Everhouse: Episode 1

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Everhouse: Episode 1
Source: collected/030-everhouse-episode-1.mp3
SHA-256: 9e1beeeb8f1c9494f9408be1c37d13fef89638b69fbe95caffd0b7c8ceaca9d9
Model: scribe_v2 | Transcribed: 2026-10-10T18:16:45.522066+00:00
Machine transcript — uncorrected. Speaker labels are local to this recording and do not identify people.

[00:00:00.080] Speaker 1: [gentle music]

[00:00:50.360] Speaker 1: Everhouse. Prologue. SRO Central Mail Office. The Sewing Room Outskirts Central Mail Office was barely controlled chaos. The operation had outgrown this three-room area a decade ago. Now it unofficially stretched across 200 rooms. The rooms' official occupants had mostly vacated. There were a few holdouts, though, people who ate breakfast and read books while the business of mail was done around them.

[00:01:25.640] Speaker 1: One old man continued, despite every insistence from their people, to use the toilet of one of the mail receiving rooms. The room was officially allotted to him, after all. That could be fixed with the stroke of a pen. The people of Inner House couldn't even be bothered to lift a pen to help them, though. How hard was it to lift a pen? Well, things didn't stop in the Outskirts just because of that. If there was a problem, they either worked around it, or if they could, they flat out ignored it. Yes, things kept moving in the Outskirts,

[00:02:01.100] Speaker 1: one way or another. It was wild here, but it was alive. Ebenezer Credence pulled the next crate of letters off the stack and onto his desk. The heavy crate thumped against the desk. Ebenezer prepared his mind for the mental load. You had to warm up for things like this. Other people with similar-looking crates in their arms raced around through the routing office. A look of fragile panic accompanied each of them. One slip-up and the mountain of mail they'd failed to deliver might come crashing down on them. Ebenezer pulled the

[00:02:35.900] Speaker 1: first letter out of the crate and examined it. It was written in a beautiful flowing script. The envelope itself read, "From Maple Rooms, Sitting Room District South, Courtyards. To Office of Outskirt Protection, Governance District, The Emerald Halls." [whistles] Must be an important letter. Jonas sat down at the desk next to Ebenezer, shaking the room. The sound of his breathing pulled him away from the letter. "Another day in

[00:03:10.880] Speaker 1: paradise, right?" "Yeah. Grace quit. You heard that, right?" "Of course I heard that. You could hear that a dozen rooms away. They wanted her to work the replenishment. I would have quit, too." "When's that?" "Replenishment? Tomorrow, Eb. Maker's hand, how many shifts have you worked?" His vision drifted to the hallway beside him. The crates of mail were stacked so high that there was little room to walk anymore. The tightening maze of crates only added to the hum of anxiety around them.

[00:03:44.660] Speaker 1: "A couple. [sighs] I'll catch the next replenishment." But Jonas was already in his own world. He'd pulled his own letters out of a crate and started haphazardly sorting them into slots, only slowing to actually read the destinations when somebody wandered by their desks. Hopefully none of those letters were important. Ebenezer looked down at the letter in his hands again. It was a shame about that pretty handwriting. This was as far as that letter would go in the envelope they'd used. Nothing reached The Emerald Halls without

[00:04:19.680] Speaker 1: his supervisor's personal stamp. It would get vetted like that through two more routing offices. So naturally, he tore it open and read the contents. "To the bureaucrat ignoring our letters. It has been six months since my first letter, and you still haven't responded. We're desperate. Is anyone even reading these? If you are, know this: 65 people still live here. That's 65 people's blood on your hands. Whoever you are,

[00:04:54.620] Speaker 1: please send help. Lightslingers. We need lightslingers. The infection is out of control. We have the children barricaded at night. The Sprawl are starting to walk." "Hey, Eb." Ebenezer looked up from his letter. Jonas was pointing at a pen on the ground. "Hey, can you get that for me?" Ebenezer bent over and picked up the pen, then went back to reading his letter. "The Sprawl are starting to walk. Nothing bigger than an end table,

[00:05:29.700] Speaker 1: yet. We can't solve this with perimeter lamps. They eat the damn lamps. That's what kind of infestation we're talking about here. It's not just the Maple Rooms either. Every neighborhood around here is overwhelmed. Last week, we got more lamps. We don't need more lamps. We need lightslingers. Nothing else will help. If you even pretend to care about the Courtyards, you'll send help. Marcy Felt Chair." Ebenezer set the letter down and scratched his chin.

