Smells flashed under Prime’s noses, over her scales, around her gills, across her beaks. Each held significance, from the “home” smell of sweat and musk through the comfort of liganberry puddings to the successes and failures wrapped up in the scent of blood and shit. Disjointed from the smells came faces, body shapes, scale patterns, and names. Tactile sensations also flitted by, but they were muted, and sounds might as well have been pantomimes for all that they registered.
Gradually, the flashes lengthen to include movements and those movements began to draw the disparate parts together, creating tableaus at first, which became scenes. Scenes connected and became minor narratives, revealing the stories of lives great and small. Thousands of rats and fish lives passed like blips, with the occasional cat, dog, bird, snake, and lizard. Those were simple for Prime to parse and set aside.
Then came the children. Few of those who had served as cabin boys on the Hip Shot had begun from happy homes and circumstances, and fewer still survived to reach adulthood. The children of the Hip Shot’s victims nearly all shared the same fate that Captain Ruthless had visited upon N’Kieran. As far as Prime could tell, for at least as long as the captured core had been bound to the Hip Shot, Captain Ruthless really had ensured there were no survivors to levy accusations of piracy at him. Not all of them had died so swiftly, though.
When she roused from torpor, she felt Aide hovering, concerning radiating through their bond.
«Are you okay?» they asked.
Prime turned the weight of her attention to her partner. The nightmares that the pirates had inflicted upon their victims hadn’t been good by any definition. They also hadn’t been to the levels of the Horror Worlds.
«Prime?» Aide prodded, making Prime realize that her partner was seeking reassurance.
She debated for a moment, then asked, «How much did we get through?»
«All the sub-sapient memory fragments, maybe 15% of what’s gunking up around our core,» Aide quickly shared.
«And you’re nervous, why?» Prime asked.
Aide slowly admitted, «You triggered Mental Resistance in our Soul Space, and Hyper Processing.»
Those were both resource intensive Perks. «How much do we need to cultivate to replenish ourselves?»
«Let’s not die for at least a decade,» Aide non-answered.
Prime considered that for a moment. «Does that include the use of Bullet Time, too?»
«Well, yes?» Aide felt like they were asking why it wouldn’t.
«And we have a significant amount of sapient memories still to process? Is that factored into your “don’t die” analysis?”
Aide pushed back. «I don’t think you should do that again.»
«Then we need to come up with a different way to clean out the memories, because those have to be kept out of our constructs,» Prime declared.
Aide grumped, «I don’t see why.»
«Ask our Storyteller what happens when personalities hold onto memories as those materia cycle through a Story World. Ask where Breakers spawn. Hells bells, review our own “save the story” assignments! Deja vu is a bad thing to let accumulate.»
Aide insisted, «Memories shouldn’t matter that much!»
«Where does Purpose begin?» Prime asked, trying a different tactic.
«No one’s proven anything!» her partner hotly asserted. «It’s no reason for you to put yourself through this!»
«Then come up with another way,» Prime told him. «Because one way or another, we will have to deal with that problem. Either our constructs will remember things that push the PLOT to throw Halos on us, or they will corrupt our core body with thousands upon millions of conflicting reactions if we don’t deal with the memories. If you don’t want me to have to sort the mire, come up with a better solution. Now, how long was I down?»
«Just an evening. The slave trader was roused enough for his hirelings to bear witness to him trialed for mutiny, and his hanging death pulled you out of torpor. It also was mostly wasted since you weren’t active in the core to direct the spillage.»
Prime mentally blinked, then felt like face palming. «The core is my body in this incarnation, not ours. Odd-balls, that’s why you’ve been saying all the building is my job. It’s the Role!»
«You’re just realizing this?» Aide asked, dubious.
That got a chuckle from Prime. «How much cultivating have I been doing? Using the core feels so much like puppeting a clone on a Cultivation World that I haven’t had the visceral sensation of incarnating.»
«Well, fine. You should at least reset the dungeon and maybe get more stores for our second floor guests,» Aide prompted.
«Right. And what’s A’Ferun doing with the slaves that were still penned up?» Prime asked.
----------------------------------------
Captain desh Shalante hurried over to the Light of Volmar to witness Rupear Big Nose’s trial and hanging. A’Ferun kept a weather eye upon the man, but he made no protests when Big Nose confirmed under Acting Captain Goryven’s Truth Compulsion that A’Ferun had pressed him to turn back before the second hireling’s death. That was enough to hold him responsible for the death, regardless whether that had been an order or just, as he tried to argue, a question if he was “ready”.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The Scholar Mages watched on with solemn faces, and it didn’t take a Scholar to recognize their own dissatisfaction with the liberties Lusfal’s maritime laws afforded their nobles, liberties that A’Ferun would normally have disdained.
After the guilty verdict was affirmed by the ship’s officers, A’Ferun sent Kinser off to secure Big Nose’s assets, especially his contracts, and ordered the two surviving hirelings to remain to watch the sentencing and subsequent hanging. When he finally released everyon to return to their business, the Wave Breaker’s Captain requested a private word with the stone faced A’Ferun.
A’Ferun had no reason to deny him and a deep curiosity over what the captain intended. Through A’Ferun was technically the highest ranked person between the two ships and the man the captain worked for, the cadets serving as the Light of Volmar’s officers had come from the Wave Breaker. The Captain’s influence was not to be underestimated.
When the cadet acting as Kinser’s Under Steward served the brandy, Captain desh Shalante barely waited for them to be private before commenting, “Your bondsman is unwell?”
“Occupied with other duties, through I appreciate your concern for Kinser’s health. You wished to speak?”
“Is your despite of the slave trade so great you had to execute one our passengers over it?” the captain asked, his provoking words at odds with his neutral tone.
