by Keith Walter
“In the meantime, I want you to meet one of my new crew.” He gestured to the young woman, so small she had been almost completely hidden behind his and Windum’s backs. “This is Serin. Serin, these are the best damn sailors you’re liable to meet.” Addressing the young woman, he said, “Don’t let them swindle you into telling too many stories.” Barclay gave a last glance at Serin, not entirely comfortable leaving her alone, but closing the office door behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Tiny Missteps
It was easy to slip into old habits. When he had so unceremoniously been ousted from Windum’s office, Barclay had been met with an overly jovial group of drunks. He was pleased to see the men had taken to Serin, cheering her on as she threw back a shot—just one of many based on the sway in her posture as she slammed the glass on the table. These were the people who knew him best, and they knew how to draw him out without pushing him. Handy, ever watchful, spotted him first and silently poured a glass of water. As the one in charge, Barclay never drank alcohol while in the thick. He had to stay sharp, and the men were keen to accommodate.
Even though he knew Windum was raising the danger level around his crewmates in the office, he couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to the proffered glass. He listened as Deck claimed he could drink any fey under the table, even Mick. Barclay was swept over with memories, sitting around a bolted down mess table on a tiny little troop transport ship, waiting on orders to swoop in and open hell on some loyalists. This was really nothing like the situations he found them all in during the war though. There was no enemy to attack, just somewhere to run.
Barclay took the water from Handy, nodding to the quiet man in appreciation. The rest of the men suddenly noticed his entrance as well, raising their glasses in greeting. Tag shoved his body to the right, squeezing everyone on the couch into a bunch and gesturing with one thumb to the open spot. Barclay dropped into the open seat easily, sipping his water. The men had quieted down, all looking to him expectantly.
“Is it true?” Gibby began. “You actually out-sailed the Entregon?” Gabby finished.
Barclay glanced at Serin, who smiled back a little too sweetly, before answering, “Damn right.”
Deck nudged the young woman at his side as they shared the small portion of the sectional couch. “You see, didn’t I tell you?” His giddy exclamation and a-little-too-forceful nudges belied his earlier claims of drinking heroism. “The captain is the real greatest fey on the seas. There’s nothing he can’t do!”
Serin unapologetically grabbed Deck’s elbow from her side and pushed him right off the end of the couch. Over the laughter of the group, she added, “I was there, too, you know. I already knew about that.”
Mick gathered himself first, addressing Barclay. “Captain, I don’t think your mate believes us, though.” He clapped his hands as his eyes widened. “You’ve gotta tell her yourself. Tell her about the time we saved the thirty-seventh division in the Keys! Or—or the time we broke the blockade down by the Panama Canal!”
“How about the time we got captured?” Barclay offered. He smirked at the grimace on the men’s faces.
“I guess that’s a good one, too, but we didn’t get to do anything,” Mick answered.
“I think it’s an important one for young Serin, here,” Barclay stated flatly. He stared at the young woman who held one eyebrow up. “I think you should know who you’re dealing with.” He cleared his throat. “To start, you’ve gotta understand this was earlier on in the war. The fighting had only been going on ten years or so, and both sides would take prisoners if the other surrendered. You might say it was more civilized back then. That changed, of course, but it’s important you know. On the seas, you’d probably have a brig with three or four captured if you’d won the last battle. It wasn’t so bad—we wouldn’t screw with the captured, just keep ’em locked up until we could get back to shore and throw them in a Union prison.
“Anyway, we were part of a little attacking fleet taking out a bunch of transport ships along the east coast. It had been going pretty well for a couple days. We’d maneuvered around enemy forces and sunk a dozen or more transports. We were making our way toward a little port where the troops were coming from, planned to knock out their operation and alleviate pressure on our ground troops farther north.
