by E. C. Jarvis
“Gods, I do not want to have this conversation with you.” Saunders stepped over a creaky plank of wood which felt like it might give out under his weight and moved to the darker side of the ship, where the light from the lantern below didn’t quite reach. “This thing is a shit heap, nothing more than a leaky bucket.”
“You must dislike it if it’s got you swearing, LT.”
“Hmm. We don’t have a lot of choice. This will have to do.”
“How much money do you have?”
“Ten thousand gold.”
“Gods, have you been carrying that with you all this way? Where do you have it hidden…or should I not ask?”
“It’s in my lower leg, cast in hundred gold pieces.”
“Ah, I thought I heard you clinking when you got off the train.”
“I could have taken the cast off days ago, but then I’d have needed to hide it somewhere else. I’d rather not spend it all on this thing.”
“Got it. Gordo,” Eddy called over the side, “we’ll take it off your hands for two thousand gold.”
“I wanted ten thousand. I got a man coming tomorrow, said he’d pay me exactly that.”
“Three,” Eddy yelled back.
“Nine.”
“Four.”
“Eight.”
“Five and you fill the hold with coal and hydrogen. Final offer.”
“The hold is already filled with coal and hydrogen. Give me the five thousand now and you can take it tonight.”
“Deal.” Eddy turned back to Saunders and gave him a toothy grin. “Will you have a smoke with me now, LT?”
“Not yet. If we get through this journey in one piece, then I might.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The group of guards shoved Holt all the way down the spiral staircase, constantly jabbing him in the shoulder and back. He wondered if the men were doing it to check he was still real or if they were trying to provoke him into turning invisible. Not that he could control his new talent if he wanted to. Whatever their reasoning for the senseless assault, it required him to bite his tongue in order to not react. His body ached badly enough, he didn’t really need an additional collection of bruises.
They reached the dungeons and swiftly bundled him into a cell, slamming the door shut. He stood in darkness, listening to the soft sounds of footsteps outside, the noise dulled by the sawdust on the floors. He tried to focus his mind, concentrating on the quiet, listening for any hint of movement from the other cells or elsewhere in the vicinity. Someone headed up the staircase, the footfalls fading into the distance. His groggy mind had forgotten to pay attention to how many guards had been assigned to walk him down the staircase, so he wasn’t entirely sure how many had left, or if there were guards standing outside in the corridor.
He pressed his ear to the door and strained to listen for someone breathing or moving around.
“Larissa, is that you?” Cid’s voice came from further down the corridor.
Holt did not answer.
“I guess not,” Kerrigan replied after a moment.
“Fuck sake.”
“What you whining about now?” Kerrigan barked.
“Still no commode.”
“Piss in the corner. That’s what the sawdust is for.”
“...Fuck sake.”
The dungeons fell quiet again. Holt put his back to the wall and slid down, resting his arms on his knees. “Fuck sake,” he whispered quietly to himself, for once agreeing with Cid’s sentiments. The soft sound of trickling water pricked his ears and he almost chuckled. How odd it felt to find comfort in the familiarity of such disagreeable company. Holt felt his eyes droop closed and he leaned a hand on the floor to prop up his weight. As much as sleep was needed, it was not the right time to succumb.
He scraped his fingers through the sawdust and found something out of place—a strand of hair. He picked it up and ran it through his fingertips. It was curly and long and he didn’t need to see it to know who it belonged to. Larissa. She’d been lost and found and lost again. Dead and revived yet gone in his mind. He’d said goodbye and sworn to avenge her and now she was alive beyond all reason. The how would wait. All that mattered now was escape and survival, and if he had a shot at destroying her father along the way, he wouldn’t hesitate.
“Do you think she’ll manage to convince the Empress to let us all go?” Cid asked, piercing the quiet and disturbing his thoughts.
“That would be quite the achievement,” Kerrigan replied once again.
“Indeed,” a third voice chimed in. The timbre of the sound made Holt’s blood boil with hatred. Covelle. The single word made the others fall silent.