“Captain desh Shalante, it was not despite for slavery that earned Merchant Rupear a rope necklace. It was his despite for sapient lives. Were you aware that he provoked a challenge under the Coward’s Law?” A’Ferun was reasonably certain desh Shalante did know that, confirmed by the man’s pursed lips and flat expression, quickly schooled back to neutrality.
“That being as it may, we are still left with the need to dispose of the slaves—,” Captain desh Shalante began.
A’Ferun cut him off. “Part of what Kinser is doing is ascertaining what contracts Merchant Rupear Big Nose had for the slaves so we know who, if anyone, needs to be notified of the ten he lost in the Volmar Dungeon.”
“He contracted to have the slaves sent to Pimarantan,” the captain pointed out.
“And I recall you arguing that the contract shouldn’t be canceled because he paid in advance, so the greater loss for you would be in having to complete the contract, wouldn’t it?” A’Ferun pointed out.
“Which might be offset for a handling fee, seeing as their handler is unable to complete the transit,” Captain desh Shalante rejoined.
“That depends on the contracts,” A Ferun stated.
There wasn’t much more Captain desh Shalante could say to that, so instead he politely insisted, “You will keep me informed?”
“Naturally,” A’Ferun told the man.
----------------------------------------
After sending Captain desh Shalante back to his ship, A’Ferun searched out Kinser. His bondsman was at the Steward’s desk, studying the recently executed Merchant Rupear Big Nose’s contracts box.
“What is there of note so far?” A’Ferun asked.
“Spell traces on the box. If the Scholars could be trusted, I’d want Scholar Ep’hram to check it before I open it. Otherwise, he had a box of simple charms, most of low quality, but an uncommon quantity. I haven’t searched through that box yet, but I’m concerned the man was smuggling something in there. There were only coins in his money box, and I found no other stashes of goods within his cabin.” Kinser made his report while still studying the contracts box.
“I think the execution has made them too wary of my temper,” A’Ferun said, grimacing at the consequences of the slaver’s necessary death.
“Circumstances have certainly made things difficult,” Kinser agreed. “Do you want me to attempt the opening?”
A’Ferun debated for a moment, and listened to his gut. His instincts rarely led him wrongly, and they urged him now not to trust the Scholars with all of his secrets. “Do so,” he ordered.
Kinser used the merchant’s keys to unlock the contracts box, but he jiggled the key according to an odd rhythm. In fact, the other keys on the ring jangled together in a familiar labor song’s tune.
The lid opened with a mild glow that gently faded to nothing.
“I think that was fine,” Kinser offered, his tone uncertain, even as he lifted the lid.
On top of the stack of contracts sat a scrying mirror.
“Well, shit,” A’Ferun sighed.
“It might not be that bad,” Kinser said. “Maybe he didn’t get a message out.”
A’Ferun didn’t say anything.
Kinser moved the mirror to the side and laid it face down on the desk. He then pulled out the contracts and began to read through them.
After several minutes of sorting the documents, Kinser reported, “These are all proof of origin for the slaves. They’re all certified as war slaves. There’s a letter of intent with the Pimarant Clearing Guild, but no contract for delivery.”
“Then we’ll just need to get a writ confirming the seizure of the slaves when we get into port. We’ll also need to get them properly manumitted once the seizure is confirmed. That leaves what to do with the ones that N’Kieran’s already freed. I’m not even sure what legal wrangling may apply to them.”
“Lord,” Kinser spoke up with a soft voice. It was the tone he took when he didn’t really want to say something, but still felt obliged to speak. A’Ferun looked at his bondsman, almost dreading what the man would say, but Kinser didn’t look up from the documents he had removed from the contracts box.
“Yes,” A’Ferun prompted.
Kinser visibly swallowed, fortified himself with a deep breath, and then asked, “Will the Lady be able to travel once we make port? If we do take her back to the Idahl, even if she weren’t so very … changed, will she have ever be free? And, well, now, can you honestly say that the Idahl would let her leave Lus’Idahl?”
A’Ferun sat down. He looked at the documents, not really seeing them as he contemplated those hard questions.
“We need to make port, and we were going to hire a new crew anyhow,” he said.
Kinser’s expression soured, though he tried to look calm.
“You don’t want us to keep on sailing, do you?” he asked.
“I think your father would be very disappointed in you,” Kinser said.
A fierce grin sharpened A’Ferun’s features. “Then we change course and sail to Hiraltan. The crew we pick up there will be far more likely to be loyal, and getting the writ will be less bothersome. The slaves were the only cargo loaded onto the Light of Volmar; desh Shalante will be obliged by contract to continue on to Evanshold. We’ll make arrangements as needed, and we’re in a better position to equip the Light for air travel out of Hiraltan’s port.”
Kinser blinked at A’Ferun. “And we’ll justify the change in course how?”
“You’ll use your own scrying token to report to my father, and he’ll order us to Hiraltan,” A’Ferun said.
Kinser flushed. “You, ah, know about that?”
A’Ferun gave his bondsman a droll look. “My father isn’t stupid.”
----------------------------------------
Captain desh Shalante did not take the news of the separation well, but Kinser’s oath under the same Truth Ward that had convicted the slaver merchant meant he had no recourse. The orders of a city lord held greater sway than a city clan heir, and that same city clan heir outranked the captain he had hired. The slavers surviving hirelings were given the option to transfer to the Wave Breaker and continue to the city their passage had been booked for, or to remain on the Light of Volmar and sail down to Hiraltan. They opted for continuing to Evanshold.
Captain desh Shalante did request a change of crew, which A’Ferun saw no need to refuse. It was to his benefit that the men most loyal to the captain went with him, but that did leave the Light with a very green crew. After all the crew were switched, they changed course, angling more severely southward.