We actually made it there, hugging the coast hard and avoiding detection of their warships fighting farther out in the Atlantic. With few defenses on the seas, we ended up making short work of the thirty transports waiting at the dock, blasting the docks to rubble, as well. It was a job well done, and we turned tail to get back to safer waters. We didn’t get far. About a mile from the docks, we ran into a downpour of heat and light, and half our ships disappeared in an instant.
“Turns out we hadn’t gotten through as clean as we thought, and there was a fine little ambush waiting on our escape. We were already a small fleet, and we had no real chance of fighting back by the time we realized what was happening. Turns out our leader was on one of the ships hit in the first strike, so nobody knew what to do. I pulled rank and threw up the white flag, the rest of the fleet following suit. The enemy must’ve seen that, and they assumed our boat was in charge.
“Those bastards sidled up to us in their big ol’ warship—not a fey ship, but outfitted with some pretty fancy cannons. They were ready to take us, all of us, and put us away for the rest of our lives. Well, I wasn’t going to have it. I pulled Windum aside, made him think up a plan to get me aboard that ship without cuffs on. He had just the thing. He got all dressed up just like the commander of our fleet, and would play the part of negotiating a ceasefire. In the meantime, I changed into some old rags and had him rough me up and toss me in the brig.
“When the enemy negotiated with Windum, they demanded the release of prisoners first thing, and brought me aboard with great sympathy. They stuck me in the mess hall with a couple token guards who were each kind as can be, lamenting my experience. Sitting around there, I realized just why we got spotted in the first place. The whole hall was filled with sensors. As you might know, sensors tend to be sensors because they aren’t any good in a fight. It occurred to me this was a ship dedicated to enemy intel, probably scanning movements all over the coast. We hadn’t just been caught by anybody, we’d been caught by somebody important.
“So, as the guards are assuring me everything is going to be okay, I make two nice little balls of fire and burn ’em to ash. The sensors start going nuts, but see, I’m still the closest one to the door. They can’t get out, ’cept through me. And they don’t. Most of them probably never put up a real fight in their lives, and I burned ’em or drowned ’em or, if they got close enough, I broke ’em with my own hands. There must have been half a hundred of ’em in all, but none by the end.
“I ended up stalking up to the bridge, pulling spines, burning faces, and freezing the blood from their veins all the way. See, they had plenty of fancy cannons, but nobody on board worth a damn. You can bet the rest of their little ambush was mighty surprised when I turned those cannons on ’em. I didn’t bother crippling their ships and gathering prisoners of our own. They set a trap, and then didn’t see one coming—pretty dumb when you think about it.
“So that’s the story. That’s how this captain saved his men from capture. And when we sailed that warship back to our own people, told them the story, that’s when the Union stopped taking prisoners. They learned the lesson without getting burned that you can never trust the enemy, no matter if they look beaten or like friends.”
The men cheered, each owing their lives to the quick and brutal actions of their beloved captain.
◆◆◆
Serin was silent. The alcohol was still making her brain fuzzy, but the captain’s story had cut through her thoughts with startling clarity. The captain looked wearier than she remembered. He also looked harder, sharper, and more dangerous. When she had met him, she was thankful for his help, and she had immediately formed trust for the man t
hat saved her. Now, she wondered just how much that trust was justified. Did she actually owe her life to a cold-blooded killer?
“See, now you believe us, right?” Mick suddenly asked. “There ain’t nobody you’d rather have on your side than the captain.”
Serin puzzled at the thought. She saw the unwavering devotion on the faces of the other men. She realized suddenly that these weren’t just fun-loving guys from the docks. These were soldiers, each one had dedicated years of their lives to killing. And they, too, despite the laughter and smiles, looked as if they held a great weight on their shoulders. It should have been strange, she thought, that a group of men would be so eager to drink themselves stupid in the middle of the day, in the middle of a rather difficult situation. If these were the memories they cheered, what were the memories they locked away behind the liquor.
