by Aaron Yeager
“You love her, don’t you?” he deduced.
The question made Alder pause, and it took him a moment to answer. “That is quite direct,” Alder said, his face turning red. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s perfectly obvious,” Privet tossed, pulling his boots on. “I mean, I’m sure she has been quite mean to you from time to time, right? Here you had the perfect opportunity to return the favor and you stalwartly refused to.”
“It wouldn’t be proper.” Alder stated.
“Proper?” Privet huffed, standing up. “Proper is a word you use between equals. You think a relationship between a Wysterian man and his matron is equal? Here’s the word you should be thinking of, the word you should have learned out here in the real world: justice. She hurt you, now you balance the equation. Cosmic equilibrium is thus restored.”
“That sounds awfully close to revenge,” Alder countered.
“Well, maybe it should be,” Privet blurted out before collecting his thoughts. “Let me put this another way. If you’re not in Wysteria anymore, why do you still let her treat you like that?”
“I appreciate what you are trying to do,” Alder said politely, “but I’m afraid discussing this subject would feel too uncomfortable for me. We have not known each other for very long, after all.”
“That’s exactly why it’s a good idea,” Privet insisted. “It’s always easier to talk to a stranger because you don’t have to worry about what they’ll think about you for it.”
“Is that how you see it?”
“Of course.”
“I’m afraid most people assume the opposite stance. They worry more about what strangers will think.”
“Now what kind of sense does that make?” Privet asked, locking his fingers behind his neck. “Shouldn’t you worry more about the opinions of those whose opinions you value than of those you don’t value?”
“I see your point, although I doubt many share it,” Alder calculated.
Privet sat down and crossed his arms politely, staring and waiting for Alder to answer.
“Are you just going to sit there until I answer?”
“I’ve got time,” Privet shrugged.
“Fine,” Alder huffed. “I let her treat me this way because I don’t deserve her.”
“Obviously Madam Bursage thought you do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Are you disagreeing with your matron?” Privet pretended to gasp in disbelief, wagging his finger. “For shame.”
“Well, maybe I did, but I don’t now.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’ve betrayed her,” Alder said quietly. “She is obviously under some kind of spell; I’ve known it for the longest time. Something is corrupting her true self, and instead of doing something about it, I just let it happen because...because...”
“Because what?”
“Because a part of me liked her better that way,” he admitted, tears welling in his eyes.
Privet sat for a moment, allowing the point to sink in.
“I can understand that,” he conceded. “I mean, I heard she let you shower with her.”
“That’s not it at all,” Alder defended. “She bought me new clothes; she helped me with my chores. She even...she even called me by her last name once by accident.”
“Let me get this straight,” Privet said, scooting closer. “You feel guilty because you liked it when she was nice to you?”
Alder sat for a moment looking at him. “Well, it sounds almost silly when you say it like that,” he admitted, wiping off his face and laughing.
“It is silly,” Privet insisted. “Out here in the real world people will treat you like a real person, but only if you demand it of them. Otherwise they’ll just walk all over you just like back home.”
Alder pulled out his handkerchief and tried to regain some of his composure as he thanked Privet for the talk.
“Hey, no problem. You househusbands all need a good cry every once in a while to let it all out, I understand,” Privet consoled, slapping him on the shoulder.
“I knew I should have done something back when she let me keep the golem I got on Thesda.”
“Wait, what’s that?” Privet asked, suddenly serious.
“I said all this started back just before we left Thesda.”
Privet scratched his nose and suddenly shot up and walked purposefully out into the hall.
“Follow me, I need your help,” he called back.
“But, we were talking. I...”
“What, do you need a hug or something? Come on and follow me.”
Privet had Alder lead him down to the cargo hold, where he began tearing through crates and barrels, discarding various trinkets in all directions.
“Just what is it that we are looking for?” Alder asked, doing his best to clean up as fast as the mess grew.
“I’m not sure, it’s just a hunch,” Privet explained as he pulled a crate aside. “When you were in Thesda, did you happen to pick up any necklaces by any chance?”
“Necklaces?” Alder asked himself, thinking. “Not that I recall. We got The Eye on Stretis, not Thesda. I think Odger bought a woman some earrings, but then she turned out to be a hallucination.”
“No, not that dumb crystal necklace thing,” Privet clarified. “I mean like a twine necklace, something more handmade, with animal teeth leafed in gold.”
“A gold-tooth necklace,” Alder said, pausing. “Yes, we found one back on Thesda after Miss Athel went unconscious.”
“Where is it now?”
“I think the Captain kept it, but what does it mean?”
“It means if I’m right, a man named Tigera is in a lot of trouble.”
A few minutes later, Privet and Alder were in Captain Evere’s quarters, hefting a chest up onto his desk.
“Be careful with that,” Evere commanded as they set it down. “There are only a few sacred things in this world, and one of them is a man’s booty.”
“A few? What else got in line ahead of me?” Mina complained as she came alongside him.
“Don’t you know that a man’s wife counts as booty?” Evere reasoned, “It’s a flexible term.”
“No, it’s not,” Mina contested, “and I don’t think any woman wants to be lumped in with booty!”
