by E. C. Jarvis
. . .
When her eyes opened, the cabin was bathed in daylight. The candles had all melted into waxy blobs. She rubbed her eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. Something was different. In the middle of the room stood a large tin bucket, and a sizeable wooden box had been placed beside it.
Larissa frowned and sat upright, expecting to startle Imago until she realized he wasn’t there. Tossing the blanket aside, she walked over to the bucket; thin wisps of steam rose up from the hot water inside as heat travelled into the cold morning air. She bent over and lifted the box lid, finding a soft towel, folded neatly, and bar of soap perched on top. Beneath the towel there seemed to be endless reams of thick, red, velvety fabric, edged with black lace.
Larissa set the towel and soap down and pulled the fabric out, holding it up. To her shock and mild delight she found it to be a dress. The skirts were knee-length and the dress had a stitched-in bodice. It was a little too low-cut for her liking and seemed as though it might be better suited to a serving wench at a brothel. But it was, at the very least, far more beautiful and presumably more comfortable than the oversized jacket. She figured it would help to make her feel less shambolic.
Larissa shrugged the jacket off her shoulders, her skin instantly pricking up in goose bumps, and set to giving herself a much-needed clean. She made sure to take extra care with each new scar. The bruises were gone, and as she worked down her body the grime and dried blood disappeared. Finally, she flipped her head over and dipped her entire mop of curls into the bucket, scrubbing furiously with the soap to clean off the muck. After towelling dry, she pulled on the dress. It was a size too big and didn’t quite fit right, though the fabric was lovely and thick, with long sleeves to cover her arms. It was heavy enough to wear out in the winter air.
“Where the hell did they get this from?” she mused aloud as she fiddled with the waist, trying to twist it into her body shape. She looked down to the bucket; the now cold water was murky with blood and soot.
“And which of them arranged all this? Surely not Holt.”
“Why surely not Holt?” Holt’s voice travelled across the room. She spun around so quickly that she tumbled backwards and landed on her backside. Holt stared, his arms folded across his chest, his shoulder blades pressed against the far wall with a grim expression.
Larissa scrabbled to her feet. “How long have you been there? Were you watching me bathe like some pervert?”
“Which question would you like me to answer first?”
“You were watching!”
“If you had checked the room prior to disrobing you would have seen me. You need to become more wary of your surroundings. Always check for threats. A cunning enemy will find the best hiding place.”
“Don’t change the subject and try to pretend like you’d planned this as a lesson.”
“I did not intend to watch you. You awoke before I left the room. I expected you to see me, and when you didn’t—”
“You stood and watched anyway.”
Holt pushed off from the wall and stepped in front of her, a frown on his face. “My apologies.”
She sighed, not quite sure why she berated him for watching, especially after what happened the last time they were in the room together. Usually she would have craved and appreciated such avid attention from a handsome man.
“So, you did this? For me?”
“It was a team effort.”
“Really?”
“Goodson knew there was a dress in the storage room.”
“Which one is Goodson?”
“The youngest.”
“Ah.”
“Cid suggested the water and soap, and I delivered it all.”
“And why does a pirate ship have a dress, soap, and towels on board?”
“You...might not like the answer.”
“Oh, let me guess, prostitutes?”
“It is commonplace.”
“Charming.” She looked down at the dress, now feeling foolish in it.
I hate this stupid dress.
“I look like the ship’s harlot.”
“No you don’t.”
All right, perhaps hate was too strong a word.
“You’re sure?” She asked.
“It suits you.”
I meant like. I like this dress.
She smiled to herself. A small amount of time spent thinking about clothing, fashion, colors, and fabrics made her feel at home. However, it was a fleeting thought as she realized it was morning and they would reach their destination at some point during the day.
“Has everyone else rested?”
“Yes, we took shifts.”
“Good. We should go up on deck.” She reached into the discarded large jacket to retrieve the lockbox and collected a chart from the desk as they headed out.
On deck, Cid was once again at the wheel and the others kept themselves busy. The sky was bright and the breeze felt fresh, no longer bitingly cold. Far below, the rocky terrain was less pronounced, and snow-tipped trees dotted the terrain now between the lumpy boulders.
“Morning, Cap’n Rissa.” Grubbs emerged, his eyes glowing as he caught sight of her new outfit. “You like the dress, Cap’n? Goodson remembered we had it and remembered where it was, didn’t you, Goodson?”
“Yes. Thank you, gentlemen. It’s much appreciated, Goodson.” The youngest crewmember, Goodson, blushed beneath his tanned skin and bent his head forward. His long mop of dark blond hair flopped over his face. Larissa smiled. It felt nice to find someone else who suffered from the affliction of blushing.
Cid wore a new pair of goggles over his eyes, making it difficult to discern his expression as she approached.
“Come on, girl, we’ll be there within the hour,” Cid started. “What’s the big plan?”
“Well, has anyone here actually been to Meridina?” The question was answered with silent shaking of heads.
“It’s a private town for rich aristocrats. No one gets in without an invitation,” Holt reiterated.
“So access by rail is restricted?”
“Yes.”
