Jonas taps his foot impatiently, arms crossed. It’s going to take him a long while to get the smell of fish out of his nostrils. Still, he can hardly fault the plan. With the crowd at the docks, fishermen were off-loading as much as they could for low prices. One rather enterprising Lincolnite had set up a small cook-fire on the sand, with salt and lemons from some emptied tavern, and was cooking fish to order. Say what Jonas might about the Singers - which he did often, and with great vitriol - they were handling this well.
Jonas wasn’t entirely sure whether they actually needed the fish to mask the barrel, but he was off balance, and since he couldn’t kill anything or anyone, he’d settled for feeling secure in his mission. They had the ‘gas.
He just couldn’t seem to get the hairs on the back of his neck to relax.
“We can leave the fish here, right?” He asks, distaste curling his lips as Lily, Molly and, surprisingly, First Mate Mudge step down to help carry their cargo.
“If you did, Kendra would have your guts in the next stew,” Molly responds blithely. “We’ll have a fish dinner to celebrate our stirring escape.” She chuckles to herself. “And you thought Evergreen was going to be tame.”
“This is tame,” Jonas says through gritted teeth as he stalks up onto deck with Wilhelm and Artemis. Molly, Mudge and a few voyagers bring the barrel on board and open it up. Inside is the gleaming metallic canister, a glass window revealing the nebulous indigo light of the Widowgas. The base of the canister shows a small port, standard across ships, where the ‘gas clicks into the engine compartment. Before they wheel it down below, Molly rushes over with the Captain’s canister, identical in miniature, and fills it. There’s a hiss of escaping gas as she clicks the Captain’s off the port, and disappears with it into the Captain’s Cabin.
Overhead, the Wrathhowl sits, an ominous shadow cast across Lincoln. It has moved to a holding position over the green fields which sit between the city walls and the forest. Cannons, like bared canines, pointed at Faerie country.
“They’re going to escalate,” Artemis says quietly. His eyes trained upward.
“Surely not,” Lily responds. “They wouldn’t, would they Jonas? Table doesn’t have the authority.”
“There’s just been a Faerie attack on Evergreen land,” Jonas says. “My bet is, the local leadership is going to give the Navy an inch, and the Wrathhowl’s going to take a mile.”
“But why? Surely that’ll mean-”
“War.”
Captain Thunder’s voice rumbles again over the deck as steam billows from her cabin, and the battered, bruised Kingfisher feels whole again. Molly and a few voyagers disappear below, carrying the Widowgas down on specially mounted pulleys. The Captain stalks out of her cabin, machinery squealing.
“Molly’s going to get us into the air. Jonas, Mudge, Lily, Artemis, Wilhelm… Welcome back. Well done all.” The officers nod, coming to join their Captain in a close huddle. “First things first, what do we owe for that ‘gas?”
“Less than you might think, Cap’n,” Lily says with a grin. “’Gas was free of charge. Courtesy of some rich kid. We just need to pay my fence for the disguise and help.”
“Guild work?”
“Yep. So no excuses, it’s not worth the risk of being blacklisted.”
“You always say that,” Jonas interjects. “But I-
“If we get burned, we’re burned for life. That’s it. Every rogue, scoundrel, fence, conman, thief, assassin, every operative of the Shadewalker spy network would not only cease doing business with us, but we’d also be hunted down for what we owe, plus interest. And that’s not even getting started on the Eight-” Lily shudders, then bites her tongue as she realizes everyone is looking at her.
“Aye, and the Kingfisher doesn’t do debts,” Mudge says, redirecting the conversation with a meaningful glance. “Bad for business.”
“Fortune or favour, we’ll pay up, won’t be a problem. We just need to get paid for this fucking delivery. We need answers.”
“Aye,” Jonas says, a bitter grin crossing his pitted face. “Too many bloody questions. Captain, a word?”
“Of course.” They all stumble slightly as the ship hums to life beneath them. The still lake-water falls away below as they join several other ships departing the tumult of the city for the relative safety of the sky. “Positions everyone,” Captain Thunder calls. “Jonas, my cabin. Art, wait outside, I need to make a call.”
