“We’re dead in the water,” Federico said as he peered through his captain’s looking glass. “We’re dead!”
“Don’t start with that nonsense, Federico!” Captain Deacon swiped the looking glass from his first mate’s hands. He planted his right fist firmly on Federico’s chest and held it there. “Stop stirring up trouble. You almost got me killed on Inigo’s ship! I ought to tie a cannonball to your ankles and toss you overboard!”
“We could afford to lose a little weight.” Gus stared across the waters at a flock of white sails growing larger and larger. “They’ll be upon us by evening.” He approached the smugglers. “We need a plan.”
Federico laughed. “You’re mad!”
“Yes,” Deacon said. He lifted his fist from Federico and reached out to Gus, grabbing his shoulder. “He’s mad. But those ships fly the Chiosian flag!”
“The Chiosian armada sank in the Obsidian Reef!” Federico viced his head between his hands. “It’s not possible!”
“We don’t know that.” Deacon smiled. “Do we?”
Federico’s hands fell from his head and entangled before his chest. “So, who has a plan? Should we blast the armada out of the water with our six cannons? Or should we outrun them with a patchwork sail and a skeleton crew?” He tapped his toes.
“We’ll negotiate,” Deacon said.
“It certainly worked out well the first time!” Federico laughed. He sat down on the deck. “After twelve years of following, you finally got us killed.” He stretched out his arms and legs, lying flat. “Dead.”
“What are you doing, man?” Deacon stepped back. “Stand up, damn you!”
Skiggi and Dori leaped up the stairs of the stern castle. “We fixed it!” Dori shouted. “It’s not as good as new, but it will catch the wind! Come on, Gus, help us string it up! We need to loose sails before those warships broadside us to smithereens! Let’s go!”
Augustus turned to the Captain of the ship. “How’s that for a plan?”
Deacon’s eyes widened, fat jowls quivering. A crooked grin twisted his lips. “There’s no need. If we run for it, they’ll know we’re up to no good.”
“Federico is right,” Gus said. “They’ll hang us if they catch us.” He walked over to Skiggi and Dori. “We’re going to secure the sails.”
“Do so,” Deacon said. He stepped toward Gus, every year of sea-weathered determination weighed on the set of his brow. “But remember who’s captain of this crew. Do you hear me? Don’t release those sails without my permission. As I’ve said before, I have friends in these waters.” He nodded. “Now, go.”
Every capable hand worked to re-secure their mainsail, but their pursuers were that much closer when the labor finished. Worse yet, they could not release the sail without Deacon’s permission. A gaggle of men gathered at the prow, shooting dice with Rose to distract themselves while Skiggi, Dori, and Gus greased the blocks overhead. “Waste of time,” the old hollow-eyed smuggler said to his comrades. “Waste of energy. Deacon’s lost it if he ever had it. He’s better at running his mouth than running his crew.”
“Oh!” the group gasped. An explosion of chatter and laughter drowned out the old man’s pernicious rambling.
“I win again!” Rose’s eyes sparkled. She scooped up a handful of circlings and stuffed them into her coat pocket. “Is that all you’ve got? No? Who’s next?”
Gus shook his head. What happens when they run out of money?
“I’ll roll ‘em!” Tyandrea scooted forward. “How much?”
The gambling and games continued until the armada drew close. Federico sat on a toppled-over barrel. Deacon sat in a wooden chair with a long back, his legs stretched and feet crossed. No one spoke. Hundreds of wooden behemoths with three tall masts and many sails, fire-breathing sea serpents with dozens of cannons, cut through the water, driving straight toward them. The flagship turned to the left, approaching their port side.
“Captain?” the hollow-eyed smuggler asked. “What are we doing?”
“Waiting.” Deacon interlocked fingers over his chest. “They’re flying the flag of Chios. Just let me do the talking. I have friends in the Chiosian navy—old friends.”
“They don’t have an armada!” A brown-haired man with a gruesome scar on his cheek spoke up. “Deacon’s lost it, boys! And I, for one, am not letting them hang me! We’ve got to do something!”