His head lolled to one side and his body threatened to follow. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs. The physical memory of being pinned up on the cross made his arms and legs feel as though they were still held out in the position, as if regaining control of them was somehow unnatural.
“What did you do to Holt?” Cid barked, his voice echoing through the corridor.
Holt lay his head on the floor, intending to stay awake but hoping that a physical rest might help to stave off the threat of passing out. He wasn’t sure why Cid gave a shit what Covelle had done to him, or why Cid thought Covelle would engage in inane, angry banter with him.
“Poor sod,” Kerrigan muttered.
“He was a threat. I eliminated him.”
“Not yet,” Holt said loud enough so they would all hear. Silence descended once more and he allowed his eyes to roll shut. Perhaps a brief sleep would help perk him up for when Larissa returned from her negotiations. He felt an odd and unpleasant shiver course over his skin.
“Soon enough,” Covelle said, an obvious sneer in his voice.
Chilling visions danced across the blackness behind his eyelids. As his eyes snapped open to total darkness, he could not fight the images racing through his mind. Pain, torture, death, and destruction. They had come so far, yet sacrificed so much—had it really been worth all the suffering? Had he really achieved what he set out to achieve? Whatever small measures of success they’d garnered came with a heavy weight of loss, and he felt more miserable now than he had when his brother died. To think that he was on a swift course to a similar dismal end with virtually nothing to show for it wasn’t doing his state of mind any good. The memory of the volcanic heat scorching his skin teased at his mind, the lava and ash rolling over and over, threatening to consume him whole. He’d been sure of Larissa’s death inside the mountain.
The smell of smoke tickled his nose and made his stomach churn with memory. He felt the tingling on his skin again, followed by a shiver coursing from head to toe. He reached a hand across the dusty floor and moved it in front of his face. It was too dark to see anything, even if he were still visible. No light spilled into any gap in the cell door from the corridor outside. He was truly blind to everything.
“Can anyone else smell smoke?” Cid called.
“Yes,” Kerrigan replied. “I think there’s a fire.”
Sure enough, an orange glow flickered into Holt’s cell, illuminating the bottom of the cell door and casting odd shadows inside.
“Fuck...fire!” Cid yelled, his calls matched by Kerrigan’s voice.
Holt kept his head low to the ground, already feeling his lungs tighten through the smoke spilling into his cell. The sound of wood crackling nearby made him shiver, and he pressed his forehead to the door, straining to see out.
Aside from the bottom of the door opposite, the corridor floor, and an orange glow marred by thick smoke, he couldn’t see anything much of use. What did catch his interest was what he couldn’t see. He brought his hand up to the gap under the door and felt an odd tingle of excitement course through his veins as he realised he was once again invisible.
He reached out and felt the door edge. Instead of what he’d expected, it felt soft and pliable, as though it were made of liquid. His mind flicked into overdrive as he realised the Anthonium poison in his blood might actually prove to
have a use, and the lack of Anthonium chains to pin him down was promising. He stood up, sucked in a lungful of ashy air, and pressed his entire hand to the door. The wood gave way under his touch, and he pushed harder until his entire hand poked out the other side. An unusual sly grin pulled at the corners of his lips as he pushed his entire body through the door, emerging into the smoke-filled corridor.
Cid and Kerrigan were still yelling and pounding on their cell doors, their fruitless calls going unanswered. Either the guards were too far away to hear or simply didn’t care. Perhaps they had started the fire on purpose to dispose of their troublesome prisoners, though he dismissed the notion as soon as he’d thought of it. It was unlikely they’d risk damaging the palace.
As he stood in the corridor, mulling over the options available to him in his current state of invisibility, the fire grew, spreading across the sawdust floor. It had originated in a cell further down. The guards were still nowhere to be seen. He thought of running straight back to Larissa and grabbing her to make their escape, then his thoughts jarred as the fire snuck beneath a door opposite and Cid’s yelling turned to a more frantic pitch.