“I can’t. Apologies Captain,” Artemis says. “Used my energy earlier, getting the Widowgas. I’ll be less than useful till dawn.”
“Fine, then help out on deck or go rest up.”
“Where do you want the ship headed, Captain?” Wilhelm asks, good eye focused on the great many-spoked wheel of the ship.
“Keep us in a hover above the lake for now. We’ve got the fuel for it, and I don’t want Lily’s man down below to think we’re reneging on the deal. If war is coming though, we’re not getting involved. We’ll stay close enough to see when we need to run and in which direction. I’m not risking any more lives on this Faerie-curséd shard.”
“Aye Captain!”
“One last thing. Do any of you know the name Izaak Everwright?”
There’s a general shaking of heads about the officers on deck, though Mudge looks thoughtful.
“I’m sure I’ve heard it before,” he says. “Or seen it. Why?”
“Rico had his own little adventure.”
“What?” Jonas seethes. “He could have endangered the entire operation! Where did he go?”
“He’s recuperating, something weird about this time, he seemed to short out the shielding for a second or two. All he’s said so far is Izaak Everwright, but I’m sure we’ll get more out of him.”
“I bet we will,” Jonas says, rolling up his sleeves.
“Jonas,” Erin says, her voice stern. “You wanted a word in private?”
In the Captain’s cabin, a concerned Jonas tells his Captain everything. He talks of Admiral Blitz, their history together. The Captain knows enough of Jonas’s past. He finishes with The Happy Spider, and the odd message. “The Watchtower send their regards.”
“The Watchtower?” Erin asks, forehead creasing in thought.
“Aye. Have you had any dealings with the ark?”
“No. Nothing direct. I don’t take that kind of work. The price is too high.”
“Well, someone on board must be taking Watchtower money,” Jonas says. “And it’s not me.”
“Of course it isn’t you, Jonas,” Erin replies with a patronizing grin. “You’re just taking orders from your old war buddies behind my back.”
“That’s- That isn’t fair,” Jonas says with a frown. “I’ve-”
Thunder waves away his objections with a lazy swipe of her hand. “Life isn’t fair, and you know I trust you, Blackwater. Thank you for the message. I’ll think on it. You go relax, you seem tense.” Jonas thumbs the blade on his hip, and Thunder coughs. “A drink, Jonas. Seven Saints man, that boy is part of your crew.”
As the world outside grows calmer, the Kingfisher descends to the sea. They have enough fuel for a week or so, if they’re conservative. So they are conservative. They sit at anchor in the still lake water as the afternoon ticks on. Overhead, the Wrathhowl, my home for a while longer yet, hovers. It’s decks crawl with Wolfpack Legionnaires, scurrying like ants before the storm. And mark my words, the storm is coming. Below, in the city itself, the wheels of diplomacy are beginning to turn. The situation is tense though, the Faerie will not take kindly to the Wrathhowl’s cannons aimed almost hungrily at the forest beneath.
* * *
Admiral Blitz sits in his cabin, resplendent in his finest bloody red regalia. Flames flicker and dance in his eyes as he reads the latest coded message. It was transcribed moments ago by his own Raven Priestess. The Wolfpack would prefer to do things entirely in house, but there are some things beyond their sight. Thankfully, what providence does not provide, money often will, and they have the full purse of the Table behind them, for the moment.
The messages are clear, and so the Admiral holds steady in the dead zone between Lincoln’s gates and the forest, waiting for the sign.
* * *
Rico sits now at Captain Thunder’s heavy wooden desk. She strides back and forth behind it, as the sky grows dark around them. Small waves and a crisp breeze lap at the Kingfisher’s hull as she sits in the water, lanterns lighting the deck.
“Where did you go, Rico? I need you to remember for me. Why is Izaak Everwright important. Is he the one who killed you?”
Rico’s thoughts are fuzzy, his memories out of place. He strains, but that seems to make the picture blurrier. “He needs help,” he finally manages to say. “We have to help him.”