“Shut up!” Deacon barked. “If he speaks again, cut out his tongue.” Tyandrea’s thin lips curled beneath his mustache as he and his bald brother drew daggers from their belts and stepped toward the outspoken man. “You’re the sorriest crew I’ve sailed with!” The captain spat on the deck of his stolen ship. “You call yourselves men?”
“We all knew the risks!” Theo, with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head and right arm, pushed his way through the gaggle of bickering smugglers. “We took this job with our own free will! As free men! Will you lose your heads and turn your backs on your captain because of a few misfortunes? I saw the flags with my own two eyes! The gods haven’t abandoned us!” Murmurs passed between the small crew of hardened criminals, nods of approval and looks of shame. Theo shook his head and turned solemnly to the planks beneath his feet. “Ceaino be damned. Is that what you say?” His hands folded into fists. “Men who think such ways are to blame for the Alexandrian plague!”
“Do you have an actual plan?” Rose whispered in Gus’ ear.
“It’s my turn to disappear,” Gus replied in kind. “If things go south, just play along until I get you out of there. Play it safe.” Skiggi and Dori stood in front of Gus. He rested his left hand on Skiggi’s shoulder and his right hand on Dori’s. “Good luck.”
With everyone focused on the impending armada and their arguments, Gus darted down the stairs and hid within the stern castle. He spun, becoming invisible. Augustus left the castle and, summoning a wind with his cloak leaped up into the crow’s nest. The armada’s flagship slid past, dwarfing their caravel. The Chiosian crew stood at attention, dwarven fire rods, harpoons, and spears gripped against their chests. As the flagship’s prow passed their stern, the Chiosians lowered their flag and replaced it with a white flag of truce. They want to meet with our captain.
Deacon stood up. “Ready a boat!” The smugglers sprung to life.
The Accardi twins lead the effort, lifting a dinghy so four other men could attach a rope to either end. A system of pulleys held the little boat dangling over the sea. The crew held the dinghy steady as Deacon stepped into it and sat on a bench. Tyandrea and Andrea joined their captain. Four men on either side of the pulleys lowered them to the sea. The Chiosian flagship swung to the right, doubling back. Augustus crouched like a cat, then pushed off the yard and flapped his cloak, propelling himself toward the massive vessel. The warship shrank as he climbed up, up, and up, then grew as he plummeted. He spread his cloak wide, slowing his fall and allowing him to land silently atop an expansive deck not yet worn by boots or aged by the sea. A Chiosian man with tight black braids running across his scalp marched across the deck wearing a shining cuirass and chainmail beneath, accompanied by a man with a short but frizzy afro in similar armor—minus the chainmail. “What are you thinking, Admiral?” The frizzy-haired man asked. “Speak to me, Carlozzi!”
I know that name.
“Let’s not assume too much, Rafael.” Admiral Carlozzi placed one hand on his hip and used the other to shade his eyes from the cold but piercing sun. “They look stranded.”
“They look like pirates,” Rafael said.
“Then we will hang them.” Carlozzi waved a dismissive hand. “But first, I will hear them out because I do not kill men for crimes they did not commit, Captain.” His subordinate did not look pleased with the answer. “We will listen to them.”
Gus hid between a stack of crates secured by a massive net. Deacon and the twins cleared the hull of Carlozzi’s ship, and a dozen sailors, wielding spears and swords, met them. Admiral Carlozzi and his captain approached. Gus could not hear the words they passed but watched their procession across the deck as Carlozzi led them to his stern castle. He did not permit the twins entry. Gus slid through the door just before the ship’s captain turned to close it. Carlozzi’s quarters were not as exotic as Inigo’s, but were every bit as exquisite: an elf-carved rocking chair sat atop a bear fur rug before a metal stove, and a globe sat on a long table scattered with maps. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and stacks of parchment. Carlozzi stood before Deacon, grinning from ear to ear. “How are you, my friend?”
“I’ve been better,” Deacon said. “I lost the Crane to Freeman! I guess that’s what you and your men are doing, huh? Cleaning out the straight?”