“Fuck sake,” Holt whispered. There was no sign of the keys to any cell; the guards hadn’t been thoughtful enough to leave them hanging on a hook nearby. He wasn’t sure how to help, but the nagging voice in the back of his head which sounded distinctly like Larissa’s voice told him he had to try something to save Cid. He headed to the cell door and placed his hands against it. The familiar liquid sensation wobbled as Cid thumped against the door from the other side. Holt gritted his teeth, pushed his hands through, and caught hold of Cid’s flailing arms—which caused Cid to flail even more in reaction, making Holt’s fingers almost slip straight through Cid’s wrists. He tightened his grip and yanked as hard as he could.
Cid stumbled forward and crashed through the door as though it didn’t exist at all. He then continued to fall straight through Holt’s body before coming to a stop, smacking face-first into the wall opposite.
“What the…” Cid’s choice expletives were cut off as a hacking cough took over, and he stumbled instead towards the stairwell.
Holt turned to follow, then noticed the flames heading towards another cell, where Kerrigan was still inside, shouting and thumping against the door. Holt’s mind flicked back to his list of names, of people who he’d linked to Doctor Orother, the people he intended to kill. Kerrigan was on that list. He could walk away now, safe in the knowledge that the man wouldn’t survive the flames.
“I can’t find the fucking key,” Cid yelled from the other end of the corridor, his voice hoarse as he frantically searched for the key to Kerrigan’s cell. “Holt, if you’re there, get him out.”
Smoke billowed through his body. He felt another unpleasant shiver run over his limbs. Cid disappeared from view and the flames licked at Holt’s invisible feet. He imagined that, if Larissa were there, she’d be begging, pleading with him to help Kerrigan. Then, as though propelled by some unseen force, he shoved his hand against the cell door, the liquid sensation returning though it gave more resistance than the last two doors. He pushed through, finding nothing on the other side. He reached down and found a tuft of hair; Kerrigan was slumped against the door. Holt pushed further through and grabbed him by the shoulders, and with one swift tug he pulled Kerrigan through the door.
Blackness surrounded the corridor. Holt stumbled towards the staircase and headed upwards. Even if he’d been inclined to try rescuing Covelle—if only to kill him with his bare hands—it was too late to do so now. He pushed onwards and upwards, dragging Kerrigan by the shoulder, quickly catching up to Cid, who struggled with the effects of smoke inhalation.
Holt pushed past and grabbed Cid’s arm, intending to haul him up the staircase as well if need be.
“Fuck, it’s you,” Cid spluttered.
Holt realised he was no longer invisible; the effect had worn off. Kerrigan finally regained full control of his body and stood up in shock, giving the two of them a thoroughly confused look. “We can’t stand around here. We need to warn someone about the fire.”
“Not escape?” Kerrigan asked with narrowed eyes.
“Not without Larissa,” Holt said, and the others nodded in agreement before they all continued on.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“So...” The Empress of Eptora sat back down on her throne once Holt had been removed. Elena still stood beside her, though she was like a statue, tight-lipped and rigid to the bone, probably as much afraid of her sister’s ire as anyone else in Eptora.
“So...” Larissa repeated. She had no idea what to say. After all the things that had happened, all the things she had just learned, and with not a spare moment to process the information, she had no idea where to start. She found herself absentmindedly staring up at the large tapestry hanging above the throne, as if the gold-lined picture of a half-nude woman wearing a crown might offer some inspiration for what to say. Unfortunately, the only thing it served to do was to make her feel uncomfortable and, once again, more aware of her lack of suitable attire. Perhaps it might be an idea to start by apologising for all the trouble. “My father—”
“I do not wish to discuss that man. Whatever he is to you is of no concern to me. What is of concern is what happens to my country and my people.”
“Of course.” Larissa felt her face flush. Not that she should feel embarrassed; she wasn’t exactly a skilled negotiator and was certainly unaccustomed to speaking with people in such lofty positions.
