by Keith Walter
Charles brought his hand to his face. He curled it into a fist, and placed his knuckles over his right eye. “You got me, Alastair,” Charles whispered to the air. No longer hesitating, he strode after Barclay. Maybe none of them would see tomorrow, but that was a problem for tonight.
Crossing the gangplank was like coming up for air; once the fey touched Grace’s hull, their senses were assaulted with the soft glow of her presence. Talmer, who might as well have not existed from shore, stood out like a beacon just a handful of steps into the lower bridge. It was especially odd for Barclay and Charles as they brought up the rear. With their own eyes, they could see the girls reach the ship and, in an instant, felt their presence disappear. It was jarring to have their senses in such stark conflict with reality.
Serin and Leslie waited for Barclay to reach the door to the lower bridge and motioned everyone inside. Talmer stood from his seat as they entered, and Barclay seemed surprised at the lack of challenge in the young man’s posture. Grace was already standing. She turned from Talmer to the new arrivals, a giant smile plastered on her face and her clasped hands trembling with excitement.
Talmer glanced to Grace, who seemed too excited even to speak. Taking the lead, he tipped his head forward in acknowledgment. “Sir Barclay,” he addressed.
“Captain!” Serin suddenly barked. The entire group turned as one, staring at her quizzically. “It’s, um…” she stammered, flustered and beginning to show red around her collar. “It’s disrespectful to call your leader by their first name.”
Confusion, amusement, and acceptance fluttered across the faces in the room. Talmer, understanding the correction, tilted his head to address the reddening woman. “Indeed.” He tipped his head once again in acknowledgement, “Captain, welcome back.”
A furious mop of blond tresses flew across the room as Grace nearly bowled Barclay over in a hug. “Mister Captain, sir! You did it!”
Barclay pulled back stiffly, but was too slow to escape Grace’s iron grip around his waist. Tentatively, he patted her head with his right hand. At the same time, he gently grabbed her shoulder with his other hand and slowly pushed her back. “Uh, what did I do?”
When she finally detached and was held at arm’s length, Grace began to bounce on her heels excitedly. “The Entregon has given up pursuit!”
“Well, hot damn,” Barclay replied, his eyes narrowing at Charles and Leslie. “Were you two seen?” he asked suddenly. “Cause I don’t know why that demon ship would quit unless the Union had good reason to think we’re off the water.”
Leslie flushed, but Charles met the older fey’s gaze evenly. “The bus station was a bust,” Charles stated flatly. At the captain’s gaze, Charles continued defensively, “We weren’t caught—we even shut down one of their traps. I don’t know how exactly, but there was some significant activity just after we left. The Union was moving on the station in force, though being damn careful about it. If they take a good look at the security footage, they will most likely pick us out.” He jerked a thumb at Leslie. “We have thirty tickets, but by now they’ll only lead to a trap.”
Whatever response the group expected at this revelation, Barclay’s loud laugh wasn’t it. A smirk wormed its way across the captain’s face. “Almost sounds like the Union was tipped off.”
Leslie stared, perplexed, between the captain’s good-natured smirk and Charles’s sudden scowl. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Charles broke in, “the captain never intended to get us out of here by bus. He needed a diversion.”
“Wait!” Serin bellowed, staring down the captain. “Are you telling me that they were bait this whole time?” Not waiting for an answer, she squeezed Leslie’s hand and screamed, “Is that what you and Windum were doing? Selling out our friends? How could you put them in danger like that?”
Barclay’s blue eyes shaded over with a cold gray. “If you somehow got the impression that you haven’t been in serious danger for the past few days, I think you need to reevaluate your situation,” he replied icily. “And if you really think I was selling somebody out, then you completely missed the point of my story.”
Grace, unnerved by the suddenly tense atmosphere, took a breath and opened her mouth to try and calm things down. She was cut off by Barclay’s hand suddenly appearing in front of her, though his eyes never left Serin. The captain continued, “The fey we are running from aren’t like you. They are like me. Don’t ever forget that.” Serin gaped, still infuriated.
Charles snapped his fingers dramatically, drawing the eyes of everyone inside as he spoke. “It was necessary.” Charles wasn’t happy being left out of the real plan, but he understood. He had made similar decisions, given similar orders in the past. “There are maybe a dozen ways for any one of us to get out of the city, but only one way for Grace.” Charles put out a hand as if to touch Serin’s shoulder, but pulled back at the sight of her glowing eyes. “Something had to get the Union’s attention or else she’d be getting caught before we take off.”
Charles could see Serin’s expression change. He knew how easy it was to get caught up in these situations and not see the bigger picture. Her body language said that she had forgotten about Grace. It was the strength difference that made it so easy. Grace was so much more powerful than anyone on board that it was easy to think she would be ok no matter what.He watched her cheeks flush as the realization hit her.
“It should have been me, then,” Serin finally spat out. “I should have gone to the bus station.”
Leslie wrapped her arms around the shorter woman’s shoulders. “What, and leave me to worry about you instead?” Serin returned the hug, letting Leslie squeeze out the last of her anger.
“So,” Charles began, “what is the actual plan?”
