by Taven Moore
Gideon paused, mouth slightly ajar.
“I . . . pardon. Groceries?” Gideon asked, eyes searching through the room for some assistance. Hank leaned back in his seat and allowed an unseen smile to curl his lips.
“Yes, it really is quite the emergency. I’ve done some research, you see, and the average airship meal plan is dreadfully lacking in fresh fruits and vegetables.”
Watching the man be utterly flummoxed by Remora was more heartening than Hank had expected. One tea with Remora, and perhaps this particular sly dog would leave with his tail between his legs.
10. Secrets with Sharp Edges
“If you like, I can supply a list of appropriate vegetables. Fruits, I think, would ruin far too quickly, though I suppose we could make room for a few melons. Tell me, what sorts of protein sources are readily available from Bespin? I refuse to load up on carbohydrates simply because it is convenient. Good health begins with proper nutrition.”
Remora paused for breath. The room sank into a miserable silence as everyone ignored her.
Hank glowered. At least, she assumed he was glowering. That ridiculous Paladin garb made it difficult to tell. Really, she couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking. The leather cap completely hid his hair (one of his few good features), and that dreadful lower face mask made him look like some kind of thug. Her Ardelan Encyclopedia said that Paladins were a gentle religious order. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking, choosing such a militant-looking guise.
Most importantly, the fact that he hadn’t told her of his disguise in advance irritated her. Did he not trust her? She rather thought she’d done an impressive job guaranteeing the safe and legal docking of their ship. Granted, she had needed Gideon to accomplish that particular task, but that was hardly a failing on her part. That guard had been completely out of line. She had half a mind to have him written up and reprimanded.
Furthermore, one of the primary characteristics of a great leader was delegation and playing to the strengths of one’s team in changing situations. Her use of Gideon’s skillset should be considered a display of leadership. Laudable, even!
Yet Hank seemed more disgruntled than ever, despite the fact that she was attempting to correct the error that had set off this most recent bout of gloominess. She had emptied the larder, and thus she was responsible for refilling it. And what did she get for her efforts? More stubbornness. Truly, a less determined person might have given up already!
“Remora,” Jinn said, requesting her attention. She looked to the Shinra warrior. Something in the way he held himself seemed even more stiff than usual. “If I may interject,” he said with slow deliberation, as if each word had been measured ahead of time, “I have something of an important question for your guest.”
Remora sighed. “Very well,” she allowed, then held up a finger, “but we cannot neglect our larder. I am determined that we shall leave Bespin with a fully-stocked kitchen.” She was, after all, a Price. A Price never left a problem half-solved or a mistake uncorrected.
“I thank you,” said Jinn. He turned to Gideon, red eyes piercing. “Your true purpose, now. Why are you here?”
Remora gasped. “Jinn! Had I known you would be so rude—”
Gideon held up one gloved hand, halting her speech. “No, it is quite alright, Lady. Please, do not trouble yourself on my behalf. It is a fair question.” He turned a mild, smiling face to the Shinra warrior. “I am a friend.”
Jinn turned his face to the side and spat. “Lies. You are a jackal. I ask you once more: why are you here?” His hand moved to his arcblade, yellow tassel dangling from the hilt swaying at the motion.
Unfazed by the obvious threat, Gideon steepled his fingers. “Very well. Perhaps it is a bit soon to be called ‘friend.’ I am here to help you.” Jinn’s eyes narrowed and Gideon sighed. “So distrustful! And after all that I have already done for the Shima family.” Gideon paused, then looked up at the seething warrior, gray eyes amused. “Or did your brother not tell you about me?”
“ENOUGH!” Jinn roared and leaped forward. He grabbed the lapels of Gideon’s suit and hauled him out of his stool, then slammed the man up against the wall, feet dangling freely away from the ground.
Remora gasped and stood. “Jinn! This is absolutely unacceptable! Put him down this instant!”