“I imagine the security will also be watching the skies, specifically for pirates?”
“That would be a sensible deduction. Considering the wealth of the residents, Meridina must be a frequent target for pirates.”
“And seeing as we’re clearly flying a pirate ship, we may draw attention to ourselves before we can even get close. I don’t suppose any of you gentlemen were aware of your previous Captain’s plans to deliver Hans and Cid to Orother?”
Another round of head shaking ensued. Larissa paced up and down for a moment, muttering half-thoughts. Eventually, she uncurled the chart of the area that she’d picked up from her cabin and knelt down to spread it across the deck. The others leaned over to look.
“We can’t risk flying directly into Meridina. That would be stupid. We’ll have to land as close as possible and trek in on foot. Hans said Orother has a mansion on Clockman Peak, but it’s not marked on this chart, so we’ll have to find someone to ask.”
“Interrogate,” Holt said.
“Not necessarily. I could try asking nicely.”
“That’s not usually effective.”
“Maybe not for you. You don’t exactly give off an easy going vibe.” A couple men chuckled under their breaths, though the laughter was cut short as Holt passed an icy glare their way.
“And when we find this place? What next?” Cid asked.
“I will go in,” Larissa stated.
“No!” Cid and Holt shouted in unison.
“Now, now, gentlemen, it’s the logical choice. Orother is expecting Hans to bring him Cid, and I have no intention of putting you in harm’s way, Cid. Orother already has the Professor and he doesn’t know Holt is involved. I’d prefer to keep you as a surprise. I’m the only one he doesn’t want at all, but I do have the Anthonium. That is in a lockbox, and I’m the only one who knows the code to open it. If he wants any hope of getting at the
stone without destroying it, he shouldn’t kill me straight away. I can sneak in, find Orother, and negotiate with him, buy some time for Holt to find the Professor.”
“Find the Professor?” Holt asked.
“Yes.”
“That is your mission. Not mine.”
“Oh.”
Minutes ticked by in silence. Larissa scratched at her temple, digging at a particular spot on the skin. Her hopes that Holt would come around to her plan and help out with finding the Professor faded away as time ebbed by.
“There.” She jabbed her finger into the chart. “We’re approaching from the west, aren’t we?”
Holt grunted in agreement.
“So, we should see Meridina as we pass between these two peaks. We can fly in the shadow of that mountain and land somewhere around here. That should be close enough.”
She looked up, expecting someone to argue or disagree or tell her she was being ludicrous. Instead, the men silently nodded in agreement. She rose to her feet and the men resumed their duties. Imago padded over and sat himself upon the chart. It wasn’t the most grand and elaborate plan in history, but it was better than nothing.
Larissa looked out to the horizon once more, wondering if she could ever settle back into her old life again after such an adventure. Given that they managed to survive. Then again, if they did survive and rescue the Professor, what would happen if he still wanted her and resumed his promises of affection? What if her silly heart couldn’t say no to him, even after everything she’d learned? What about Holt? Her gaze met with Holt’s; he gave her a careful, contemplative look as he walked away.
If I don’t go back to my old life, what the hell would I do instead?
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The pirate ship perched atop a smooth plateau in the shadow of the last mountain beside the private town of Meridina. Cid had landed the ship well. A pair of skids had been deployed on either side for the landing, as the keel was curved to allow for ocean crossings as well as air travel. Cid was noticeably proud of his skill at landing such a cumbersome ship in rugged terrain.
Larissa, Holt, Cid, and Goodman headed across the rocky terrain, the other two men remaining behind to try to repair the damage the ship had sustained in the crash with The Larissa. They had to get the ship as ready to take off again as possible, should the necessity for a speedy departure arise. Larissa had tried to tell Imago to stay, though she wasn’t sure if he’d understood. The cat had never quite gotten the hang of learning commands. She couldn’t see his furry little outline following behind, so she assumed he remained upon the ship and hoped he would be safe there.
Holt led the group, a pack of supplies on his back and an array of weapons across his chest. He picked his way over perilous, snow-covered rocks, and the others followed in his wake, trying to mimic his movements. Larissa wore a belt across her waist, a pair of throwing knives and a pair of light pistols slotted through the leather. The others had weapons too, purloined from the ship’s storage room. They looked ready for a fight.
Their journey across the snowy terrain passed in relative silence due to the perilous route. As the pirate ship disappeared behind them in the distance, the terrain levelled out and they could finally walk side by side.
Ahead, the mountain town of Meridina grew before their eyes. Tall buildings stretched up to the heavens, carved from the mountain rock, each one designed with precise symmetry. Large, arched windows adorned every structure with ornate stained glass set into the frames. It looked to Larissa like a town from the fairy-tales her mother used to tell her as a child.
As they drew closer they tried to disguise their approach by creeping between jutting stone spires. Eventually they reached the edge of a road, which was fairly busy and bustled with traders and clientele walking to and fro. The roads appeared spotless, clear of all traces of snow. Men strutted the streets in smart suits, top hats, and thick over-cloaks. Some carried fine canes with bejewelled tips, others wore monocles or fur collars. One man stopped nearby to check his pocket watch; it was the finest timepiece Larissa had ever seen, polished gold with diamonds embedded around the face.