“For the time being, we sit tight.” Turning, Barclay addressed Grace. “I need you to take us into the harbor, out of the way so it looks like we’re making repairs, and drop anchor. The Union is headed for the docks, and they’ll be scanning us best they can. They shouldn’t have anybody who can see through your runes, so we just wait them out.”
“Sure,” Grace replied. “I can do that.”
“I also need one more thing,” Barclay continued. “Our escape requires everyone look like they’re ready for a party. Think you can make them some ballroom suits and dresses?”
Grace’s eyes grew larger and the wide smile returned to her face. “Oh, that sounds delightful!” Dropping her eyes to her hand, she wrung her fingers before nodding and looking Barclay in the eye. “I mean, yes. I can do that.”
“Good.” The old fey reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper. He handed it to Charles, waiting as the other man grabbed and opened it. “That’s a park across town. At five o’clock, there’s going to be three stretch limousines there waiting to take our party-goers out of town. I need you to get there early and rune the heck out of ’em without anyone noticing.”
“Getting dressed up and jumping in a limo. What are they, going to prom?” Charles asked with amusement. Seeing the confusion on Barclay’s face, he added quickly, “You’d be surprised how much you pick up on the run. It’s pretty clever, though. The Union hates human celebrations.” He scanned the address carefully before shoving it in his pocket. “Consider it done.”
Barclay turned his attention to Serin. “You need to get your people dressed and ready by half past three. I’ve got warded containers to set up on deck. You’ll need to load everybody in before we get back to the dock. The boys will try to be careful loading your people, and they’ll drive you to the opposite side of the park. You’ll need to make it about a quarter of a mile to the limos.”
Handing another scrap of paper to Serin, he continued, “Use the GPS in the limo and head for that address. It’s a train station a couple towns over. You get there, tell somebody in charge you are members of the Barry Lispen Foundation. That’s code; they’ll set you up in an empty train car specifically for fey. That’ll take you as
far south as Nashville. If you play it smart and keep a low profile, you should be able to get wherever you want from there.”
Leslie listened intently, and the plan seemed simple enough. “How likely is it this works?”
Barclay frowned slightly, biting his tongue to stop himself from admitting the truth. He was saved by Charles, of all people, who jumped in. “It’ll work if you can blend in.” He winked at the taller woman. “We’ve got the Union chasing their tails thanks our little adventure. They won’t see this coming unless you give them something to look at.”
Barclay remained stoic, refusing to give away his own thoughts. “That’s settled then.” He reached into his pocket again, pulling out what looked like three blue, rectangular dice. He shook them around in his hand as he spoke. “I’ve got to set up these containers. Everyone else should get below deck and stay out of sight until we’re ready to move.” He added, “Grace, I know you can steer us from anywhere, but to keep up appearances, I want you standing at the wheel upstairs any time we’re moving. You’re the only one they won’t recognize on the way back.”
Grace nodded and moved to the slim staircase leading to the upper bridge. Talmer, Serin, Leslie, and Charles proceeded toward the much larger stairwell to the lower deck. As Charles passed the captain, he was stopped by a gentle hand to his chest. Barclay held the man back, waiting for the footfalls of the others to disappear below deck.
“What?” Charles asked.
Barclay glanced back at the lower stairwell before motioning toward the doorway. “That was a kindness you did with Leslie. You’re a good liar.”
Charles shrugged, but didn’t deny it. “They deserve it. Besides, a tiny chance is still a chance.”
Barclay grumbled dismissively. “Why don’t you help me out with these for a minute.” He opened the metal door to fresh air, and held it open until Charles followed. When both men were on the main deck and Barclay had closed the door, he rounded on Charles. “I’ve been wondering for a while now just why the Union wants you so bad.” As he spoke, he carefully placed the blue dice lengthwise just a few feet from the door, giving each a wide fifteen-foot berth from the other. “I saw the box they had you in. And honestly, I didn’t even bother trying to get you out. I’m not near strong enough to break something like that open.”
He knelt down, placing both hands on the deck. “But you got out all on your own. And I saw that thing you turned into. All the more confusing, you see.” Sparks jumped from the metal around his hands, and three bright bolts of electricity sprung to life, racing to the tiny containers. “No convert could do what you did, taking on a battalion and four majors.” As the electricity contacted the containers, they suddenly expanded in size rapidly. In just a couple of blinks, the tiny toy boxes had become full-sized shipping containers with blue painted walls. “Then I get into port and I find everyone on this ship has their picture on the humans’ evening news. Everyone, that is, but you. Isn’t that odd? I get to thinking, just who—or what—fits all that information. My mind starts to wander, you see, to stories from the war.”
“You should be careful what stories you believe,” Charles cut in.
Barclay leaned on the closest container. “So then I start wondering who is in equal parts hated and feared by the Union. I start thinking just how long he’s been on the run with a pierced heart, normally fatal to fey. I wonder why he always looks at me like he understands something he shouldn’t.”
Charles’s mind raced trying to diffuse the situation. “And you think what? That I’m some character from a campfire story.” He scoffed. “I’m just a man like any other.”