Voice as even and calm as if he were enjoying the lovely tea that she had promised him rather than dangling at the end of a furious Shinra’ere’s fist, Gideon spoke. “Please, dear lady, do not distress. Shima Jinn and I are simply having a gentleman’s conversation, nothing more.”
“Yeah,” Hank added, voice positively dripping with inappropriate amusement. “A gentleman’s conversation. Hey Jinn, why don’t you raise a point of discussion or two on his face?”
“There really is no need for such theatrical measures—” Gideon began, but Jinn cut him off.
“You shall not speak of the Shima family with such familiarity,” Jinn growled. “You have come on our ship, spouting hints and pieces of information as if you are playing a game. You take advantage of Remora’s good will to further your own ends. If you wish to leave this ship with all of your limbs still attached, you will tell us why you are here. No more secrets, no more cryptic messages, no more false pretenses.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “I would find it much easier to give you the information you seek were I not pinned against the wall.”
In response, Jinn only lifted the man higher. “When you were not pinned against the wall, you spouted only lies. Speak now. We shall see what this new perspective does for your honesty.”
“I must admit surprise.” Gideon said in the most reasonable voice a choked man could use. “Shima Maza described you as calm and reserved, the perfect Shinra warrior. Perhaps your brother does not know you as well as he thinks.”
Jinn snarled, inches from Gideon’s face—a true snarl, mouth open and extended canine fangs exposed. “The next thing from your mouth will be explanation,” he growled.
Remora sat back, speechless. She had never seen Jinn like this—wild with anger.
With difficulty, Gideon maintained his composure. “Very well,” he said. “My employer requested that I assist Shima Maza in the liberation of one white leopard dresl concubine from the skycity Bespin. It is rumored that this dresl is in possession of a secret which directly jeopardizes the stability of the long-standing alliance between the Shinra people and the Seraph. Your brother came to me for assistance and information. I provided it.”
“You can imagine, therefore, my unhappy surprise upon learning that not only was Maza captured during the liberation, the dresl did not reach her intended destination in Ardel. Instead, she was found within the Seraph-controlled city of Helion, captured alongside the missing Outcast Shima brother. They were to be delivered to Bespin, but were fortunately spirited away on a pirate ship. A ship, it is worth noting, that bore the same name as the one last seen carrying away the Price heiress from Westmouth port. Wonder of wonders, that same ship requested docking from the Bespin comptroller mere days later.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “It is, therefore, self-preservation which leads me to assist the crew of this ship. My employer does not tolerate failure. I was bade to deliver the dresl and her secret to Ardel. If she falls into the hands of the Bespin Seraph, her secret dies with her. My employer wants that secret more than he wants a food inspector on his payroll. Now, if you would, please lower me to the ground before you ruin this very expensive suit.”
Jinn stood for a long moment while tension filled the room.
A sharp whistle sounded. Remora startled before realizing that it was the tea kettle and not a scream.
“Come now, Jinn,” Remora prompted. “He has done as you requested, and furthermore he is my guest.” When Jinn made no move to drop the man, she chided more firmly. “Release him and pour the tea, if you please.”
Abruptly, Jinn released Gideon. The inspector landed lightly despite the jarring drop. Jinn turned away immediately and
busied himself with the tea.
Remora smiled. “There now, that is much better. Come, Gideon, regain your seat. One lump or two?”
Gideon straightened his lapels, brushing away a stubborn wrinkle. “Today, dear girl, I believe I shall have three.”
“That’s the spirit! I believe I shall have three, myself. Do tell, Gideon dear. You are remarkably well-informed. How do you know all of those things?”
“My employer,” said Gideon, “is a man of vast influence. I know only what he tells me, and he tells me only that which I need to do my job. You will, I hope, understand when I say I cannot tell you more of him.”
“Certainly,” Remora agreed. Jinn set the tea tray in the center of the table. Remora noted that although his layout was improving, he did not seem to grasp the art of a proper tea. The sugar cubes were stacked in perfect columns, the fragile cups all aligned with military precision, their slender handles all pointing the same direction. She sighed and mentally reminded herself to have patience. She would discuss it with him at their next lesson. There was no love in his tea.