“Well then, you’re desperately behind the times,” Privet judged as he rummaged through the chest. “Women have been the spoils of every known war, right along with the treasure and cattle. And to the victor go the spoils.”
“Except where you’re from, right?” Mina asked. “On Wysteria, wouldn’t the men be the booty?”
“Indeed,” Privet affirmed, pulling out a gold-toothed necklace and holding it up for all to see. “You see, there’s nothing wrong with being valuable property. It’s just a roundabout way to say that you’re valuable, which is always preferable to the alternative.”
“So what is so special about this necklace?” Evere asked.
“This is a Hoeun Achete necklace,” Privet explained, “and it’s controlling an Afet that’s dissolved inside Athel’s bloodstream.”
It took nearly an hour to rouse Dr. Griffin and track down Athel, who they finally found hanging from several stranglevines while happily scraping mold off the side of the hull. Encouraging Athel to go to the medical quarters was simple enough. After telling her that Privet was awaiting a sponge bath there, she nearly sprinted the whole way. Once they arrived and she saw the table equipped with restraints, however, she seemed to suspect something was amiss. She struggled with all her might, finally requiring the strength of four men to pin her down and apply the restraints. Now, sedated, she slept quietly in her maid costume while Dr. Griffin did some final tests before the procedure.
“Am I the only one who still thinks this is a bad idea?” Mina asked as Dr. Griffin submerged the necklace in a beaker full of a thick, viscous fluid and swirled it around with a wooden spoon. “I mean, has this guy done even one medical thing correctly sin
ce we first met him?”
“That just means he’s due,” Odger chuckled as he watched from the hallway.
“What about Ryin’s skin grafts?” Dr. Griffin said. “Those worked out fine.”
“Okay, I got a better idea. You said this creature was made of metal, right?” Mina assessed, “Why not just have Colenat draw out the metal using some Ferrus magic?”
“Sure,” Ryin laughed, “so long as you don’t mind it tearing thousands of holes through her, to say nothing of the fact that I’ve never even heard of a spell like that.”
“Besides,” Privet corrected, “I said it looked like metal. It could be squirrel brains for all I know.”
“You guys have nothing to worry about,” Dr. Griffin said reassuringly as he stirred the fluid. “If the gold-teeth thingy controls the worm-a-ma-jig, then that connection between them can be altered to a physical attraction with a simple alchemical solution.”
“I’m always reassured when you use fancy medical terminology, like ‘worm-a-ma-jig’” Evere critiqued.
“Trust me,” Dr. Griffin said, removing the wooden stirring spoon which had dissolved down to the handle.
Dr. Griffin held the beaker above the center of Athel’s chest, right above her heart. The room was breathless as small beads began to form underneath her skin, as if someone had hidden peas under her dermis and was rolling them along toward the beaker. They were hardly noticeable at her fingers and toes, but grew in size as they approached the center of her torso and coalesced together into the single wriggling form of a worm beneath her skin.
“So now what do we do with it?” Odger asked.
“Now we stab it!” Dr. Griffin screamed, pulling out a dagger and lunging at Athel. Privet caught him in time and steadied the blade.
“Couldn’t we just pull the Afet out of her instead?” he asked calmly.
“I suppose,” Dr. Griffin relented, “but where’s the fun in that?”
Pulling out a needle, Dr. Griffin punctured the skin holding in the wriggling worm, and the silvery metal squirted out, compelled into the beaker by the solution. He held up the beaker and placed a blue marble against the surface of the glass, inspecting the bizarre little squirming worm as it spun slowly in the viscous fluid.
“Fascinating creature,” he remarked as he placed the beaker on his workbench.
“Do you think it worked?” Alder asked hopefully.
Athel began stirring and her restraints were loosed. After a moment she sat up and looked around, wiping the sleep from her eyes as if she had just awoken after a long nap. At first she was confused then she noticed Dr. Griffin still holding the small blue marble. Athel let out a scream of rage and leapt up from the table and tackled him to the floor.
“How dare you peek up my dress like that!” Athel yelled, punching him in the face over and over again with her clenched fists.
“Is this your precious blue marble? Huh?” she asked, snatching it, “Here, tell me if you can see what’s up your nose!” She screamed as she jammed the marble painfully in his nostril. “Can you see your brain? Huh? Can you, pervert?”
“Oh yeah,” Privet confirmed, “she’s back.”
Chapter Thirty Six
Consumed
The next phase of the Dreadnaught’s attempt to both dash from authority and make its way to Thesda came in cutting straight across the Whilinham Confederacy. While geographically one of the larger island nations, its harsh climate and thin, choking sands meant that its few inhabitants lived as nomads and bandits, moving from place to place, following the growth of desert mushrooms and the large herds of Hanna beasts.
It had been Margaret’s suggestion to use this route, as it was possible to set the ship down just before dawn and have her summon a sandstorm to bury the ship from prying eyes during the day. It also brought the ship within a day of Thesda, although as the sun rose over the black obsidian hills to the east, there were other concerns being pressed on the crew.