Carlozzi’s smile faded. “That is unfortunate news.”
Captain Rafael looked from one man to the other. He stood with his right hand on the rocking chair, encouraging it to sway back and forth. “You know this man, Admiral?”
“I do.” Carlozzi walked to his desk at the back of the cabin and grabbed a bottle of wine. He poured three glasses. “He’s a smuggler.”
Rafael took his glass without looking, for he still judged their guest. “A criminal.”
Carlozzi handed Deacon a glass of red wine. “This criminal is working on our behalf, Captain.” The smuggler took his glass and slurped down the sweet alcohol. “He’s been smuggling food and firepowder for years. Deacon is valuable to our efforts.” The Admiral raised his glass.
“That’s the truth,” Deacon raised his empty glass and clanged it against Carlozzi’s. “We were on our way to the big island when we were waylaid. We lost our cargo. But somehow, sailed away with a bigger ship and a better haul.”
Captain Rafael waved his half-empty cup around. “Somehow?”
“Ceaino’s fortune turned in our favor,” Deacon said. “How about another glass of wine, and then I’ll tell you how it happened? It is a story worthy of a good drink.”
Carlozzi poured another glass of wine, then waved a hand toward the fire, where he and his Captain listened to Deacon’s version of recent events. To Gus’ surprise, his Captain could spin a tale as well as himself and kept the specifics blurry so the Chiosians wouldn’t single out Gus or his friends. By the time he finished, Carlozzi was three glasses deep, while the two captains stood even at five. “It’s a shame you couldn’t save your ship,” Carlozzi said. He poured his fourth glass.
“I captained that ship for damn near twenty years,” Deacon said. “I’d trade it all back for the Crane.”
Carlozzi raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that, my friend.” He drained number four. “It’s ironic that such a small vessel could survive all this time when our mighty fleet sank to the bottom of the sea. The old saying is true: Big fish take big bait.”
“Peschi doesn’t discriminate,” Deacon eyed Carlozzi. “So what is to become of us?”
“You know where we’re going, my friend,” Carlozzi said. He sat his glass down on a table beside the empty wine bottle. “Pyrgos is still under blockade. We intend to lift it.”
His captain nearly spit out his last gulp of wine. He swallowed hard. “Carlozzi!”
“He’d have to be a fool not to know!” Carlozzi placed his hand on the pommel of the emerald-encrusted saber swinging at his side. “We’re going for revenge. It’s been four years since our fleet sank. The Burgundians think their mercenaries own the sea, that we’re trapped on our island, but we’re not out of this war!” He laughed. “What do you say, old friend, will you join us? The Duke will pay you handsomely.”
“The last few days proved I still have a fight or two left in me,” Deacon said. “But most of my crew has served their time in one navy or another, and I can’t ask them to sail back into the fire.” Deacon sat his glass to the side. “No, it wouldn’t be right.”
Carlozzi stepped toward Deacon. “This is one job in a million. The Duke of Chios himself will pay you!”
“He’s just a smuggler, Admiral,” Rafael said.
“That's a fact.” Deacon sat his glass down and then folded his hands behind a broad back. “My crew is ready to tuck tail and sail back home, but we have a job to do—a delivery to make. It isn’t good for my reputation to miss deadlines, Admiral. I must graciously decline.”
Admiral Carlozzi’s expression darkened. “I can’t let you sail away. Your crew may cost us the element of surprise.”
Deacon chuckled. “We’re criminals, as your captain kindly pointed out.”
“Then why should we trust you?” Rafael placed his hand on his sword. “What’s stopping one of your crew from selling us to the Burgundians? Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Captain?”
“Secrecy is our specialty, Captain,” Deacon said, but Rafael did not look impressed. “We’ve all lost family to this war,” he paused. “My brother.” He shuffled his feet. “Most of my crew has lost someone as well. We harbor no love for Burgundia. May the Gods smile on you, Admiral, but I no longer fight for glory. And I won’t force my crew to fight on your behalf.”
Carlozzi’s hand fell away from his saber as he released a long breath. “Fine.”