Using silver tongs, Remora portioned sugar into the cups.
“There is a . . . small curiosity which you could satisfy,” Gideon said as she lifted the steaming teapot and began pouring. The scent of spiced oranges filled the air.
“Oh? And what is that?”
“What is the Price heiress doing aboard a pirate ship, making enemies of Seraph henchmen and consorting with pirates?” He turned to Hank. “No offense,” he added as Remora served his tea first.
“None taken,” said Hank, eyeing the cup and saucer Remora placed in front of him with distrust.
“I can’t imagine that you’d find the story at all interesting,” Remora said, serving Jinn (who always took three lumps), and Hackwrench (who never took any). “You’ll think me daft. Everyone else does.”
“Nonsense,” said Gideon. “There are a great many rumors about the eccentric daughter of Magnus Price, but never once has she been accused of being boring.”
Remora flushed. “Flatterer.”
Hank uttered a sound that might have been a scoff, but she ignored him in favor of Gideon who actually seemed interested. “You really want to know?” she asked, heart speeding.
Gideon’s face took on a look of utter seriousness. “Few things would make me happier,” he declared.
Remora pulled the heavy locket from her bodice, lifted the chain over her head, and offered the necklace to him. “Open it,” she said, “and tell me what you see.”
He took the locket, examining it carefully. “Ardelan make,” he remarked, “Very fine work here.”
Remora tried to curb her impatience. It was not the locket she wanted his opinion on. After what seemed a painful wait, he finally spun the catch with his finger. The clamshell opened and he peered inside. “I don’t—” Mid-sentence he stopped, eyes widening. Hastily, his free hand scrabbled for a pocket on the inside of his coat. He pulled out a jeweler’s monocle and applied it to his eye, immediately spinning the focus and telescoping the lens forward. “This cannot—How did you—This is impossible!”
“A sourceshard?” He looked to her with mouth agape, one eye wildly magnified through the monocle.
Remora could barely contain her excitement. He recognized it! He actually recognized it! “I am going to prove Starbirth,” said Remora, holding out her hand for the return of the locket.
“Impossible!” he marveled.
Remora clasped her hands together. Surprised. Not horrified, or mocking, or aghast, or even dismissive. She tried not to read too much into that simple detail, but her heart raced. “Impossible,” he’d said, as if to say that the proving itself were impossible, not the goal.
Remora extended her hand again. Almost grudgingly, he placed the locket on her palm. She put it back around her neck, tucking the clamshell safely into her bodice. “There are other shards like this one and I am going to find them.”
“Where did you get this? How can you possibly hope to find more?” Gideon’s disbelief was obviously tempered by his excitement. Remora fought the urge to take his hands in her own. Finally! Someone who seemed to understand!
“My uncle gave it to me,” Remora said. “He brought it home to me after a business trip and thought I might find it pretty. Pretty!”
Gideon’s eyes widened.
“Can you imagine?” she laughed. “How long did it hide around the neck of some pretty girl who thought it nothing more than a mere bauble? What are the odds that my uncle might have found it and given it to me, that I might recognize it for its truth?”
“The odds are staggering,” Gideon whispered.
“Indeed.” Remora’s hand lifted to feel the lump of the locket beneath her blouse. “I feel as if it found me. Like it wanted to be found.”
Remora took a deep breath, banishing the pale emotions threatening to fog her sight. She hadn’t meant to say that last bit aloud. She cleared her throat. “As to finding the others, I have a locator device.”
“Impossible,” he repeated, but with less vehemence this time.
“Not so!” she said eagerly. “As a matter of fact, there is another shard on Bespin. That is why we are here.”
Gideon sat back, expression closed. She could sense that he was deep in thought, so she stirred her tea and allowed him time. The cubes of sugar dissolved into the orange liquid, fragments of sweet crystal caught up in a vortex of spice and tea and heat. She had always loved tea—it was one of the simplest expressions of the alchemy behind cosgsmithing, and so few people realized it.
