Chapter 12

[Xylokastro, “Terra Nullius”]

[2:25 PM]

Lucas can’t get the image out of his mind, a stallion with fire in its eyes, scaling the rocky slopes to his right. Adding to the saddle two adults and a toddler makes the idea ever more stupefying. But this quest has presented more baffling situations. Lucas is no closer to figuring out how a replica body of Dalton came to be. He is no closer to piecing together the sequence of events that led up to Noah’s incapacitation. A uniquely powerful horse seems benign in comparison. And the factor that relates all three of these mysteries is an obscure fruit.

“It won’t be long before we reach Corinth.” He looks ahead and eyes the city of Corinth across the water. The road curves around the coast and leads into it. “We’re about ninety minutes away.”

“Alright. How long, do you think, before we catch up to Homer?”

Lucas looks again to his right, an attempt to work up the nerve to divulge his theory. “I’m not sure.”

Wren, not expecting this manner of response, presses further. “It must be soon, right? Like you said: his horse will have to stop and rest.”

“To be honest, we should have reached him much earlier. I don’t know why we haven’t seen him.”

“We’ve been passing villages all this time. He could be hiding in any one of them.” Wren reasons.

“If so, he'll be found sooner or later. Once Patras gathers enough of its soldiers and sweeps the surrounding territory, they’d find him. He needs long-term asylum somewhere.”

“Do you have any better theories?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since we passed the border. The soldiers may not have seen Homer pass because he didn’t use the main road.”

“They can see down to the shore from the guard tower. If he passed anywhere between the border gate and the sea, he would have been spotted.”

“Yes, but there must be some blind spots in the terrain south of the gate.”

“Maybe, but how would Homer plus his wife and toddler have ridden through those mountains on horseback?”

“I know nothing about the fruit he’s carrying except that it somehow caused the oddities at Agios and Drepano. You have more experience. Do you think it’s outlandish to speculate that Homer fed his horse one of the fruits?”

Wren is silent long enough for Lucas to continue.

“It may be that the horse’s physical capabilities were enhanced, allowing it to gallop tirelessly through mountainous terrain.” Again, Wren is silent. Lucas attempts to get a response out of her. “You know more about the fruit than I do. What do you think?”

“I guess it’s possible.” The cadence of her voice gives the impression that she too is only making an educated guess. Lucas is correct, Wren has had more experience with their mysterious macguffin than he has, but only marginally so. “Which isn’t saying much. My clearance at the palace wasn’t high enough to let me in on their research.”

“Have you ever interacted with it? Directly or indirectly? Anything that might help us piece together what exactly it does?” In part, Lucas expects to be shut down by confidentiality, denied some information that the Court keeps behind lock and key. Wren’s answer, which comes after a bit of silence, is entirely the opposite.

“Yes.” Wren looks into the distance ahead, recalling the day of her induction nearly a month ago. With reluctance, she continues. “All members of the Royal Guard are inducted into service with a ceremony. Mine was nearly two months ago. Inductees drink an elixir.”

Wren stops, seeing Lucas’ reaction. A chill runs down his spine and his head lowers slightly. She can’t see his face, but it isn’t difficult to imagine his expression. It isn’t one of fear or shock, but a slowly growing sense of danger. Wren continues.

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“From what I’ve seen of the fruit and the short glimpses into the labs where the research is done, I do think that they use it to make the elixir.”

She expects Lucas to respond with something along the lines of: “Why wait until now to bring that up?” But he gives himself sufficient time to think before speaking. His sense of danger subsides and he begins thinking more clearly.

“If it’s been that long, I think it’s safe to say you won’t see any effects. Honestly, we don’t know enough to make any solid conclusions. Our only lead is that Homer is going to Athens.”

“And even that is anecdotal. I think we’ll find him there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t and this mission is a failure.”

“Maybe I should have asked for a cut of the reward upfront. Speaking of which, if the Court can pay me so much, why not hire one of their regulars? There are better bounty hunters than I around here.”

“I can’t say. You’re right, they do have other contractors on their list of regulars. One in particular has a perfect track record of successful assassinations. My best guess is that they want to test you for future work. But they’re taking a gamble, using such a sensitive task.”