[00:06:05.072] Speaker 1: This letter wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't even stamped by a local mail office. By all rights, he should throw it straight into the trash can. Then Heather walked by and handed each routing clerk a little card of their work schedule on it. Ebenezer originally had tomorrow off. Looked like that plan had changed. Crushed beneath the ever-growing mountain of mail from the Outskirts, just like everything else. Next to him, Jonas pounded his desk furiously. "Replenishment. Eb, they've got me working

[00:06:39.912] Speaker 1: replenishment now." "The food'll still be there when you get off." "It's not about the food. It's about the principle of it. Don't you get that?" "You just wanna read all day." "And what's wrong with that? I'd love to read all day." "Then pick up a letter and get to work." "No. No, I'm done with this." With effort, Jonas got up and started to walk away. He started to walk down the narrow hallway to their left, then realizing he wouldn't fit, began to turn around.

[00:07:14.972] Speaker 1: Then a grin spread across his face. "Oh, no." He turned back around and pushed his way down the hallway lined with crates of mail, holding one arm out and knocking down the towers of boxes as he passed. "Oh, no, no, no, no." The mountain came crashing down, and Jonas kept walking. Eventually, the cascade of mail grew too thick, and the big man was left flailing in the river of boxes and letters. People rushed out with hands on their heads. Tears were

[00:07:49.632] Speaker 1: already flowing. Someone started screaming at Jonas, hitting him with a rolled up piece of paper. It was their supervisor, Maryanne. The man squirmed around on the ground, unable to extract himself from the mess, shielding his face. And Ebenezer just stood there, watching it all in shock. It would take them a month to clean that up. Forget about cleaning it up. It would take three more months to organize it all again. Nothing was going out until they finished. Then he glanced down at the letter on his desk.

[00:08:24.252] Speaker 1: Maryanne continued to swat at the helpless Jonas with her paper club. Her office was left open, though. The supervisor's stamp would be in the top desk drawer. Ebenezer supposed that one more letter might make it out, if he hurried. While everyone was distracted, he readdressed and sealed the letter, stamping it with the supervisor's stamp and a few other stamps that looked pretty important. Ebenezer personally dropped the letter into the mail runner's bag before returning to his desk. Jonas had finally made it out. In

[00:08:59.152] Speaker 1: his wake, only a few mail workers with stunned looks on their face stood on the now literal mountain of mail, picking up letters and putting them back into crates, one at a time, without much zeal. Ebenezer sat down and picked up another letter out of his crate and got back to work. Things kept moving in the Outskirts, one way or another.

[00:09:22.112] Speaker 1: [gentle music] Chapter One: Maple Rooms, Population 65. Marcy reached out to grab Trent. She missed the grab, but he stopped anyway, took off his hat, and squinted at her. "Let someone else join the patrol tonight. You've done more than your fair share. Elias could

[00:09:57.132] Speaker 1: stand to lose a few more rooms. You're doing the man a favor." "I know that, Marce, but you know I can't turn my back on a neighbor." "You can when that neighbor is Elias." Elias had the allotment for almost 300 rooms. It made up more than half of tonight's patrol route. A dozen of those rooms were larders. Never mind that most of them were cobbed over at the moment. That wasn't anyone's fault, and it certainly wasn't their problem. Trent placed one hand on her growing belly

[00:10:32.192] Speaker 1: and flashed those brilliant white teeth. Marcy fought her own smile. This man was insufferable. He was going to get his way. Somehow, he always did. And rot him. He always managed to make it look like the right thing to do, too. Trent Murdoch stepped closer and pulled Marcy into a gentle hug. "I keep my promises, which is why I'm going." "You promised me a Maker's pie tomorrow. Can't get it if you're dead." "One magic