“What?” Rafael’s head turned on a swivel, and anger flashed across his face in a twisted sneer. “This is idiocy! His crew should be shackled and imprisoned or, better yet, hanged!”
“Quiet!” Carlozzi shouted. He allowed his captain to feel every second of silence before speaking: “Deacon is trustworthy.” Deacon smiled. “Go,” Carlozzi pointed toward the door of his cabin. “Captain, ensure his crew has enough supplies to reach the island.”
Captain Rafael snorted. “Of course, Admiral.” He bowed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door.
“Thank you,” Deacon said.
“To hell with your thanks.” Carlozzi sighed. “Pray for us.”
Gus crouched on the back of the dinghy, wind-stirred cloak maintaining his balance as the little boat swayed upon the sea. When they arrived back at their ship, Gus waited for Deacon and the burly smugglers to climb aboard, then jumped from the lifeboat onto the deck. He followed a man down below, found privacy in a storage room, and threw off his cloak, becoming visible once more. The crew gathered around Deacon on the deck. “Admiral Carlozzi has granted us amnesty!” their captain announced. The crew cheered.
Rose, Skiggi, and Dori stood on the outer ring of the group. Gus stepped in beside them. “He convinced them,” Gus whispered.
“How?” Rose leaned closer.
“Carlozzi and Deacon are old friends,” Gus explained. “We’re free.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The Chiosian navy sent two dinghies full of food, rope, spare parts for the caravel, and winter coats. Deacon sent their sailors away with barrels of firepowder and bolts for their crossbows. As the smugglers worked, the Chiosian armada slunk away, their massive sails shrinking on the southern horizon. Chios produces some of the best sailors in the world, but will it be enough? The Burgundians still outnumber their new armada.
They ate a feast of salted fish provided by the Chiosians, and a salty vegetable stew cooked by Rose. When the sun dawned in the east, they set sail. Every man and dwarf worked double-time, making up for their meager crew. Yet, on the third morning, the Titan’s Kiln stretched across the sky, towering over rocky shorelines, green forested hillsides, and jagged obsidian mountains to the southwest. Their destination waited on the Bay of Soft Sands, however, north of the volcanic fields. Eirgo’s judicial buildings, with their triangular red roofs held aloft by tall circular columns, overlooked clusters of white-painted buildings from a central plateau. The Temple of Peschi rose near the plateau’s ledge–a circle of columns holding its blue dome aloft. It had no walls, laying itself bare to the sea, trusting in its navy to deter raiders. Deacon paid the dockhands for priority, who guided his damaged caravel to the wharf before any other ship anchored offshore. Augustus and Theo carried firepowder across the ship and gently lowered them onto a wide-open net. A team of dockhands tugged at the rope of a crane, which pulled at the net and closed it around a bundle of six kegs. As promised. The crane lifted the bundle. The dockhands swung their crane around by playing a game of tug-of-war with a fish net full of explosives, then lowered the bundle next to six other barrels. And a little more. Deacon should make enough money to pay for the ship’s repairs and to replenish his crew. He met his companions in the stern castle, where they gathered their few belongings and supplies for the next leg of their journey. Gus entered the castle and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “That’s the last of it.”
Rose pulled her leather backpack from the deck and slung its hoops over her coat-covered arms. “Good. I’m ready to feel something solid beneath my feet.” She stepped toward the door. “I wonder if we can find an establishment that offers a bathhouse? I could use a hot bath.”
“There are steam houses,” Gus assured.
Rose raised her eyes to the ceiling and mouthed a silent prayer. “Let’s go, then!” She blew past Gus and through the door. “Come on!”
“Do you have everything ready?” Gus asked the dwarves, who moved with bones of rusted iron. Dori sniffled. Gus walked over to Dori and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Rose and me.”
Dori rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. “You’d think I’d get used to goodbye by now, but I’m a softie.”
Skiggi patted his wife’s back. “We’ve got to make our way, love.”
