CHAPTER 31 - Another Note from the Narrator
Their next stop will not be Atlantis.
ELSEWHERE...
While Lex, Tay, and Cannon all revel in their newfound family, and while Camp Trin starts the slow but steady process of recovery, let’s take a quick look at what’s happening elsewhere in the world.
Blades is pretty sick and tired of being held prisoner. He’s lost track of how long he’s been here for, and he’s lost track of how far from home his captors have taken him. Ever since they first caught him with a frustratingly simple trap (fuck them for using pie to lure him in, and fuck himself for falling for something so stupid), he’s been kicking himself. He knows that he’s stronger than the people who have been schlepping him up and down and all around, but they’ve got a tight enough leash on him that he’s not going anywhere. For now. As soon as he can, he’s breaking out of this place and he’s gonna rain hot hell down on everyone who’s done him wrong.
He just needs a little help. And, unfortunately for him, all of the other prisoners are just, so, fucking, stupid. They can barely talk. They probably can’t count. It’s a wonder that they’re able to eat their own food without having it mama birded into their mouths. He’s sick and tired of being held captive, but he’s almost more tired of being surrounded by idiot moron losers who can’t hold any modicum of an intelligent conversation. He’s tried asking a few of them for help, but they mostly just respond by either coming up with the intellectual equivalent of shitting themselves, or by literally shitting themselves. He’ll have to wait. He knows that someone is going to find him.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Someone in particular.
Someone he’s been looking for for a long, long time.
ELSEWHERE...
A massive fire roars on top of the ocean. Wooden beams collapse and canvas sheets immolate like tinder as the colossal ship burns away. Anyone on board who is unlucky enough to still be alive will not be for much longer. Sailors contemplate the pros and cons of burning or drowning. Whether they become ash or chum, neither one sounds terribly ideal. Some dive into the water, immediately becoming stricken with hypothermia. The lucky divers will be eaten whole by the monsters of the deep, and the unlucky ones will drift for a few days before succumbing to either cold or thirst. Those who stay on board will soon waft up into the heavens as clouds of soot and dust.
Thunder cracks behind the Slave of All Saints. Her crew raise the mainsail, catching the wind at an uncannily perfect angle to give them more speed than should be possible. The burning wreck soon becomes nothing more than a glowing spec on the horizon. They count their casualties and injuries, but they don’t spend very long doing it. Not a single member of their own crew was hurt in the raid. Their destructive meeting with the Bay Sunrise, whose crew has by now been largely lost to either fire or water, was overwhelmingly one sided.
Arlo “The Shade” Corrigan pushes open the doors to the captain’s quarters. He closes the door behind him. The captain, her short, black curls barely visible from under her cowboy hat, regards him as he enters. He gulps nervously. Bijou Toussaint goes by many names. Bijou Toussaint, for one. The Inferno. The Tempest. Soon, she hopes, The Juggernaut. Most people, though, know her as one of the Four Generals of Atlantis. She barely looks up at Arlo. “Any information?” she asks in a thick Hatian accent.
Arlo shakes his head. He respects his captain and has served under her for more than enough time for the two of them to have a good rapport, but he’d still be the first to admit that she scares the shit out of him. For good reason. It isn’t thanks to luck that their victory over the Bay Sunrise was so decisive, nor is it thanks to luck that they race through the waters of the world with unparalleled speed. It’s thanks to Bijou Toussaint. He gulps again, then shakes his head. “Same as we already knew. Hat was last seen around Lake Oswego. Headed north from there.”
Bijou closes her eyes and slowly takes in a deep breath through her nose. Finally, she opens them and leans her elbows on the desk in front of her. She raises both of palms so that they face the ceiling of the cramped room. On one palm, a small flame flickers and dances. On the other, a small gust of air visibly swirls into a small tornado. She stares at Arlo. “Then we sail north.”