“You can’t be taking her seriously,” Hank said, breaking the silence and shattering Remora’s good mood.
“Indeed I can, and I am,” replied Gideon. “Starbirth is real. All such tales have their roots in reality, for all that time may distort the original truth. Tell me, Remora, what you intend to do once you have proven it? Have you some goal in mind?”
Remora paused, thinking. “No. I just . . . want to prove it. And to be remembered as having done so.”
Gideon surveyed her expression. “You are a marvel,” he said, leaning forward and folding her small hands within his own. “Dear girl, I should count it among the few important acts of my life if you should entrust me with your findings. There are those who would crush such knowledge rather than have it see the light of day. My employer would make certain that never happened.”
“I . . . goodness, I find myself overcome!” Remora’s head spun and she pulled her hands away.
“Please. If ever you find yourself in need of assistance, or wish to report on your progress, seek out the Sozay Sparkcrafter shop within the city of Ardel and tell them that Gideon sent you.”
“That is where my brother told me to deliver the dresl,” Jinn said, speaking for the first time since his earlier outburst. His tea sat in front of him, cold and ignored.
Gideon lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed, it was.”
A noise sounded from the room’s door. Remora turned to see Snow standing half in and half out of the doorway.
Gideon stood. “My lady,” he said, bowing deeply. “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” He moved aside and gestured at his seat. “Please, sit.”
Snow gestured, a word that Remora did not understand.
“Are you certain?” Jinn asked.
Snow nodded, then added a hand gesture that Remora did recognize. “Please.”
Jinn sighed unhappily, then intoned, his voice formal, “This one wishes to speak. Let my words be his, and her words be mine.”
Snow gestured, a fluid waterfall of motion.
Jinn began to speak. “This one is tired of running, of hiding and scurrying about like a rat. This one has spent too many days fearing the sharp eye of the eagle, the sharp claw of the cat, and the sharp tooth of a dog. This one wishes she had no secret, wishes she knew nothing, wishes she could return to the life she had. This one is filled with sorrow and fear and regret. This one angers, the slow growing anger of t
he rat who has been trampled upon, spat upon, poisoned, and torn from the warm and happy home that she once knew. This one is tired of being silent. Of being ignored. Of being treated as baggage to be dragged about for the purposes of others. This one is a person, and not an animal. Not a rat.”
Remora watched Snow through all of this. From time to time, she caught the ghost of a gesture that she knew, that Snow had taught her during their time aboard the Swan. Watching Snow dance her language, spoken through subtle muscle changes, the set of her shoulders, the flick of a whisker and the gentle curve of her arms, Remora realized that the “language” she thought she had begun to understand from Snow had been little more than pidgin speak—a pale imitation of the robust language Snow now used.
Listening to Jinn’s intoned translation, Remora realized that she had been treating Snow less as a person and more as a . . . well, a particularly clever animal. Past the level of a pet, yes, but not as a person. She had not asked Snow, as she had every other person on the crew, to join the Miraj’s crew. She had not consulted Snow before commanding the ship to Bespin. She had not taken into account the danger that would place Snow in, or even asked Snow her feelings on the subject.
She had simply assumed.
What of Hackwrench and Bones? Of Jinn? Had she treated them as less important? Had she, in some way, slighted them? Yes, this was her adventure, and they her crew, but had she taken their needs and desires into account when demanding that they be taken to Bespin?
Jinn joined her crew to save his brother, yet she had spent no thought or concern on how they would accomplish that task. Hackwrench had joined so that he might find a queen of his people and save them from a future as slaves to the wealthy. Had she done even the most cursory check into where they might find a queen?
No. She had done nothing, so consumed with her own task that she had ignored even her own promises to help them.
Beneath her corset, the tiny cherub wings tried to flex, sending a twinge of pain down her back as the corset restricted their movement. She was no more “human” than any of them.