“I know!” She stomped her foot. “I know, but Rose taught us just about everything we know. It feels wrong.” Dori picked up her knapsack. Then she dug inside and pulled out a flute. Her fingers tightened around the length of wood as tears welled in her eyes. “I never could play this damned thing!” She threw it on the ground. Skiggi chuckled but hid a sorrowful face on his wife’s shoulder as they embraced. “I’m going to miss the Mysterium.”
“Why?” Rose’s voice caused them all to spin around. “You helped me build the Mysterium, Dori. And you, too, Skiggi. There wouldn’t be a Moonlit Mysterium if it weren’t for you both. And we’ll always be the Mysterium.” Rose walked across the deck and knelt before Dori. “You and Skiggi have a chance to live your dreams. Take it.”
“It was all for this.” Skiggi tugged at a bead in his beard. “Deacon is offering us a chance to join his crew. And we know what kind of man Deacon is—an honest criminal like us!”
“Don’t feel bad for me,” Rose said. She stood up. “I took care of myself long before you two followed me around.”
Dori calmed her breathing and steadied her bearing. “You’re right! You’re right!”
“Let’s go take a hot bath!” Rose proclaimed. “That should make us all feel better. And, I dare say, if you go with Deacon, you won’t get another one for some time.” She moved toward the door once more, speaking over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Dori tugged at Gus’ sleeve. He looked down. The dwarf bent over and rummaged through her knapsack again. She withdrew a fist. “Skiggi and I wanted to give you something to remember us by.” She opened her fist to reveal an oddly misshapen gold coin. “I know you said not to touch anything in Inigo’s cabin, but it sure is a good thing I didn’t listen, huh? This circling would’ve sunk with the rest of his collection and ship.” She stifled another fit of tears. “Take it, Gus.”
Gus grabbed the coin and lifted it to his eyes. Double doors decorated one side of the disk, while a simple circle engraved the other. I’ve never seen a coin like this before. Gus pocketed the circling. “Thank you. I wish I had something to offer in return.”
“It’s not a bargain,” Skiggi said. He offered Gus his hand, and the two shook. “Now let’s get port side and stir up some trouble!” Dori perked up at the sound of her husband’s raucous laughter.
“Let’s go,” Gus said.
A massive yard, its rough and worn cobbles separating white-painted buildings, teemed with dockhands and fish peddlers. Augustus doused Rose’s enthusiasm by suggesting they find a place to rent before heading to the steam house. Eirgo was not as overwhelmed with refugees as cities on the mainland, so finding room and board was simple. The Mysterium enjoyed hot baths for five coppers each. Scented oils and deodorants cost a silver or more, and, for five silvers an hour, one could subject themselves to pulverization by a shaved Chiosian trained in the ancient art of massage therapy. Rose left smelling like an aromatic bouquet. After their baths, the Mysterium strolled through the market district and the dockside bazaars. They had little money, but the sights and sounds of Eirgo echoed an ancient past and whispered of ancestral memories. The Deloriar bloodline traces its roots to Castellia, as does this city. We’re descendants of the same people—siblings in a strange way.
As the sun sunk into the west, they sat in the common area of their hospitium, enjoying a roasted lamb, steaming hot with all the dressings. Four tables sat in the rectangular room. Two sat empty. The other hosted a party of five—dockhands, by the looks of them. “How much you want to bet I can out-shoot any of them?” Skiggi boasted. He gulped from a frothy mug. The men ignored his comment, speaking and laughing at the drunken dwarf.
“Nothing,” Gus said. He swallowed a chunk of potato.
“I know I can out-shoot you,” Rose said. She placed a stack of five silvers on the table next to a pair of dice. “Or are you too chicken?”
Skiggi turned to Dori, who sat beside him. “How much do we got?” He set his mug down and leaned his head over the table. “I won’t let you run off with a win over me. Not without trying my luck one more time!”
“We don’t have enough to gamble right now, Skiggi,” Dori pleaded.
“You’re going to make me look like a chicken!” Skiggi’s eyes grew wild, cheeks flushed red. He tried to whisper: “Please?”