“I said get out,” Athel commanded as she shoved Ryin and Odger out of the galley and into the corridor. “I don’t have much time to get things ready in here before he gets back.”
“Well, why not just let us help?” Odger asked, holding his hands out in offering.
“You want to help prepare a sumptuous meal?” Athel criticized. To illustrate her point, she took a finger and tapped Odger’s outstretched hand, causing a rain of fine dust and chunks of dirt to dislodge from his skin and land on the deck beneath him.
“I really don’t see the problem,” Odger commented as he stirred the pile with his boot.
“Why are you doing this now?” Ryin asked, picking his teeth.
“Because,” she answered boldly, “if there is one thing I’ve learned on this ruddy old ship it’s that sometimes there is no tomorrow. We’re only a day away from the Capital. He’s here and I’m here and I’m not going to risk spending the rest of my life wondering what might have been if only I hadn’t sat on my stump doing nothing with the one chance I had to grab my fate by the throat.”
Ryin stood there looking at her blankly.
“The Capital? Don’t you mean Thesda?” Ryin inquired.
“I think she was quoting one of her books,” Odger guessed.
“Not just any book, The Storms of Balatheye,” Athel clarified.
Ryin and Odger stared at her stupidly.
“I’m surrounded by uncultured swine,” she complained as she shoved Ryin out of the way and accepted a handful of plucked flowers from Mina as she approached.
“Is he gone?” Athel asked.
“He’s been sent to scout the surrounding hills like you asked,” Mina reported. “It should take him a couple of hours at least.”
“Good,” Athel squeaked, clapping her hands together. “This is going to be just like the dinner in The Seven Deserts.”
“But it’s breakfast time,” Odger protested.
“Okay,” Athel asserted. “This is supposed to be a special meal with just me and Privet, so no one come in here.”
“What if there’s trouble?” Ryin asked sarcastically.
“If you come in here there is going to be trouble,” Athel warned. “Now, Alder and I have to get the table set.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” Mina asked.
“For the millionth time, yes,” Athel assured. “Why does everybody keep asking me that? Can’t a girl set up a special dinner without getting interrogated?”
Athel spun around and walked back into the galley, grumbling something about getting a transfer. Mina and Ryin looked at each other apprehensively for a moment.
“Well, at least she’s not wearing that costume anymore,” Mina shrugged.
It was then that Alder walked by carrying some freshly picked mushrooms.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Mina asked, grabbing him by the arm. “Why are you helping her with this?”
Alder stared at her for a second. “Because she asked me to,” he said finally.
“You do know what she is doing, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he stated smartly. “A courtship dinner has a long and noble tradition in Wysterian culture. Given our circumstances, I will have to make some substitutions in the menu, but when I am finished with the preparation it will still be more than suitable for someone of her status.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Mina cursed, tugging at her long foxlike ears. “If she’s going to begin courting Tamarack, shouldn’t that worry you just a little bit?”
“I don’t see why.”
“But, you two are rivals. If you don’t fight for her, you’re going to lose her.”
“If I may make an observation, you Mesdans seem awfully fixated on this concept of rivalry. Wysterians do not solve their disagreements with duels.”
Alder began to walk on by, but Mina stopped him again.
“Sweetie, are you telling me you don’t care who she picks?”
“Of course I care,” Alder said, quite forcefully for him. “My dow
ry has already been exchanged. I no longer have any ties to my old family. Unless she chooses to accept our engagement, I will be without status and without house. But...” he paused.
“But what, sweetheart?” Mina pressed.
“I want her to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”
Alder pulled away from her grip and walked off quickly to continue with the preparations.
* * *
Two hours later, Privet double checked to make sure there was no living soul within miles before throwing back the sand covered tarp at the base of a sand dune, which concealed their ship, and scurried inside, allowing the cascading sand from above to re-conceal the tarp just as soon as he had closed it again.
As he closed the gun port and shook himself off, it occurred to him that he should probably be trying to persuade Athel to come back to Wysteria with him. After all, those were his explicit orders from the Queen. Nevertheless, he had not yet even thought to bring it up with her. He knew exactly why, of course. He had no intention of returning to Wysteria either. After all, to receive an once-in-a-lifetime chance for the second time was not only candidly unfair to all those who had not yet received their turn, but was also just begging the universe to collapse in around him and take its vengeance if he were to blow it again.
Pulling off his boot and dumping it out, he wondered if the Queen had known about his intention to never return. It was widely rumored among the men that Wysterian women, especially the family leaders, could smell the thoughts of those around them.
But if that were true, wouldn’t she have sent someone else? he wondered.
The minute Privet climbed up from the stowage deck, he knew he was in for trouble. The tart-sweet scent of pomegranate wafted through the air, and the rest of the crew was nowhere to be seen. A series of glowing crystals mounted to the walls led him to the galley.
For a moment he stood frozen, half of his mind willing him to turn and run, while the other half counseled that there was nowhere to go until nightfall. Amidst the conflicts, he tried to come up with a plan for stalling, such as faking an illness or pretending to faint, but one thought of the ship’s insane doctor and that plan was vetoed. Before he could come up with an alternative, the doors were opened before him and he cursed under his breath.
