by E. C. Jarvis
“I...uhhh, sorry, Friar. Yes, I’m a little lost.”
“You do look out of place.”
The priest looked Cid up and down, his bushy eyebrows dancing across his forehead in a whimsical expression. Cid looked down at himself; his clothes were tatty, his hands and forearms covered in burns and scabs and soot. He imagined his face looked just as bad, if not worse. Compared to the pristine rich folks they’d seen on the street, he looked like some sort of filthy, escaped convict.
“I wanted to say some prayers. I know my kind isn’t usually welcome here, but I figured it looked pretty empty, so I thought I’d chance my luck.”
Oh Gods, I’m lying to a priest. I’m going to burn for this.
“Your kind?”
“I work the furnace at Clockman Peak.” He just about prevented himself from cringing at the awkward lie.
“Do you, now? What made you come all the way down here?”
Cid’s mind fell blank and his face gave him away. He wasn’t used to making up lies, let alone needing to do so in a holy place of worship. He mulled over the idea of just telling the truth, seeing if the priest would take pity and help. Perhaps if he could take the man back to Larissa, she could talk him into helping. She seemed to have a gift for it—that was, of course, if Holt didn’t just slash the poor man’s throat. The priest sighed and waved his hand apologetically.
“You must work for that awful heathen, that Doctor Orother. Felt the need to escape as far down the mountain as you could, hmm?”
Cid’s face turned askew and he found himself nodding, dumbstruck.
“I’m not surprised, though I’d like to know how you got here. The guards don’t usually let the workers walk the streets.”
“I was...discrete.”
There, that’s not really a lie is it?
“No doubt. The sewers may be discrete, but you can catch all kinds of diseases from wandering around down there.”
“How did you...?”
“The smell, my son. Well, this is the quieter time of day, so I think we can make an exception, though if you come across any of my brothers or sisters they may not be so forgiving. So make it quick.”
The priest stepped past Cid, pushed the gate open, and nodded as Cid entered the room. The priest pulled the gate closed behind him and disappeared back down the corridor, muttering to himself.
Cid stood in the chamber, subtly mulling over the interaction. Usually he would have trusted the word of a priest without hesitation, though after the events of the last few days he had grown wary and mistrustful of even his own mind. He sighed and slumped down onto a bench, knowing full well that he didn’t really have time to sit around praying.
“Old habits die hard,” he said aloud. “Spirit forgive me, purge my soul, accept my penance...” His prayer continued on, the words so ingrained in his psyche that they rolled off his tongue with natural ease. By the time he finished he felt the familiar ease of rest wash over him, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He hadn’t even noticed that his eyes had fluttered closed.
“And Gods grant me the strength to survive this adventure, and place in my hands the courage to save the life of the Professor and the girl.”
His eyes opened, and breath caught in his throat. Sitting in front of him, plain as day, he saw the little black and white ball of fur—Imago.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
The cat turned its head to look at a different entrance gate. Cid’s mouth dropped open, astonished that the cat was here, had followed them, and seemed to be able to understand him.
“Don’t be fucking stupid, Cid. The fucking cat can’t fucking understand you. And stop fucking swearing.” Imago flicked his tail as a sign of impatience.
“Right. Well, I can’t sit around here all day. Bloody Holt will be itching to fling a knife at some poor bugger before long.”
He paused, trying to figure out if he was talking to himself or to the cat. Unsure which answer would make him sound crazier, and equally unsure what difference it made either way, he settled on the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods had answered his prayer—perhaps Imago was there by divine providence. He was, after all, in the chamber of the Spirit of Beasts.
“Let’s go find some robes.”
Imago stood with Cid and followed close behind him as he made his way to the sleeping quarters. Once he had completed the task, he made his way back to the room where the others waited. Imago followed silently at his heel along the way.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“I wonder how the others are getting on with repairing the ship,” Larissa mused, though she kept her voice low. She sat cross-legged in one corner of the small room. Goodson sat opposite, mirroring her position, and Holt sat beside the door, his legs pulled up to his chest. He’d spent the time periodically looking out the door and shushing Larissa’s attempts at passing the time with idle conversation.
“If we are successful in our task, and manage to get in and out of Orother’s place alive, I doubt the ship will be where we left it,” Holt answered.
“You think it will be discovered?” Goodson spoke, his voice was even softer than Larissa’s.
“Discovered or taken,” Holt answered.
“Taken?”
“By the men we left behind,” Holt said.
“They assured me,” Larissa began.
“They are pirates,” Holt interrupted. He pulled the door open slightly to search the corridor once again, raising his hand to indicate the others should stay quiet. When he closed the door, Goodson spoke up.
“We are good men, Mr. Holt, better than you give us credit for.”
“While those good men may not have been in the storage room with the others when I took the ship, you mustn’t forget that they were waiting for the others to finish with you.” Holt addressed Larissa, ignoring Goodson. “They would have had their turn beating and raping you, given time. Even this one.” Holt pointed his finger at Goodson.