The men at the next table snickered. Gus dug into his breeches pocket, pulled out the golden gift, and laid it on the table. “I’ll raise on Skiggi’s behalf. Let the man roll.” Gus used his forefinger to scoot the coin to his left toward Rose. “Or are you too chicken?”
Rose grinned. “Okay.” She sat a heavy coin purse on the table. The men at the next table no longer sneered. “Roll ‘em.” Rose picked up the dice and handed them to Skiggi.
Skiggi tugged at his beard and took the dice into his right hand. He hovered his hand over the table, then raised the dice to his wife’s lips. Dori blew on the dice. Skiggi clasped his left hand over his right and shook them as if throttling another pirate. He opened his hands. The ivory cubes tumbled across the table, spinning end over end until coming to a stop, revealing three dots and three. Dori leaned over the table. “Six,” she said. Skiggi’s smile worked his whiskers as he wiggled in his seat. “You need seven or snake eyes to win.” Dori lowered herself back to the bench and nestled close to Skiggi.
“My turn.” Rose reached across the table, took up the dice, gave them a few shakes, and released them. The dice spun, then fell on four dots and three. “Lucky seven.”
Skiggi’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. Dori snapped her fingers. “Shoot!”
The table of dockhands fell from their benches in a fit of laughter. Rose picked up Gus’ shiny new coin, but her hand paused when she lifted it. “What kind of coin is this?” Her eyes grew distant, her expression vacant. She snapped out of her trance, blinking. “Where did you get this, Gus? Off a pirate?”
“From me,” Dori said. She picked up her half-empty ale mug and handed it to her husband. Skiggi chugged. “I found it on Inigo’s ship.”
“Oh.” Rose met Gus’ gaze and extended the coin to him. “Well, you didn’t roll the dice, did you?”
Gus took it from her. She’s acting strange.
“Another roll!” Skiggi shouted, but Dori talked him down. The Mysterium returned to their room with full bellies. Gus was first to his bed, sprawling out over the blanket with fingers interlocked behind his head, still wearing his clothes, boots, and magic cloak. Everyone else changed into their sleeping clothes. “Yup. I’m gonna mish ya, guysh!” Skiggi stumbled over to his bed and fell into it. Dori pulled the blanket out from under her husband and tossed it on top of him. Then she crawled beside him. “To the Myshterium!” Skiggi raised an empty hand, lifting the blanket with it. The hand fell. Skiggi snored.
Rose sat on her bed. “There’s something about that coin. It has… energy.”
Gus lifted his head. “You think it’s enchanted?”
“Can I hold it again?” Rose stood and walked to Gus, who sat up, threw his legs over the side of his bed, and dug into his pocket. Dori rolled onto her side to watch him hand the coin to Rose. Rose closed her hand around it. She shut her eyes. “It feels like your other trinkets. It is immense, yet a grain of sand at the shore's edge. A pinprick through which infinity escapes.” Her eyelids peeled open. “This may sound mad, but it is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. Stronger than your cloak or dagger. Stronger than Ninathril.”
“Truly?” Gus stood up. “I wonder what it does?”
Dori crawled out of bed and joined them at the center of the room. “Let’s try it! Oh, I wish Skiggi was awake!” She stomped her feet.
Rose displayed the little golden disk on an open palm. “I wonder…” she handed the coin back to Gus. “Curious.” Gus stood staring at the coin as Rose marched back to her bed and found her backpack beneath it, her comb within. “What can you do with a circling?”
“Spend it,” Gus stated the obvious.
“Gamble with it,” Dori said.
“Maybe you should try flipping it?” Rose tugged at a knot in her hair.
“Me?” Gus approached Rose. “You’re the lucky one, aren’t you? I think you should flip it. Don’t you, Dori?” He turned to the dwarven lady.
“Well…” Dori averted her eyes.
“It’s your coin, Gus,” Rose brushed her hair over her shoulder.