[00:11:07.012] Speaker 1: pie by tomorrow morning. Nothing in all of Everhouse could stop me. I promise." The pie was not actually magic. It was a silly tradition, but tradition nonetheless. There was nothing special about it, an old wives' tale. It was no more special than any other food that appeared in the replenishment. But Grace had eaten that pie and gone straight into labor the next evening. Maker knew she wanted to be done with this pregnancy, so he'd better go find that pie, and he'd better not do anything

[00:11:42.172] Speaker 1: stupid in the meantime. Trent had a tendency to find trouble and deliberately place himself in the center of it. There were reasons they lived in the middle of nowhere. Some of that trouble had followed Trent home. Their little family was still whole, though, for now. What would she do out here, all alone? Well, it didn't matter. He just needed to come back. "But seriously, be careful. You're more important than Elias losing a few more

[00:12:16.692] Speaker 1: rooms." She kissed him, and then her fool of a husband finally left. [door closing] Trent closed the door to their bedroom, leaving Marcy alone. He wiggled the doorknob just to make sure it was actually closed. It wasn't locked. A person could just turn the knob to open it, but it wasn't people he was worried about. [door creaking] Trent checked the door again, shaking it in the frame. It was solid. You could always tell which doors the maker had placed themself. They had a permanence to them.

[00:12:51.432] Speaker 1: [footsteps] Trent moved from room to room, closing doors as he went, until he got to the outermost door of their allotment. The front door was painted a cerulean blue, Marcy's choice. He wanted an amber color to mark their rooms, but marriage was all about compromise, so he'd been told. Funny how he was always the one to compromise on matters of the home. It wasn't because he didn't have an opinion on colors or furniture or art. It was because it was not really a compromise at

[00:13:26.372] Speaker 1: all. Trent Murdock already had everything he needed, his own little corner of Everhouse and a wonderful, patient, kind-hearted wife, and soon a baby. He checked the cerulean front door again. [door creaking] It didn't matter that it was cerulean and not amber. It only mattered that it was theirs. Trent looked down the long hallway. It was dotted here and there with unpainted doors, signifying that no person lived there. Those rooms didn't belong to Trent and Marcy.

[00:14:01.512] Speaker 1: All 23 rooms in their allotment were behind this blue door. One way in, one way out. That was how he liked it. Some people, like Elias, thought more rooms was always better. Trent thought the value of an allotment was not in how many rooms it had, but how many rooms were between you and everyone else. [footsteps] It was a 10-minute walk to their nearest neighbor, and that felt just right to him. The hallway outside their allotment was lit up like a courtyard bonfire. Lanterns hung above every doorway.

[00:14:36.892] Speaker 1: Not the giant gloom banes, but still pretty big. Trent started making his way to the meetup point. He ran his hand along the hallway as he walked. He admired the smooth maple paneling for which the maple rooms had been named. There had been 1,000 outskirt neighborhoods they could have settled, but the description of this place and its ubiquitous paneling in a newspaper ad had won him over. He still remembered the ad. "Like being replenished every time I step outside my front door. I feel free

[00:15:11.672] Speaker 1: here." It hadn't felt like that lately. Trent looked at each hanging lantern as he passed. [door creaking] He had to fight the urge not to check their oil levels, to make sure the doors beneath them were closed tight. He had to fight that terrible fear of leaving Marcy alone, so far away from anyone. Isolation had its downsides. Trent followed the cerulean line painted on the floor. The path lines were mostly for children and guests to find their way around the new neighborhood.

[00:15:47.672] Speaker 1: Not that they'd had a guest in a long time, but Trent often found himself using them just to free up his mind to wander. As he walked, a thin yellow line joined the cerulean line at an intersection. His nearest neighbors, the Iron Basins, lived in that direction. If you followed the line, it would take you straight to their front door. [door creaking] At the next intersection, three more lines of color joined the others. He kept following the rainbow of path lines until he reached a door leading to the neighborhood's central courtyard, the patrol meeting place. He stepped out

[00:16:22.712] Speaker 1: into the night air and lifted his head to bask in it. The smell of withering plants hit his nose. They would pop back up to life in tomorrow's replenishment, though. He loved that potent, fragrant smell right after a replenishment. Trent looked around. Central Courtyard was the largest and most impressive in the area. Elias had actually tried to include this in his allotment, but fortunately, the government had made the right call for once and made this a common space instead. There were three tiers of manicured gardens

