed disappointed in Damien’s performance. “You need to practice,” he finally said. “Put in effort diligently. I’m your sponsor, so don’t embarrass me.”
Damien really wanted to retort, but he couldn’t think of anything that might knock Sebastien’s ego down a peg or two. Before he left, he helped Sebastien water the only real decoration in his apartment, the little tree Brinn had given him. “I have a piece of secret intel. Maybe you’d like to pass it on to the higher-ups, but don’t forget to give me credit. Titus suspects that some members of the University’s history department may be members of the Architects of Khronos.”
Sebastien nodded as if this didn’t surprise him at all.
“Well, a while back, he apparently conscripted some of them to assist the Crowns, according to their vows. He tasked them to find the Architects. Pretty clever, asking them to find themselves, right? Well, weirdly, they supposedly caught one of the Architects’ high-ranking people and let the coppers arrest them. Some woman involved in admissions testing. You might hear about it when school starts up again.”
Sebastien still didn’t seem particularly surprised, and after a moment of thought, said, “Did you know that Grandmaster Kiernan has gone missing?”
Damien blinked.
“He was part of the Architects, too, and he disappeared from his house in the middle of the night. Our intel suggests that they suspect he may have been secretly arrested by the coppers. So it’s possible they’re trying to use this woman as bait to find Kiernan. You can tell Titus to have his guard up against infiltration or possibly attempted prison-breaks.”
Damien tried to imagine what it would be like to give his older brother this kind of information without giving away his access to an underground spy network. He drooped. “I’ll have to write him an anonymous letter.”
“Do you know how to do that without leaving clues?”
Damien straightened, adjusted the strap of his new satchel of her shoulder, and scowled. “Of course I do!” With a humph, he turned to leave, but he still hadn’t adjusted to the height of his new shoes and tripped on his way down the stairs. He looked back to make sure Sebastien hadn’t seen him, then stared down every threatening-looking person on the way out to a main street where he could safely hail a carriage. He didn’t plan to get into a fight, but there was something confidence-inducing about knowing that he could forcibly reduce anyone who crossed him into several large chunks of meat and bone with a single punch.
Author Note: A super long chapter this week! I'll be back again next Thursday, when Sebastien finally goes to visit Thaddeus.
Weekly chapter discussion: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/chapter-291-weekly-discussion-secrets-and-supply-kits/932