“I guess we’ll never know. I’m not a gambler.” Gus shoved the coin into his trouser pocket. “It will remain a mystery. How fitting.” He sat on his bed and pulled off his boots. Dori crawled beneath her blanket, grumbling to herself, while Rose finished combing her hair. Gus lay awake long after Rose doused their candles and drifted off to sleep in her bed. He turned the coin over in his hand. Stronger than my dagger, my cloak, or even Ninathril? Gus closed his fist around the circling, then tucked it into his pocket. It must be dangerous.
The Mysterium shared a hearty breakfast of crab legs, porridge, buttered rolls, and goat cheese. Then, the dwarven couple escorted their friends out the door. They stood on the street beneath the glow of an oil lamp. “Are you going to try it?” Skiggi asked as he shook Gus’ hand. “I’ll flip the damned thing!”
Gus chuckled. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t swipe Inigo’s other coins!” Skiggi shook his head, causing the beads in his braids to jingle. “Ah, well. You win some and lose some.”
Dori hugged Rose, hiding one hand behind her back. When they parted, Dori revealed her hidden hand and lifted a rectangle of folded white cloth. “For me?” Rose asked. Dori wiped away a tear with her free hand. She allowed Rose to take the folded fabric and watched her open it. Rose held a brass hand mirror inlaid with a line of silver around its reflective surface. “Oh!” Rose smiled. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.” Rose hugged Dori again, then embraced Skiggi, too. She pulled a small but swollen coin purse from her sleeve and tossed it to Dori, who caught it. “Stay safe.”
“Farewell,” Gus offered. They walked away side by side, turning toward the west, following the city streets. He and Rose departed Eirgo on a path leading into Florentina’s forest, climbing toward the island's heart beneath a canopy of leafless deciduous branches intermingled with brown cedars and green pines. Tropical varieties grew on the island's southern half, but the vegetation appeared more familiar here than expected. They turned away from the dirt road a few miles into the forest, heading straight for the City of Chios, awaiting them on the island's northernmost point.
“I should’ve stayed in Eirgo,” Rose said as she pushed through tangled branches and thick brown vines. “I need another bath.”
“They have steam houses in Chios, too,” Gus assured. He led the charge through the thicket, slicing vines with his dagger and clearing a trail. “But, for right now, we need to keep moving.” They battled uphill until cresting a long knoll. Descending its northern slope, they stumbled upon a small spring trickling amongst a grove of ancient oaks, cutting a shallow ditch through the forest floor. Augustus set his knapsack next to a stream-side boulder. “Let’s gather wood for a fire.”
“If you build a fire, then I’ll fix a stew,” Rose said. “I’m hungry.”
“Deal,” Gus said. He marched a few paces from the clearing, where a toppled beech lay in a mess of shattered limbs. Gus snapped off a few and broke them into arm-length pieces of fuel. He returned with an armload and struck a flame with his flint as Rose chopped vegetables with a dagger. “Do you truly believe the coin is more powerful than Ninathril?”
Rose looked up from her dicing and met Gus’ eyes. “I didn’t understand either until I felt it. I tried to put it into words, but I’m unsure I could do it justice. There’s so much about my powers that I don’t understand.”
Gus stood up from his budding flame. “We should look into that after I deliver the sword.”
Rose smiled. “When are you going to test the coin?”
“I’m not sure that I will.” Augustus gathered a few more armloads of fuel while Rose mixed the stew into a little iron pot and heated it to a bubbling boil. By dark, the pair sat next to each other by the roaring flame, enjoying a fresh stew of soft vegetables. “I am curious, though. I wish there were a way to discover its magic.”
Rose sipped broth from a brass spoon. She then swallowed a heap of potato and onion dice. “A true elf may know.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Gus said. He shoveled the stew into his mouth. Its savory promise held, but it was a bit too stiff with salt. He turned and grabbed his water flask, sitting next to his knapsack. After a long draw of spring water, he braved another bite. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Gus retrieved the golden coin from his pocket. “What are the odds?”
“Of what?” Rose cocked an eyebrow.
“Whether I survive,” Gus said. “I’ve risked my life dozens of times before, so why is this so difficult?”