Larissa looked at Goodson, who glared at Holt, though his expression softened and his gaze dropped to the floor when he noticed Larissa watched him, too. Larissa sighed, wondering if life would become less complicated any time soon.
“Cid’s returning,” Holt said as he rose to his feet.
Larissa pressed her ear to the wall, straining to listen. She could hear some distant footsteps, though to her they sounded exactly the same as every other person who had passed by.
“How can you tell?” she whispered.
“His gait is unique.”
“Really? Could you tell if it were me instead?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“So what does my gait sound like?”
“Soft.”
As she was about to press him further on matters of stealth, there came a soft tap on the door and Cid’s voice muffled in the room as he spoke into the wood.
“It’s me. Don’t kill me.”
Holt opened the door and Cid stepped inside, carrying an armful of robes. Imago followed him into the little room.
“Cid, thank goodness,” Larissa squealed, stepping forward to hug him, having not seen the cat. Instead of reaching Cid, she trod on Imago’s tail. The cat shrieked and jumped onto Cid’s shoulder, then Cid tumbled forward and crashed into Goodson and the bundle of robes flew through the air.
Eventually, the momentary chaos settled, allowing them to regroup. Larissa spent an inordinate amount of time fussing over the cat, to the point where Holt resorted to clearing his throat loudly to distract her.
“Orother’s house is up the mountain,” Cid said as he tried to adjust the ill-fitting robe across his chest.
“How do you know that?” Holt asked. He’d already donned the robe, which not only fitted him perfectly, but somehow made him look like he had been born into the priesthood. Cid wrinkled his nose in disgust just as Goodson unintentionally jabbed his elbow into Cid’s ribs as the young boy fought to get the
robe over his head in the restricted space.
“The priest told me,” Cid replied.
“You spoke to someone?” Holt’s tone turned dark.
“A priest, yes. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything.”
“He is aware of our destination.”
“But he thinks I work there. He doesn’t know about the rest of you or what we’re up to. Honestly, Holt, you’re far too paranoid.”
“Unless the man is a complete moron, he will know something is amiss and he’s likely to report it to the guards, or to Orother himself.”
“Listen, you.” Cid took a step closer to Holt and raised his hand, brandishing a finger in Holt’s face. Holt’s eyes darkened.
“Gentlemen, please. We just need to get going. There’s no point standing around arguing about things that can’t be changed.”
She tipped her head sideways and tried to squeeze herself in between the two men to diffuse the situation, though she was significantly shorter than the pair of them. Holt looked her over; she wore a man’s robe that was incredibly bulky over the top of her dress, and she looked like an overweight monk.
“You should keep the hood pulled down over your face, or someone will question why a woman is wearing a man’s robes,” Holt said, then pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, waving for the others to follow.
“We need to get out of here and back to the town,” Holt said to Cid, effectively asking him to take the lead.
“Fine, just follow me.” Cid tucked his arms beneath the robe sleeves and bowed his head, moving along the corridor in slow and measured strides. Holt followed next and Goodson and Larissa came last, walking side by side, Imago joining at Larissa’s heel.
For the most part their journey was uninterrupted. Larissa watched their surroundings from the corner of her eye, admiring the carvings in the stone and beautiful colors of light streaming through the stained-glass windows in the ceiling. They entered a large chamber with sparkling crystals embedded in great rows along the walls, jewel encrusted benches and golden statues of a male in various sanctimonious poses. Larissa caught sight of Goodson, whose head had lifted from the pious bow. His jaw dropped and his eyes darted around the enriched surroundings.
“I believe it’s the God of Ore,” she whispered to him. “Even a priest-in-training would be used to the sight.”
Goodson forced his mouth shut, cleared his throat, and resumed the bow. Larissa caught sight of Holt, who had turned just enough to watch their exchange; his sullen expression did not improve.
It’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t murder Cid or Goodson before this journey is over.
“I believe the exit will be beyond this chamber,” Cid whispered.
“Good,” Holt said. “We should hurry. We’re being followed.”
The two men turned on their heels and headed towards the opposite exit. Larissa and Goodson followed as the sound of feint footsteps echoed down the corridor behind them. Larissa felt her heart pounding in her ears and her feet tripped slightly as the pace quickened.
They entered yet another corridor in the maze-like structure, the steps of their pursuer growing louder as they rounded through twists and turns. Larissa kept glancing behind, expecting to see someone catch up to them. She smacked face-first directly into the thick, itchy robe of whomever was in front of her.
They had stopped, the footsteps behind them had stopped, and in front a figure blocked their path—a plump, elderly priest with a fuzzy grey beard that covered the majority of his face. He stood with his arms crossed and hood folded down, glaring directly at them. Larissa stepped to one side, trying to get a good look at the man while attempting to keep her face hidden.
“That one is a woman,” the priest stated clearly, nodding in her direction, though the statement seemed to be directed at Cid.