The women all dressed in elaborate costumes, flashes of lace and velvet, shining silks and thick fur linings. They tied their feet up in expensive winter boots and adorned their heads with artistic hats. It was a town full of excessively rich citizens, the reserve of the aristocracy. Larissa turned to look at the men with her and then glanced down at herself.
“We clearly don’t fit in here. Cid looks like a filthy furnace worker. Goodson, no offence, but you look like a pirate. Holt looks like...uhh...some kind of assassin. I may have managed to pull off respectable in this dress in Sallarium City, but amongst these people even I look out of place.”
She noticed that, dotted in between the fine, expensively clad people, stood guards. The burly men were dressed in plain, dark navy uniforms, though not quite the same as the military style. Some guards walked along with the rich folk, others stood at various entrances to buildings. All of them watched their surroundings carefully.
“We’ll get rounded up the moment we set foot out there,” Cid grumbled.
Larissa scanned the street, desperate to find a sign of some cleaner or boot polisher or something. She couldn’t imagine the rich folks sweeping the roads themselves.
“There must be workers,” Holt said, as though he had read her mind, or at least he shared the same thoughts.
“I don’t see any.”
“They’re probably only allowed out at certain times, expected to remain hidden away during the day. Rich folks don’t like to see the poor people who clean up after them.”
“That’s awful,” Larissa said.
“That’s the kind of life you were agreeing to with the Professor, you know,” Cid chimed in. “All haughty and arrogant, worried about what the neighbors thought of your new outfit and if you had a large enough jewelry collection or not. Never mind the riff raff staff, the poor folks should be grateful to have jobs. At least, that’s how the aristocracy behave.”
Larissa wrinkled her nose at the thought, wondering if she would have so easily succumbed to the decadence of it all—if she would have been blinded by pretty dresses and charming parties and never given a thought to the people who did all the hard work.
“Even if we tried to pose as misplaced workers, I think we’d raise suspicions as a group, and I’m not willing to split us up yet.”
“Sewers,” Holt whispered, dragging Larissa back behind the stone spire they had been using as cover. He pointed to a grate nearby.
“Oh, charming. How will we even know where it comes out?”
“We’ll have to chance it. We’ll go along until we find an exit in an alleyway or something.” He was already lifting the large cover, and as soon as it was off the smell assaulted their senses. Larissa gagged.
“If it smells this bad up here, I don’t think I can manage to cope with that stench up close.”
“You have a better idea?”
Larissa chewed on her lip for a moment. Her fingers twitched up to her neckline, searching for the necklace, and then dropped back down to her side. She shook her head at him.
“You’ll acclimatize.” Holt disappeared down the hole in one bound. Goodson followed wordlessly and Cid crouched beside the hole, offering Larissa a hand to help her down.
As she found the rusty rungs to climb down and began the descent, her hands scraped against the slime-covered brick walls. The stench intensified and her stomach churned. At the bottom, the space opened out into a wide-arched stone corridor, dimly lit from the grate above. Her feet landed in a puddle of sludge that slowly made its way downhill. Goodson stood further down the sewer, and Larissa could see the fading bob of Holt’s figure ahead.
“He’s gone to take a look-see,” Goodson whispered, shadows dancing across his face. Larissa wanted to answer him but she was too busy pinching her nose and covering her mouth, trying to only breathe through the smallest gap in her lips. Cid
bumped her out of the way as he came down the ladder.
“Fucking hell, it’s rough down here,” Cid muttered, covering his mouth with his forearm. Holt returned into view and they watched as he marched straight past, seemingly unaffected by the stench. He gave a slight wave of his hand and indicated they should follow.
They walked for ages, heavy footfalls landing in depths of sludge and muck. There was no ledge to protect them nor any obvious exit points. The sewage leached out great green plumes of steam, which intensified in the poor streams of light from a few holes in the ceiling. Larissa wretched several times, bile catching in her throat.
Eventually they came across another set of rusty rungs leading up. Holt disappeared up the ladder. The others stood in silence, their faces long and drawn as the effects of the rank air took its toll.
“Come up,” Holt called down, though his voice was soft. Larissa followed first; she’d never climbed a ladder so quickly in her life.
They emerged from the sewer directly into a building. The walls were built from aged red brick and reached up into a tall, cramped room. Streams of light poured in through a singular stained window above, a curved half-pipe leading from a grated gap in one wall to a hole in the ground beside the sewer entrance. As the others emerged from below, the small room turned into a tight squeeze.
Holt pushed through to the door, drawing his finger to his lips to keep them quiet. Behind the single wooden door they could hear footsteps echoing toward them, then fading away as the person walked past.
“Where do you think we are?” Larissa whispered to Holt.
“A Dolanite Citadel.” The answer came from Cid. His eyes were turned up to the window and he appeared to be studying the picture in the stained glass, that of a white cloaked-figure reaching up to the skies. “The Saint of Purification.” He pointed to the character in the window.
“You’re sure it’s a Citadel?”