“But why, Rico? Who is he?” Thunder runs a hand through her dirty blond hair and sighs. “We would have to at least know where he is, before we have any hope of helping him.”
“He’s-” It’s so close now, Rico can almost taste it. He strains, and it’s like trying to catch a bubble. “He’s in a cage…”
“Is that all you can tell me?”
Rico hangs his head in shame. “Sorry Captain.”
“We’ll work something out,” Thunder says. “But this is not my highest priority right now. You let me know if you remember something more, and send Lily in.” Thunder stares pointedly at the heavy metal chest sitting in the corner of the cabin. “I need her talents.”
A few minutes later, the chest sits pride of place in the middle of the Captain’s desk, as Lily and Erin eye it with varying degrees of skepticism and apprehension.
“Payment was for cargo untouched,” Lily says. “Are you sure?”
“Look around, Lil. You still think we’re getting paid properly for this job? We’ll be lucky if we can break even, and even that might be naively optimistic of me.” She pauses, considering the chest, then nods. “I’m speaking to Haze tomorrow, and I’d rather have more information to bargain with. It’s going to be bad either way, so… yes. Do it.”
* * *
Shrew scans the wreckage of the room for anyone trapped. A toppled wall, an invasive root. But no signs of life.
“Nobody here either,” Mercuria says, gesturing to her side of the building. The root flows through the space, no Mournflowers grow from it’s inky bark. Frustrating as it is, this seems to be their best method for working out where people are in danger. No flowers means no people.
“Let’s clear out then,” Shrew says. He is exhausted, arms shaking as he pushes himself out under the broken doorway.
Similar teams are working their way through the city, evacuating, finding safe spaces, dealing with medical issues. The flower petals cling only lightly to their stalks, and many have been stung by their burning toxin. They haven’t found any casualties, yet.
“Sir.” Mercuria nods as they stand outside, looking up at the remaining buildings on their street. A shiny red burn mars her chitinous skin, but she abjectly refused to be stood down after Mudge’s escape. “Are we going to fight back?”
Perspicacious stands quietly, catching his breath. He takes out a small canteen of water and drinks deeply.
“We’ll fight back. Just as soon as we know who the enemy is.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mercuria asks, kicking the nearby root with one booted foot. “We’ve got those big Wolfpack guns up there, we need to counterattack before more people get hurt.”
“And what would you have them do? Burn down the forest?”
She grits her teeth. “I’m just concerned sir. If we don’t strike soon, we might not have the chance to strike back at all.”
“Have the Faerie folk attacked our cities before?”
“Well, no. But they have now, and we need to stop them before this gets even worse,” Mercy growls. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Oh yes. You’re quite right there. We definitely need to stop them before this gets worse. I just don’t think attacking their home is going to have that effect.”
* * *
Some of these conversations I am filling in from second or third hand sources. This story, it is a puzzle, but with each piece found, those missing seem clearer. If all of the details are not true, they are at least truthful illusions. Accurate representations of character and motive. Looking back now, I remember myself as scattered, after the mysterious disappearance of my would-be rescuer. I sit in my small cell, my bowl of slop uneaten by my feet. Dizzy as the winds buffet the Wrathhowl, my body unused to the constant sway and shift of the air currents beneath us.
With no knowledge of outside events, I scratch out the little I do know, my own part of this story, on the wall of my cell with a splinter. I ramble in the flickering lantern light, guessing at things I can’t see.
And then I am interrupted by a voice I thought not to hear again. He had been silent for so long. Since the madness in the cave, since I was taken. His voice is rough. Dry as coffin dust.
“Hello Izaak. I think it’s time for us to have a talk.”
And as I blink in surprise, I see something. Far from here, in the shadow of a Shard, a ruined castle floats alone in the void. It is a bleak and broken thing, a silent, forgotten sentry. It appears empty, at first glance, but for a fleeting moment, in the tallest tower of the keep, two lidless eyes see far, and beneath them a smile forms.