“The young lad is a pirate,” the priest continued, nodding at Goodson, “and that one is...an assassin? Or something in the military, though this is most certainly not a military operation.”
Larissa heard the slightest metallic sound coming from beneath Holt’s robe—a blade being drawn. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, silently pleading with him to wait.
“You can try to stab me if you wish, my son, but I am under the protection of the God of Order and you will not succeed. I am here to offer you aid in your quest.”
“My apologies, Friar,” Cid said, bumbling somewhat. “It was not my intention to lie to you. We mean you no harm, we just need to get through the town discretely.”
“To Doctor Orother?”
“Yes,” Cid said.
Another metallic sound came from Holt’s robe as he drew a second blade. Larissa tightened her grip on his arm.
“If you intend to infiltrate his operation there are a few things you should know. I would be happy to offer you some information, only I’d prefer to not have a knife at my throat, if it’s all the same to you. I am Friar Narry. Have you all eaten recently? I have some cold meats and bread in my room if you’d like to join me.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Friar,” Larissa said, “but we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Ah, much more than just a woman, I see. You’re the leader. Hmm, that’s interesting. Well, I will escort you through the town. We can discuss along the way, save the food for another day.”
Goodson groaned.
“Thank you. We must get out of here as soon as possible. I’m sure we were being followed,” Larissa said as they started along the corridor once more.
“I was following you,” Narry said.
“Really? So how’d you end up in front?” Goodson asked. The others all stared at him. He’d barely spoken two words this whole time, and it seemed an odd moment for him to find his voice.
“It is quite a skill to master, one of many I possess.”
“Magic?” Goodson said, his voice almost a squeak.
“That’s not how we refer to it, young man. They’re called skills and illusions.”
Narry led them around yet another bend into a large foyer with four blazing fire pits at each corner and an excessively ornate door at the opposite end which led to the outside world. They followed in silence through a gathering of people at the citadel for afternoon prayers, and emerged into the crisp winter air.
After walking the streets in silence for a while, the crowds of people and their accompanying guards thinned and Larissa thought it safe enough to speak.
“So, Friar Narry, you said there are things we should know?”
“The priests and priestesses in this order of the Dolanites have been aware of Orother’s questionable activities for some time.”
“What sort of activities?” Holt interrupted.
“Many people enter his property under guard and few of them are ever seen leaving.”
“What kind of people?” Holt asked.
“Mostly military men, though it has been a while since we’ve seen a batch of them. It seems his activities have shifted somewhat, though we remain suspicious.”
“Shifted? How?” Holt asked, taking on the role of interrogator.
“We have observed certain comings and goings, the transportation of interesting equipment, meetings with Official Persons, and such. Of course, there is the building itself, which is quite an achievement, I must say.”
“And you haven’t reported anything to the authorities or the Government?” Larissa asked. She had been watching the exchange between Narry and Holt carefully, wondering at Holt’s sudden interest in the subject; it was unlike him to show interest in anything.
“We have discussed it amongst a few of us, whether we should act in some way, though it’s not really appropriate for us to pry, nor involve ourselves. Besides, we knew it would be a bad idea the day a certain individual paid a personal visit to Orother.”
“Who?” Holt asked, almost barking the question at him.
“I will not give you a name, as I fear it would be the end of me if I were to say it aloud.
Just be assured it is a man of great power and influence, and if he approves of the Doctor’s activities, reporting him to the authorities would be pointless. We felt sure that sometime soon Orother would upset the wrong person, and that that person or persons would do something about it. And here you are.”
They turned a corner in the street and paused beside a clock shop. Behind the mildly frosted glass lay a glistening display of elaborate timepieces, each ticking in perfectly timed precision. Larissa glanced up and spotted the street sign, it read Clockman Way. The road led on through twists and turns up the mountainside and in the distance the last house on the street, an imposing mansion, had a huge clock built into the front below the roof apex.
“Clockman Peak?” Larissa asked, though she hardly needed corroboration.
“The very same,” Narry confirmed.
“Gods!” Cid exclaimed, and the others turned to see what he’d found. Sailing gracefully across the town, heading towards the mansion, they saw the pirate ship.
“So much for our stealthy approach,” Larissa sighed.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The pirate ship sailed elegantly around the imposing mansion and descended into the gardens at the back of Clockman Mansion. Doctor Orother stood on a balcony, watching his men aboard the ship guiding it down. Serenia stood by his side, though he had noted she tried to inch away from him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. It became a game in his mind to enhance her discomfort. He started to wonder what he needed her for now that he had the Professor and was about to have the engineer and the girl, too.
Nothing. I don’t need her for anything else.
Some tantalising images flashed at the back of his mind of what he could do with her. Perhaps he could kill her first, make the Professor and that girl watch and see what is in store for them. Just as he started to imagine a symphony of screams echoing around his property, the ship touched down and his men headed toward him.
“The ship is secure, Sir,” the senior guard said as he climbed the stairs to greet Orother.