“Where’s this ‘perfect’ assassin now?”

Wren takes a notable pause. “You know, I’m not sure. Part of my duties is to keep track of all higher-level personnel. His name is Armin Fuchs. I usually know where he is, but his current mission didn’t show up on the records. He went dark a week ago.”

Lucas makes an effort to hold back a chuckle. Knowing that the Court is in such dire straits brings a mischievous joy to his heart. “What poor timing.”

Wren forces herself to mimic Lucas’ inflection. The otherwise chilling tone of her next words is replaced by feigned merrymaking. “Yes, poor timing.”

[Corinth, Corinthum-Dimokratia]

[4:15 PM]

The city of Corinth becomes visible not far ahead, a signal that Lucas should deactivate the motor and slow down. While doing this, their last border interaction comes to mind.

“Did we cross a border check?” He asks, turning to check the road behind them.

“Corinthum is a Demarchy that doesn’t fortify its borders. Their defense is a voluntary militia.” Wren explains.

“Interesting.” He looks forward again.

Both Lucas and Wren sit up as the wheels beneath them slow to a crawl. Buildings on either side of the road become more frequent as they enter the city. Wren reaches into her backpack as they approach what looks like a drawbridge. The bicycle comes to a stop. Lucas looks left and right, following the deep, wide ravine below the bridge.

“This city owns the canal and the bridge. Wait here while I find the operator.” Wren retrieves some coins and dismounts the vehicle to the right. She doesn’t get far before a man approaches them from the left.

“Looking to cross?” He asks.

Wren turns towards him. “Yes. How much?”

“For two, it’d be —” He trails off and looks the two of them over. Then he starts up again. “Hey, are you two mercenaries?”

This time, Lucas takes it upon himself to answer. “No, just traveling.” His tone conveys a preference for the man to drop whatever he’s thinking. Regardless, he continues, motioning towards Wren with one hand and patting a shoulder with the other.

“I noticed your patch there. You’re Patrae. Listen, we’ve got—”

“Sir, like my partner said, we just want to cross.” Wren steps forward around the bicycle. “The Court would not appreciate this delay.”

“The Court can eat shit; I’m the Premier of this city. You aren’t crossing.” He spits back. In the interest of a good outcome, Wren holds back retaliation. The man composes himself and opens his arms a bit. “Lend us your services for a moment and you can go toll-free.”

Suddenly, Lucas chimes in again. “Alright, what’s the job?”

Wren turns her annoyance on him. “We don’t have time for this.”

“It’s fine.” He gets up and leans forward to whisper. “If it’s going to take longer than half an hour, we’ll force our way through and drop the bridge ourselves.”

“We can do that now.” She whispers back.

Lucas fully dismounts before continuing. “This might be related to Homer passing through. It’s worth a look.”

He’s already adjusted his satchel into an activity-ready position. Wren resigns, however bitterly. “He’s stalling,” She thinks to herself.

Lucas steps up to the Premier, whose hands are cupped in gladness, with his bicycle in tow. “What do you need?”

“Perfect.” He puts a hand out, which Lucas shakes. “Follow me, I’ve already got one man on the case.” He turns around and proceeds towards the city center. Lucas and Wren follow as he keeps talking. “We have a group of recurrent thieves hitting shops around the city. There are too many targets to protect with our meager militia. Somehow, they’re hitting all of the vulnerable ones. They pick locks, shatter windows, and break legs. I need you to track them down and bring them in.”

Wren leans towards Lucas. “That sounds like it’s going to take longer than thirty minutes.”

“Maybe. Let’s see what we’re working with.” He answers as the Premier continues.

“I’ve already got one hire on the job. Calls himself a manhunter. Just assist him however you can.”

They round a corner to see what looks like a ravaged storefront. What used to be a wall-tall window lies in pieces on the street. The display behind it is barren of what must have been jewelry. In front of it all stands a tall man crouched at the debris, a shard of glass in his hand. Wren slows her pace considerably, enough for Lucas to stop and turn. The Premier walks on, unaware.

“What is it?” Lucas asks, following her gaze towards the man in front of the break-in site.

She brings a hand to her chin as though in amazement at the sight ahead. “That’s Armin.”