by E. C. Jarvis
Horse-pulled carts clopped along, carrying boxes and barrels between the streets. Women hitched their skirts up to avoid the piles of horse muck as they clacked down the cobbles in high-heeled boots. Saunders took short yet determined strides, avoiding the piles of dung and winding his way down the wide main road, still sporting his walking stick for aid, before turning off down a side street.
Eddy and Simms followed close behind. Their presence on the streets went virtually unnoticed, as the city was still flooded with extra soldiers. This was partly as a result of the recent incident with the Hub but mostly due to the threat of war.
They followed a bend in the road which opened out into a far larger street leading down a hill. At the end stood what remained of Aditona’s Hub building. Saunders paused as he saw it. There were layers of scaffolding and teams of men crawling over what remained of the domed roof, clearing out the last parts of the crashed military airship.
“They still picking at that thing?” Eddy asked. “It’s been weeks, hasn’t it? I’m sure they could have cleared it out and started on the rebuild by now.”
Saunders ignored Eddy, knowing the answer but refusing to admit to it here; even the thought of it angered him beyond reason. Instead, he flicked his gaze to an elderly beggar man struggling up the street with hunched shoulders and a gammy leg. He marched over to the man and passed the walking stick to him. “Here,” he said, brandishing it in his face.
“Oi, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
Saunders gripped the man’s hand and placed the stick in it, then turned and continued his walk down the street, ignoring the nagging pain in his leg.
“Saunders…Lieutenant,” Eddy said cautiously as he caught up to walk alongside him. “Whilst I admire your determination and sudden ability to ignore your injuries, I’m a little concerned by the thought of going rogue and disobeying the General’s orders.”
“I know. I’ll explain it soon, when we’re somewhere more private.”
“Right. Lead on.”
Saunders gave one last glance at the destruction ahead, then turned off the main road towards the docks. Along the quayside, the smell of dead fish and grubby seaweed rose up from the brown sludge at the water’s edge. An endless collection of long jetties stretched out across the harbour, each of them filled with large ships and small tugboats. The largest ships, those too big to reach dock, remained anchored out at sea, with tugboats ferrying people and goods between them. The docks were filled with a mixture of fishermen, merchant mariners, and military seamen. A collection of scantily clad women ambled through the mob of men as a pack, touting for business. Saunders watched Eddy’s eyes light up as he spotted one particularly buxom wench.
“I’d hate to think of how many diseases those women are spreading about,” Saunders said.
“Perishing Penis,” Private Simms said with a scrunched nose.
“I can admire the view without catching anything,” Eddy said.
“Not too much. They’ll think you’re interested and come over. We need privacy.” Saunders headed to a nearby building which seemed to defy gravity with the jaunty wall angles and the partially sunken roof above the third floor. The door was built at a similarly unusual angle—a thick, dark wood lump with a small pane of round glass in the middle. Beside the door, a sign hung on a rusty hook and read The Empty Shell, written in poor penmanship.
“In here.” He swung the door inwards with some effort and disappeared into the unmistakable smell of ale and tobacco.
“Is it too late to ask to be reassigned?” Simms said as he eyed the entrance to the bar.
“You can ask,” Eddy snorted, then they followed after Saunders.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Larissa awoke with a snort. She wiped the trail of drool across her face with the back of her hand and sat up. Her head pounded with an unfamiliar ache. As she rubbed her temples with her fingertips, groaning at the sensation, she came back to full awareness and to the reality that she was not alone.
She looked up to find Kerrigan slumped in the Captain’s chair, his boots up on the desk. He stared at her with dark eyes, the flecks of grey through his short black mop of hair glistening in the gentle cabin candlelight.
“Morning,” he said with about as much charm and cheer as an undertaker addressing a corpse.
“Is it?” She wiped a second line of drool away as she looked around the cabin for any sign of morning. The small pair of round windows at one end appeared to be painted black.
“You know you snore?” Kerrigan said as he changed his legs around, crossing the left over the right and keeping his boots on the desk.
“I do not snore. What are you doing in here?”
“You snore and you drool. It’s not particularly attractive.”
“Well, I’m very sorry you’re not seeing me at my best, Mister Kerrigan.” She rubbed her head again, trying to push away the pain of too much sleep.
“I’m still a Colonel, Miss Markus. Does Holt appreciate your drooling?”
Her hands fell from her face and she gripped the edge of the bed. Holt. The ache in her head instantly sank straight to her heart. It hurt, like taking an arrow in the chest. The cabin disappeared into a haze and she focused on the last image of him, leaving her alone, yet again. She wished he were here right now, if for no other reason than to give Kerrigan another pummelling.
“I let you escape, didn’t I? Why are you being such an ass?” she said, trying desperately to push Holt from her thoughts.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Kerrigan finally took his boots off the desk and sat upright.
“What does it matter to you?” Larissa stood and grabbed the pitcher of water off the desk, taking a large gulp straight from it instead of pouring some into a cup.
“It’s nice to know I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder anymore. That’s rude, you know. Other people might want to drink some.”