Barclay fixed Charles with a stare. “But you haven’t always been, have you?” Barclay motioned his arms to those below. “You were wrong, by the way, when you said the Union wouldn’t look as hard for the rest of us once they had you. You’re very presence means they’d search the ends of the earth for everyone here. It’s only fair, then, that you own up to what you’ve brought down on us, Charleton LunaNocta Gaspris.”
Charles deflated. Barclay hadn’t asked, he had stated. “You are playing with fire, Captain.”
Barclay waved his hand dismissively. “So tell me how I find myself on the same boat as the Glorious General, the Son of Revolution, Bane of the Ancients—” he paused before adding the final epithet “—the Great Betrayer.”
An exhale shook Charles before he answered, “I was sloppy is the simple answer.” Charles refused to meet the older man’s eyes. “I stayed too long in one place. Thought I was better hidden than I was.”
The older fey chewed on those words. He looked surprised that Charles had not contradicted his statement. “The greatest hero of the war standing right in front of me. I remember standing with the soldiers at Carath and cheering your name. I remember the tales of a fey with the power to scare even the ancients.” Charles remembered those days too, which made the disappointed ton of the captain all the more cutting. Barclay stared at the Charles’s chest. “did the Union do that to you?” he motioned to the scars.
“It’s not something you want me to share, but no,” Charles replied.
“In the war, then?” Barclay couldn’t help from asking. Charles could tell the captain was grasping for answers, but asking the wrong questions. “How can someone as powerful as Charleton Gaspris live with a broken heart? How could something like that even happen to you?”
Charles sighed. “I received this injury October 4, 1971. You can work out the rest from there.” That was one of the most well-known dates in Union history. That was the day the Union armies learned they might actually win the war. It was the first time in millions of years, close as they could figure, that an Ancient One died. For the Union, it was a time of celebration.
“That can’t... You’re serious,” Barclay stated. He bit his lower lip , his emotions threatening to break through his careful facade. “You fought that thing, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Charles’s memory held no celebrations. He was barely conscious for the victory, and not so for several months after.
“But then,” Barclay started, “you really are…” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, “Did you really betray the Union?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “but not how they claim.” He eyed the older fey, trying to impress upon him the importance of his words, “Everyone who has heard this is dead. Are you sure you want to know?”
The tone sent a shiver down the older fey’s spine, but he pressed anyway. “I need to know.”
“It was a setup,” Charles began, sadness pervading his words. “Not just what they said about me—everything. My whole damn life. The Union leaders never cared about the converts. It was all a ruse to build support amongst the lesser fey. The only thing they wanted from the converts was their power. Power to break free from the old ways and overthrow the Ancient Ones.” He suddenly stood up straight, presenting himself. “I am the final product of decades of experimentation and breeding, a noble father and convert mother. I was born and raised to be a weapon, indoctrinated by the rebel nobles to believe the Ancient Ones were an implacable enemy that wanted me and my kind destroyed. And what a weapon I was, mindless and unflinching…” Charles trailed off softly.
He brought his fingers to his eyes, stemming the emotions that had once brought weeks of tears. “I was willing to sacrifice anything for what I thought was right. But all it cost was my magic—” he held one palm over the scars on his chest “—and my soul.” Barely above a whisper, he added, “I betrayed the Union by finding out the truth they worked so hard to hide.”
“Are you saying,” Barclay stammered, “that you actually beat that thing? How?”
Charles mimicked Barclay’s dismissive wave from earlier. “It hardly matters now. I’m not what I was.”
Gears began turning in the older fey’s head. “The death of the Ancient One all but ended the war. It gave the Union leverage to push out the remaining Ancient Ones, threatening a weapon demonstrably powerful enough to kill
one of their kin.” He struggled a moment for air, But if you were the weapon that ended the war, and you’re all broke to hell, how did the Union kick the rest out?”
Charles smiled sadly. “One of the oldest strategies in the book: a bluff. The Ancient Ones didn’t know who did the deed, and it was our troops that pulled me from the wreckage afterward. All the Union had to do was convince the Ancient Ones that the weapon was still around.”
“If this got out…” Barclay nearly fell to the floor with realization. “It would be war, a war of annihilation as the Ancients Ones sweep through unimpeded.”
“You can see, then, why anyone who’s heard this didn’t last long.”
“That still doesn’t make sense. If you saved the Union, why do they want you dead, why make up the story about your great betrayal?” Barclay wondered.
Charles suspected if Barclay had time to really consider it, he’d figure it out for himself, but the old fey’s brain was on the fritz with the world-changing knowledge he’d been given. “I had already served my purpose, but I was still beloved by the people. If there’s one thing those on top can’t stand, it’s competition. I think I was always just a hyped up convert standing in the place of my betters to them. When they found out my injuries were permanent, they saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Getting me out of the way, as a traitor no less, solidified their status as the sole authorities in the land. Getting rid of one more fey that knew the truth was a bonus.” Charles eyed the older man again, speaking firmly. “You can’t tell the others. It’s too dangerous for every fey in Union territories. I may hate the people in charge, but I’m not going to salt the earth to get them.”