“I do not wish to go to war.”
“Naturally.” Larissa nodded, though she had no idea why the Empress would discuss the war with her. What could she possibly do to stop it?
“I am not surprised by the news that your father has been orchestrating tensions between our nations. I have not spent all these years foolishly trusting a Daltonian to keep to his word. I knew he had some dubious plan up his sleeve, though I’m sure your President would have found an excuse to wage war regardless. Whatever has been done is done, it cannot be changed. I am interested in the possibly of having an effect on the future. What are your motivations?”
“My…motivations? For what?”
“Towards Eptora. What will your foreign policy be?”
Larissa opened and closed her mouth a few times, then looked at Elena. Elena widened her eyes and gave a slight nod as some form of encouragement. “My foreign policy…”
The Empress sighed and stood, immediately linking her arm through Larissa’s and turning her around. They walked around the throne room, taking long and determined strides. Larissa found her gaze darting around the opulent setting, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour without managing to settle on one coherent thought. What in all the Gods’ names was she doing here?
“If it is true, that you are the daughter of that man, and he is the heir to the Daltonian Empire, then, if the Empirical line is reinstated, the rule of the nation would fall to you. I believe your people dislike the current President, but his opponents in politics are just as undesirable. If you can return to the country and declare your lineage, the people may rally to you and demand the Empire be reinstated.”
“How in the name of all the Gods do you think I could manage to do that?”
“How in the name of all your Gods have you managed everything you’ve done so far?” the Empress asked as they made a sharp turn at a corner and continued their odd march around the room.
“Luck, mostly, and with the help of my friends.”
“Your friends…” The Empress looked across the room at Elena, who still stood rigidly beside the throne. “One of them is named Cid?”
“Yes,” Larissa said, remembering the kiss she’d seen Cid and Elena share. Could the woman have told her sister about it? “He’s a good man,” she finished, feeling the need to defend him.
“So I’ve been told. It is difficult, you understand, to break with ancient prejudice. We have not trusted you, as much as you have mistrusted us, for
centuries, and for very good reason. You are the first who has shown promise to be something different.”
Before Larissa could formulate a sensible answer, a yell came from down the corridor, followed by more shouts and calls from frantic-sounding voices. The guards dotted around the throne room jumped into life, leaping forwards with weapons bared to protect their Empress. Larissa was shoved to one side and left to stand and stare, rather dumbstruck by the affair as the people who spilled into the room shouted in Eptoran. She didn’t understand a word.
Someone gripped the top of her arm and pulled her to one side with a tug. Elena. “Fire,” she whispered in Larissa’s ear, “in the dungeons.”
Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of all the people trapped down below—Kerrigan, her father, Cid…Holt. She lunged forwards, intending to rush down there and help, or do something at least, only Elena’s grip tightened further still and she pulled her back.
“No, they will think it’s a trick. Is it a trick?”
“No. I don’t know anything about this. Please, let me go help them.”
“What can you do to help?”
The question jarred in her mind. What could she possibly do that the palace guards wouldn’t already be doing? “Nothing,” she sighed, and her lungs shook with panicky breaths.
Chaos ensued, bodies ran left and right, and people jogged through the corridors ahead, carrying buckets of water sloshing over the pristine flooring. Someone tripped. Two people crashed into one another, flinging water all over the place. Time slowed as Larissa stood watching, dumbstruck by the debacle. The Empress disappeared into a swarming plethora of burly guards.
Amongst the bedlam, a shrill squeal pierced Larissa’s hearing, coming, unexpectedly, from Elena. A moment later, Larissa realised what Elena was screeching for. Three bodies, battered, bruised, and blackened by smoke, emerged from a stairwell.
In the confusion, the guards ignored the prisoners as they formed a chain, passing buckets of water down towards the fire. Larissa stood, disbelieving yet relieved. The three men headed their way when they saw her.