Without thinking, she swallowed half the mouthful and promptly spat the remaining water back into the jug, then slammed it back on the desk and fixed Kerrigan with a dark glare.
He opened his mouth to speak, then promptly snapped it shut again as the door opened. Larissa straightened her back and felt her bones give a satisfying crack as Elena entered the room followed by Cid and the ship’s Captain.
“Larissa, Colonel.” Elena nodded to them both. The Captain marched straight behind his desk and pointed his finger at Kerrigan, flicking it side to side. Kerrigan promptly stood and vacated the seat as directed.
Larissa opened her mouth to speak, intending to ask what was going on and why no one had spoken to her in two days, then changed her mind. The memory of a guard smacking her around the head for speaking out of turn flooded back just in time.
“We will arrive in the Capital Eudonin soon,” Elena said as she picked a glass from the tray and poured a measure of water into it. Larissa glanced over at Kerrigan, who appeared to chew on his lip, and she couldn’t help but do the same. “You will all be taken directly to the Empress for further discussion and consideration. I have come here this morning to teach the three of you some manners. My sister isn’t as amenable as I am, and if you set a foot wrong, you’ll find yourselves in our dungeons…at best.”
“At best?” Cid said with a look of horror on his face.
“Don’t worry, Mister Mendle. If you follow my instructions, you’ll do fine.”
Despite Elena’s crooning assurances, Cid’s expression did not settle. Elena took a delicate sip from her glass. Larissa pursed her lips as she tried to suppress the childish giggle that threatened to burst.
“I’ve been wondering, Princess,” Kerrigan said, though his gaze was fixed on Larissa. “If you’ll indulge me, how did you and the future Empress of Eptora end up in the middle of the ocean alone?”
“My sister tried to send us to the Tloric Islands for safety. We have been a target for Daltonian assassins. We were travelling in disguise on a merchant vessel, though we did have soldiers with us. One of your w
arships happened to find and attack us in the middle of the ocean. I suppose you don’t know anything about that, do you, Colonel?”
“It is not standard protocol to attack merchant vessels without good reason.” Kerrigan folded his arms across his chest.
“If you’re going to adopt that kind of response, I suggest you prepare yourself to spend a long time in a dark and damp room with an unfriendly man who will prize information out of you in a far less pleasant manner.” Elena handed a second glass of water to the Captain, who hadn’t said a word so far.
Larissa watched Kerrigan’s expression closely as the Captain took a sip of the spit-laden liquid. A hint of a grin ghosted across Kerrigan’s face. “So, the protocol?” Larissa said, trying to steer the conversation away from such a dangerous topic.
“When we enter the palace, you will walk in a line with your heads down. This shows respect and means you acknowledge your status as our—”
“Prisoners?” Cid said.
“Guests.”
“I’m not sure the word guest translates from Eptoran in quite the way you think it does,” Larissa said, though she bit her tongue to stop from saying more when the Captain gave her a glare.
“Either way, this is how you will be expected to act, and if you don’t, you’ll find an excess number of guards around the palace who are happy to hit you over the head until you get the idea.”
“Not if they don’t want to meet a swift end at the mercy of her killer ghost thing, they won’t.” Kerrigan unfolded his finger from his arm for a moment to point at Larissa.
“Can you at least attempt to be respectful?” Elena said with an exasperated sigh.
“We will be respectful,” Larissa responded, “so long as respect is given.”
“Good. When we arrive, I will introduce you to the Empress and she will likely want to speak with me in private for an explanation before she speaks to you. She’ll either ask you to wait in the main room or she’ll have the guards take you to the dungeons for a time.”
“Nothing in between, eh?” Cid said with a raised eyebrow.
“She’s a busy woman and I wouldn’t like to bet on her mood. You people have infiltrated our country and you are Daltonians. Those two factors are enough cause for her to order immediate execution if she so chooses, and no amount of pleading from me will change her mind.”
“Something else to look forward to,” Larissa said with a sigh. “How long has it been since people have attempted or threatened to kill us, Cid?”
“At least a couple days.”
“Ah, yes. We’re about due for another round, then.”
“Although I’m sure one of those guards has been giving me death-glares while I was sleeping,” Cid said.
“They have been ordered to treat you with respect, Cid,” Elena said with a half-smile.
“Eptoran soldiers must not have the same understanding of respect as I do, or they don’t know how to follow orders.”
The Captain slammed his glass on the desk and fixed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Elena stopped him with a wave of her hand. “I can see this meeting is going to be difficult,” she said.
A knock at the door silenced any response. The Captain barked a word, and a young soldier entered. Larissa didn’t understand the brief conversation between the two men, but she did hear the word Eudonin. As Elena went to speak with the two men, Larissa stepped in close to Cid. To her disappointment, Kerrigan joined them both.
“You need to get word to the President about everything that has happened here,” Kerrigan said in a low voice.
“What? How in the name of the Gods do you think either of us can do that? I’m not even sure I know what has happened here.”