[00:16:57.372] Speaker 1: connected by winding stone paths dotted by cozy little seating areas. A large brass bell stood on wooden supports in the middle of the courtyard. [door creaking] It was totally dark. Besides the faint burbling of a water fixture, it was silent as well. So was he going on patrol solo? That seemed like exactly the kind of thing Marcy had warned him not to do. A door opened across the courtyard. Lantern light cast a red-orange semicircle on the dark stone. A man with thick

[00:17:32.212] Speaker 1: spectacles peeked out, glanced up at the open dark sky, and then ducked back into the room quickly. Murdock smiled to himself and started walking. He knew the man, and he could do worse for a patrol partner. Eh, could do better too, actually. He pulled open the door, and the spectacled man scrambled backwards, nearly dropping his lantern on the ground. "Maker's jewels, Trent. You scared me." Frederick Tilemaster, Freddy to people who knew him, squinted up at Trent,

[00:18:07.292] Speaker 1: then looked around. "No one else? There were 10 of us on the patrol schedule." Trent just slapped him jovially on the back. "Then that means we'll do the work of 10 and give 'em a hard time tomorrow, right, Freddy?" "Oh, that's gonna take all night." "Well, I guess we could split up and do it in half the time." "Yeah, right. It's already late. I guess the two of us will have to do." Freddy waited for Trent to lead the way. Trent just smiled and tipped his hat, though.

[00:18:42.736] Speaker 1: Freddy had to know he wouldn't go first. Trent sometimes did things he didn't bother to explain to others. "Never be the first into a room, and always be the last out," he remembered his father saying. His father had been part of the last generation of wanderers, and there was a knowledge there. And while Trent had spent most of his life in the very civilized parts of Everhouse, he had inherited his father's cautious nature. It had given him a code to live by. It wasn't his cleverness or his bravery that kept

[00:19:17.776] Speaker 1: Marcy and him alive way out here, and soon their baby. It was diligence, the willingness to do the critical but mundane and frankly boring work that made life in the outskirts possible, like participating in a neighborhood patrol, a joyous community affair in civilized parts, little more than a gossipy tour of allotments. Out here in the outskirts, though, the tradition meant something, at least if you didn't want your feet eaten off in your sleep. With

[00:19:52.696] Speaker 1: any luck, it would be a quiet night for patrol. They followed the dotted gray path line out of the central courtyard and down a hallway in the direction of the neighborhood limits. Normally, a larger patrol party could just split up and cover the entire perimeter in a few hours. When they got to the end of the dotted line, it split off in two directions, two dark hallways reaching into the abyss of Everhouse. "What do you think? Counterclockwise?" "Sure. Hope you brought coffee, though. It's gonna be a late night."

[00:20:29.136] Speaker 1: "Coffee? I wish. I haven't had coffee in months. It's always gone from the one pantry I go to." "Shame. I know where the good stuff is." "Wait, seriously? Tell me." [laughs] "Give up my secret spot? I don't think so." "Is it that powdered stuff?" "No, sir. Whole bean. Guatemalan." "What does that mean?" "No idea, but it tastes divine." Trent tipped his hat back, letting it fall off his head and

[00:21:04.056] Speaker 1: be caught by the string around his neck. There was no reason to wear a hat at night, but it seemed wrong not to have one. It was courtyards, after all. It was practically uniform out here. He took a sip of water from his canteen and listened to the yawning creaks of Everhouse around him. "I'll trade you for it." "Hmm, another gathering spot?" "No, no, not information. Something way cooler." They both squatted down, and Freddy looked around to make sure no one was watching. Trent couldn't help but crack a

[00:21:39.016] Speaker 1: smile. He was always showing off some new piece of his collection to anyone who'd listen. It was always some incredible prize to Freddy, but just junk to everyone else. Between him and Phil, there was enough junk to fill 100 rooms, maybe more. "I think we're alone." Freddy pulled the pack off his shoulders and rummaged around inside. Then he pulled out something heavy, metal, and wrapped in cloth. He set it down with a clunk on the wooden floor. Trent let his hand hover over the thing for a second, then he pulled the

[00:22:13.696] Speaker 1: handkerchief back, and his jaw dropped. A long silver gun with cherry paneling on the grip. Intricate etchings along the barrel spelled out one of the codes, the lightslinger's codes. The etchings on this one read, "Hope for the hopeless." It was beautiful and terrible. Trent exhaled slowly, reverently. "Frederick Dialmaster." "Yeah?"

