"You can tell me who your new neighbors are going to be," says Shell Bell, "or I can find them myself, but you made your bid, you lost, and you're now retired."

"How? blurts Coin.

"Magic," Bell snaps.

There is a silence, and Coin starts muttering names, and, at Bell's look when she stops, says, "That's everyone who knew."

Bell's lie-detector is quiet. She wishes all the named individuals up without further ceremony. "Reports of my assassination have omitted certain details," she says loudly to the assembled half-dozen people. "Such as that I'm not dead. Such as that I do not appreciate people trying to kill me. Such as that the obvious, obvious consequence of antagonizing the Empress of Atlantis is getting put on the moon. Welcome to the moon, I hope you like it, you do not get to leave. You get the same letter-writing privileges as the ex-Capitolites, your mailbox is over there, you may enter the ex-Capitol proper if desired but if you get into fights with the other moondwellers I will seal off your section, more detailed trials intended for general broadcast and summary appeals of the sentence will begin when I have calmed down."

And she teleports herself and Sherlock back to the kitchen where abandoned cupcake batter continues to rest on the counter.