“You’re a resourceful woman, so it seems.”
“Why can’t you get word to him?”
“Because I don’t have a magic cat to impress them with, and I don’t have whatever this guy has to make her knees go all weak.” He jabbed his thumb at Cid and Elena respectively. “Therefore, my chances of making it out of here alive are far slimmer than yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cid said through gritted teeth.
“Even if we could manage to make it out of here alive,” Larissa interrupted, “and if we could make it all the way back home, I don’t think the President will be willing to listen to anything I have to say. He seems quite fond of sending warships and resourceful Colonels to kill me.”
“Yes, and in spite of that, here you stand.” Kerrigan gave her a genuine smile. Just when she was starting to think she’d finally done enough to endear him to her, the success was moot. If she couldn’t manage to take Kerrigan back with her, she’d have no one to argue her virtues, and she didn’t want to think of how much it had taken to finally impress the right opinion upon him. The chances of repeating such extreme feats for the President to witness were non-existent. Never mind that she didn’t want to impress the President—the man at the top of her tree of troubles needed to be toppled, not impressed.
“We have arrived,” Elena interrupted, and Larissa groaned inwardly at having lost her chance to speak to Cid in private.
They were ushered on deck in a hurried silence and promptly surrounded by soldiers with weapons drawn, though not aimed directly at them. Larissa wished she’d kept the sword she’d won after Imago’s attack, but they’d denied her any weapons on board.
The hybrid pirate airship still followed behind, the rotors whirring at an incredible pace. Below, a sprawling city stretched out in all directions. The buildings were a mixture of sizes and shapes, built on top of an undulating landscape in various hues of orange and brown. In the distance, the large palace could be seen towering over the entire city. It was a stark white in contrast to the other structures around, the walls glistening in the bright sun. An incredible number of spire parapets jutted out all over the palace, each manned by burly-looking, olive-skinned archers.
They turned in the sky and began to lose altitude, aiming directly for the palace. A flush of butterflies settled in the pit of Larissa’s stomach. There were no less than six Eptoran warships hovering in the skies, dotted in strategic positions nearby. In the distance, a far smaller airship also headed towards the city.
“If we’re going to get out of here, it will only be with permission,” she whispered to herself, wishing she’d kept the Cleric’s invisibility stone and learned how to use it before he died.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Holt awoke to the sensation of something jabbing him in the neck. He had fallen asleep at the wheel, slumped uncomfortably in the seat. The landscape out front hadn’t changed; there was still a constant line of undulating sand dunes. However, there was also a small airship propped neatly in front of his vehicle. It was Daltonian in design and clearly not a military ship. The dark balloon canopy sat as an ominous blot in the sky, and several small cannons pointed directly at him. At first glance, it looked like a pirate airship. His first thought jumped straight to Larissa—perhaps she had somehow escaped the volcano and found him. That thought was swiftly removed from his mind as he twisted his head around to the source of the neck-jabbing.
A large, ugly-looking man had stuck the barrel of a rifle in his neck, giving him a grim stare. “Out you come,” a voice barked from behind the large man.
Holt sighed and slid out, landing on his feet in the sand. He held his hands above his head as the rifle remained jabbed into his neck and a collection of other angry faces surrounded him with weapons drawn. A final face came into view—Solomon Covelle.
“You’re a relentless fellow, aren’t you?” Covelle said with a hint of humour. “Very well, since you’re so determined, you can come with us, though I doubt it’s on the terms you hoped for. I may have a use for you.”
“A use?” Holt’s thoughts shifted. Perhaps Covelle had severely underestimated him yet saw him as a potential ally. Perhaps the man would want to try convincing him to work as a mercenary to further his cause. Holt suppressed a laugh. It
was almost too easy.
Covelle nodded once at the tall man with the rifle. Holt saw the strike coming before the man had swung his arm. He took a second to calculate the risk of fighting with so many armed men staring at him and concluded there was no point. He was close enough to Covelle and, for now, that was enough. The sound of wood smashing into his head rattled around his subconscious until darkness engulfed him.
He awoke once more to an instant and intense pain scorching throughout his entire body. He tried to move to escape the pain, only to find himself pinned in place; at most, he could turn his head. He thrashed side to side, teeth biting down and an unstoppable growl of agony escaping his lips. The room wobbled into focus for a moment and then disappeared again behind a wall of pain, and he stopped resisting the urge to scream, letting a deep wail linger in the air until his lungs burned.
Eventually, the intense sensation eased. He became aware of the blood pumping through his veins; it was almost as if he could feel every movement inside. His heart ached with each beat.
“Severe, isn’t it?” Covelle’s voice crooned from somewhere nearby. As Holt’s vision gained focus, he saw Covelle. The man leaned against a wall, arms folded across his chest, an empty syringe perched between his fingertips. “It takes a while to get used to, not that you’ll get used to it with the dosage I’ve given you.”
“What was that?” Holt snarled through gritted teeth. Whatever Covelle’s plans were, hiring him as a mercenary was clearly no part of it.