[00:22:49.096] Speaker 1: "They could kill you for touching this, for stealing it." "What? No way. It doesn't even work. No one even knows it's here." "Where'd you get it?" "I traded for it, just like I'm doing now." "There's no way I'm trading for that." "Come on, it's a piece of history, even if it doesn't work." "I know what they are, and I know what Innerhouse does to people who shouldn't have one." Freddy just shrugged and wrapped up the big silver gun and put it back in his

[00:23:24.096] Speaker 1: bag. Trent put away his canteen and put the hat back on his head. "Now, you don't share this, you hear? But check the top cupboards in the blue sitting room next to the central courtyard. There's two tins of Guatemalan in there." "Seriously?" "Eh, the best-kept secrets are hidden in plain sight, aren't they?" Freddy pulled his pack on, adjusted his spectacles, and smiled. "Thanks, Trent. You're telling me for free?" "No, there's a price." "Yeah? What's that?" "You're gonna get rid

[00:23:59.136] Speaker 1: of that thing." "The light revolver? It's an artifact." "It's bad news. Trash it and forget about it." "[sighs] Fine. It's not like it works anyway." They started their patrol and made small talk about their favorite gathering spots, following the path line of the neighborhood limits. They had standard, if slightly more robust, defenses. Each room with more than one exit was fitted with a giant gloom bane, huge oil

[00:24:33.766] Speaker 1: lanterns that stood sentry against the sprawl. They were their best and only defense. These lanterns were what made life possible at the edge of the civilized world. For 30 minutes they walked, their conversation low, smelling the air, looking down dark hallways and into empty rooms. And then their conversation died when they found a large, dark room. The two of them stood at the doorway,

[00:25:08.726] Speaker 1: staring into the black, then shared a concerned look. Trent took the small oil lantern off Freddy's pack and lit it with a match, then lifted the light into the room. The gloom bane in the center of the room was on its side, a large pool of dark liquid spread across the floor next to it. It's just a little darkness, Trent. Nothing to be afraid of. Just a little darkness. He set his jaw and stepped into the room. It wasn't that large, with only three exits. Sloppy black X's had been painted

[00:25:43.306] Speaker 1: across two of the doors. The gray line marking the Maple Room neighborhood limits ran under one of those crossed-out doors. The night had been going so well, too. Trent looked at the turned-over gloom bane, careful not to bring his lit lantern too close to the spreading pool of oil that gushed out of it. He found the mortal wound on the thing, a long, serrated gash in the oil well. They were lucky it hadn't caught fire. He shuddered. He imagined the Maple Rooms burning. His

[00:26:17.766] Speaker 1: dreams, his life, his family, up in flames. He shook the dark vision and shot a forced grin at Freddy. Come on, best not to linger here. Freddy nodded slowly, shock creeping onto his face. The man was shaking. He was staring at the broken gloom bane, probably running through the short list of things that could knock that over. Nothing on that list was good. Don't think too much, Freddy. It's not good for anything

[00:26:52.606] Speaker 1: except a rough night's sleep. Yeah, you're right. It could have been anything. Trent turned away so the other man couldn't see his face, couldn't see the terror fighting its way onto his expression. This was a small part of something bigger. He just knew it. He had a sense for trouble. Trent looked at the crossed-out doors marking the northeastern exclusion zone, the place they'd trapped a growing infestation. A hungry,

[00:27:28.086] Speaker 1: intelligent, growing infestation. Unless some lightslinger showed up, it was only a matter of time until the sprawl finally claimed the rest of the neighborhood. Eating everything inside. Everyone inside. Trent Murdock stared deep into the flame of his lantern, thinking dark, difficult thoughts. Thoughts of wildfire in the Maple Rooms. And whether he was prepared to burn it all, if it came to that.

[00:28:03.106] Speaker 1: Not so deep down, he knew he would. He was that kind of man. And it terrified him.