Her voice caught in her throat as she locked eyes with the captain. He had continued to stare throughout the entire story, not blinking once. She realized he’d impressed this information on her for a reason, but couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. It was at once guilty and firm, upset and unapologetic. She struggled to understand, trying to fight the vodka from her thoughts. Did he want her to think him a killer? A hero? Or something else entirely? Trying to think through the fog was starting to give her a headache and she brought her palm up to rub her forehead.
“Yeah,” Barclay answered for her. “I’m pretty sure she gets it now.”
Serin couldn’t take those eyes anymore and closed her own in response. She leaned back into the couch cushions. The room swam a bit behind her eyelids, but she pushed the sick feeling down. She was dealing with dangerous people, she realized. As chatter picked back up around her, she kept her eyes closed, losing herself in her own thoughts.
It wasn’t until the room had gone silent that she opened her eyes again, startled by how bright the ceiling lights suddenly seemed. Deck was no longer at her side. In fact, the whole group was crowded around the door to Windum’s office. Serin flushed, realizing she must have fallen asleep in her stupor. She leapt to her feet and pushed into the small crowd.
Mick moved to one side as he felt her try to push in. He turned and winked. “Afternoon, sleeping beauty.”
She glared in response, but moved into the open space at his side. Windum and the captain stood in front of the door, and both faced her gravely. “Um, what’s going on?” she asked.
Windum glanced to the captain, who gave a small nod. “You’ll need to get back to your ship for a while,” the well-dressed man stated. “The Union made their move and wanted to keep me on the line for an interrogation. I’ve given them what they asked for, as much as I could, but they are likely to be coming here to ensure I’ve been truthful in person.” He turned to Barclay, adding, “Besides, I can’t have a ship clogging up my dock all day. This is still a thriving business, after all.”
Serin looked to Barclay for more clarity, not fully over her drinks. “Once Charles and Leslie are close, we’ll head back to Grace and get anchored farther out in the harbor. Windum and the guys already have paperwork ready showing that we were just some human vessel with engine problems, and the Union won’t be able to tell differently with Grace hiding us.” He pointed a finger at her wrist. “So, are they close or not?”
Her eyes followed his finger to the bond tattoo on her wrist. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right.” Closing her eyes, Serin allowed her energy to flow to the tattoo. She turned, eyes still closed, in a full circle before she opened them. “Leslie is outside,” she stated matter of factly.
“Good,” Barclay replied. He eyed each of the men around him before continuing. “If all goes right, I probably won’t be coming back to shore. I want each of you to know that you are the finest men I’ve ever served with.”
Tag stepped forward and slammed his fist across his chest. “It’s been an honor, sir.” Gibby, Gabby, Deck, Mick, and Handy all followed suit, slamming their fists to their chest in salute. Even Windum followed, though he tapped his chest more than pounded, ever careful of his fine attire.
Barclay addressed Windum one last time. “Are you sure everything’s covered?”
“I should be asking you that, Captain,” Windum replied. He held out his hand just as when they met on the dock. Barclay grasped his wrist quickly, squeezed once, and let go.
“Let’s go, kid,” Barclay demanded, looking to Serin. He then strode to the door.
It occurred to Serin that the captain was simply too accustomed to having his orders followed. She moved to catch up, but stopped before the exit. She turned and tried to catch the eyes of all the men she had met. “Thank you all, for everything.” She spun quickly and darted out the door, barely catching the well wishes offered in return.
The sun had passed its highest mark, but the air was still heating up outside. Serin took a deep breath as she crashed back to the reality of her situation. The dock smelled of water and machinery, but she enjoyed what she realized were only a few more moments before she would be locked out on the water once again. Much as she liked Grace, Serin wasn’t built for a sailor’s life. She appreciated real ground beneath her feet. Maybe it was the fire in her veins, some natural fear of water, or maybe it was the trauma of her last few days.
Once she had stepped outside, the sense of Leslie’s presence grew intensely. Few things could block the connection of a true bond, and she realized the port authority offices must have been heavily warded. Leslie must have felt the same; by the time Serin could turn to her right, Leslie was sprinting out from the corner of the building. The smaller woman was swept up in comforting arms, lifted off her feet and spun in a wide circle. When she finally returned to the ground, the taller woman bent down to touch foreheads with her bond, allowing their bodies to separate enough to hold each other’s hands.