“And yet, you’re not a gambling man.” Rose set her stew on the ground and snatched the coin from Gus’ hand. He was too slow to stop her. Gold glittered in the firelight as the coin tumbled end over end, falling. Gus reached out and grabbed the coin before it landed. He locked eyes with Rose, who grinned impishly. “Well?”
Augustus glowered. His fist unfolded to reveal a set of golden doors. The coin shimmered. It evaporated into a purple mist, then folded in on itself and floated over their campfire to the edge of light and darkness. It expanded, forming a pair of giant golden doors with long handles engraved with sparkling leaves and twirling vines. Gus shared a bewildered glance with Rose. He stood and walked to the doors. “Gus!” He spun. “Be careful!” Augustus nodded, then wrapped his hand around the door’s handle and pulled it open. The door moved soundlessly. Steam rolled through the opening and onto the forest floor, then rose into the air beside the smoke of their campfire.
Gus looked into a door-sized portal to a tiled room containing stone pools filled with steaming water. “A steam house?”
“What?” Rose stood up. She stepped toward the strange doorway.
“You wanted another bath, didn’t you?” Gus asked. “And you flipped the coin. That must be how it works! It takes you to where you most want to go!” Gus reached for the doorway with a trembling hand, then stopped. “There’s no reason to go back.”
“Not even for a few minutes?” Rose asked. The steam house flickered into a black void and reappeared, but the golden doors no longer gleamed. They burned dull, slowly fading into the shadows of night.
“It’s getting weaker,” Gus said.
The doorway evaporated into a purple mist, then scattered into the wind. Augustus searched the ground for his coin, walking around where Rose and he had sat by the fire and to the edge of camp where the doorway appeared. He dug through the grass and turned over every stone. Gus checked his pockets. “It’s gone!”
Rose turned over their bedding and shook out their blankets. “Maybe you can only use it once?” She threw Gus’ blanket to the ground and shrugged. “Well, now we know.”
“Do you have it?” Gus asked.
“No, Gus. I don’t have your magic coin.” Rose spread her blanket over her bedroll, sat on it, and picked up her stew.
Gus placed his hands on his hips. “Damnit.” He returned to his seat in the dirt beside Rose, took a swig from his flask, and then picked up his bowl of stew. “Why did you toss it?” Rose shoveled a spoonful of stew into her mouth. His hands still trembled. He could not feel the magic’s energy like Rose, but being near such powers and possibilities still left him bewildered. Gus finished his stew. He set his bowl aside, placed a few branches on the fire, and found his bedding. Thick wool blankets helped combat the frigid air, but coldness crept up like roots from below. He shivered. Thankfully, Rose stoked the fire before heading to bed as well. A feverish chill settled into his bones. The shakes worsened. Gus tossed and turned under his blanket. He reached for his flask, and the pure waters quenched his thirst, but they could not cure the sickness taking hold.
Gus’ stomach tumbled under his skin. Sweat drenched his clothing. He rolled out of his blankets and welcomed the cold air. He crawled. Then, the vomiting began.
Daylight offered little comfort. Icy gales flayed him, scrubbing his skin clean of sensation, but the fire within ravaged his stomach. He ran through the forest, both hunter and prey. A faceless monster chased him. His heart galloped. He stumbled like a babe, tripping over roots and tumbling down hillsides. He lay on his back, looking at a pale blue sky. Oak leaves formed shriveled silhouettes on low-hanging limbs, their interlocked canopy of branches loomed high. Gus gagged. He rolled over and released a torrent of yellow bile. Arm wedged on a leg, he lifted himself into a kneeling position and dry heaved, his throat burning.
Gus wiped his mouth with his sleeve. What happened? Rose was nowhere to be seen, nor was her backpack and bedroll. Where is she? He crawled on hands and knees, fumbling around for his water flask, and found it lying in a pile of leaves and twisted blankets. He brought the flask to his lips but stopped short. She ate the stew.
Gus threw the flask to the ground and stumbled toward the red embers of their dying fire. He searched for his gear, but everything was gone: Animiki’s Talon, the Retaliating Rapier, Ninathril, and his cloak.
Gone.
How big a fool can one man be?