Leslie’s eyes flicked down, seeing the brazen display of the bond on her love’s wrists. Confused, she reached out her thumb to stroke the tattoo. “Did everything go alright?” she asked, staring intently at the symbol of their devotion.
Serin laughed gently, pulling herself back enough to look her companion up and down. “It went fine.” She noticed the tension in her bond’s eyes, and snatched the hand still rubbing her wrist. “I just wanted the guys inside to know I was taken. They were pretty jealous of you.”
Tension eased from Leslie’s face, replaced with a growing smile. “It’s good to be back.” She leaned her head down again, tilting her face to the side slightly, no longer looking to touch foreheads.
“Ahem,” Barclay interrupted. The women whipped their heads in his direction, seemingly just noticing his presence. “You might want to hold off on that until we get aboard, you’re broadcasting your powers around like idiots.”
Both women had the good grace to flush, causing Barclay to scoff and shoo them toward the awaiting Grace. They moved quickly, shifting into a jog down the docks, hand in hand.
◆◆◆
Barclay started to follow, but stopped and looked both ways as if preparing to cross a busy intersection. “You’re pretty slick,” he said aloud. “I was right to send you.” Silence hung upon the air in response. “You did what I asked, and got Leslie back to boot. If you want to take off, I won’t blame you. I know you don’t need my help. But know that these docks are going to be overrun by the Union pretty soon, and Grace is probably the safest place to be right now.”
A small awning over the adjacent building created a stark shadow on the side. After Barclay’s words, the shadow seemed to stretch and twist off the dark bricks, solidifying into a human shape. Charles released the spell completely, and Barclay stared at the younger fey as he appeared to emerge from the shadow. “I could slip past them,” Charles stated.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Barclay replied. “Maybe you could still be useful to this lot.”
Charles eyed the older fey, keeping his expression blank. He had gone out of his way to distance himself from people but Leslie had managed to change his point of view.
Deep down he still didn’t think they were really going to succeed. He’d seen too many try and fail. Friends and comrades with more power and training than this ragtag bunch banking on a bus ride to freedom had fallen. Still, something inside him hoped desperately that they’d make it. He didn’t like how presumptuous Barclay seemed to be, though, and retorted nonchalantly, “Why do you still think I care?”
Barclay took a deep breath, drawing out a long sigh. “I know what it’s like to realize no amount of good you do can make up for the things you’ve done.” He eyed the younger fey as he added, “And still keep trying.”
Charles hated to think he was becoming transparent. First Leslie had made him feel vulnerable, even getting him to share. Now Barclay was pressing buttons that he shouldn’t even know existed. Charles crossed his arms over his chest and unconsciously brought his shoulders in protectively. “I don’t know about all that,” he lied. Barclay just shrugged, rolling his head to one side and eliciting a sharp crack.
Charles remained rooted to the spot as the older fey gave him one final, meaningful glance and began walking down the concrete dock toward Grace. He watched Serin and Leslie up ahead. This moment had been in the back of his mind since he’d taken Leslie’s hand at the bus depot. He could walk away now, having done his part to help the crew. He could find a new city, new neighbors that he never talked to, and eventually this would all just become a memory. But is that what he really wanted? Was this all he wanted to give?
His gaze caught the sight of Grace, the real Grace, bobbing slightly in the water. The pristine red ship contrasted against the dullness of the dock and buildings. It was too clean, too unblemished, and too shiny to fit in with the world around. As his eyes scanned the ship, he noticed the closest porthole windows were not the same as the rest, with a bright green outline around them. It was the same green he remembered seeing in her eyes, one that bore a haunting similarity to his long-lost friend. Every time he thought he was out, Alastair found a way of reminding him of his promise
