Chapter 18

“Facing a dragon might have been preferable,” Carrack thought ruefully. Franzen’s intimidating figure soon dominated his vision. Every step the man took resonated with power and purpose, his imposing frame seeming almost impervious to the storm’s fury. Stopping just short of Carrack, he regarded him with a piercing gaze that felt nearly tangible in its intensity.

A momentary flicker of Franzen’s eyes toward the warehouse betrayed a hint of calculation before they fixated back on Carrack. “It appears we’ve come to a misunderstanding.”

Carrack stiffened, his voice taking on a frosty edge. “A misunderstanding, indeed. But perhaps one we can still rectify.”

Franzen’s chuckle was devoid of humor. “Rectify? After all this? People lie dead because of your actions.”

“We’re alone, Franzen,” Carrack countered sharply, sensing Franzen’s ploy for any onlookers. “Save your theatrics. I saw your ghouls carrying off many of these people’s loved ones.”

A grunt escaped Franzen as he looked back to ensure the crowd was indeed out of earshot. “Point taken. So, we’re merely talking business. About our deals and how you reneged on them.”

“Slightly oversimplified,” Carrack retorted.

Franzen raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find it quite clear. Here you are, causing chaos and reneging on—”

“This was the action of one of my men,” Carrack interjected, motioning to himself. “I arrived after hearing about it.”

“So, you’ve lost control of your men? That’s disconcerting.”

“No!” Carrack denied emphatically. “We’re not there, not yet. One man took the initiative, misguided as it was.”

“Your second-in-command, Foeham?” Franzen inquired, his voice a blend of curiosity and irritation.

Carrack nodded. “He likely heard some rumor and felt compelled to investigate.”

“Hm, a rumor,” Franzen mused, stroking his chin. “I’ll need to investigate this myself. Can’t have loose tongues wagging.”

“Indeed, heaven forbid the truth about your stew surfaces.”

Franzen’s glare hardened. “And heaven forbid these rumors also include your role in the existence of this warehouse full of food.” He gestured toward the storm-darkened dock, where faint traces of the earlier violence were still visible despite the relentless rain. “Regardless, people have died. There must be accountability.”

“Accountability? To whom?” Carrack shot back.

“The people, these individuals right here. They’re angry. Angry about the rationing, about the violence.”

“You orchestrated this! You mobilized this mob!”

Franzen lifted his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence and shook his head. “I can’t take credit for this. This is a grassroots uprising in its purest form.”

“Bullshit!”

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“Carrack, listen to me. I arrived here after hearing about the incident. I sent my people to collect, but they retreated when they saw the mob. Now, I only have influence over this crowd because I promised them justice for the massacre.”

Carrack wiped the rain off his face, his mind working rapidly to understand the full extent of the situation. Amidst the storm, he heard a faint thud from behind. The sound reminded him of the ominous presence from his dreams. He turned to see the empty warehouse at the end of the dock, devoid of any signs of life. Carrack prayed his people were safe, but the relentless water churning at the side of the dock suggested otherwise. He needed to buy more time. But how much? That was the question.

Carrack secured his rifle to his back and reached under his cloak, revealing the incendiary grenade, and keeping his hand on the pin. Franzen stepped back at the sight of it, and Carrack did the same, ready for an attempt to seize it.

“One of my men was insightful enough to bring enough of these to destroy a city block. I thought they might be more useful here.”

“Useful how?” Franzen asked, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “Suicide? A martyr’s end? What would that accomplish?”

“For me, I’d finally be warm. But I was considering the impact of a fire on this wooden dock.”

“Your isolation must be damaging your mind. Look around! The rain has drenched everything. What could you hope to set aflame?”

“Nothing here, but if I pull this pin, causing a flash, my men inside will light their grenades, and burn the entire warehouse—destroying the food that gives your teamsters their control over the people.”

“Are you planning to die in a blaze of glory?”

“We can swim.”

Franzen raised an eyebrow. “Then what? The people will be more desperate, angrier. I’ll lose my influence, and the ability to maintain order. What then?”

Carrack fell silent.

“Haven’t considered that, have you?” Franzen continued. “Unless you plan to hide in your fortress while the island turns against you. It wouldn’t be long before every able body takes up arms to storm your stronghold.” He smirked before saying, “Perhaps that’s your plan. With fewer mouths to feed, your food supplies might last. Or maybe your witch isn’t producing enough food, maybe you’re low on supplies …which is why you sent your men here.”

Carrack shook his head vehemently. “This was all a colossal misunderstanding, not a—”

“I find it difficult to believe that you weren’t aware of your second-in-command’s actions. If that’s true, you’re a failure as a leader and have no more control over your men than a drunkard over a slick eel!”

Another thud reverberated in the distance. Carrack shot a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the familiar sight of the warehouse at the end of the dock. “What the hell,” he muttered under his breath.

“My lord, I’m still waiting for an answer. What is your end game here?” Franzen’s voice grew louder and angrier, stoking the restlessness of the crowd to a simmering frenzy.

Another thud echoed ominously, closer this time.

Dammit, Carrack cursed internally as the air around him seemed to grow dense and brisk. Breaths became heavier, and his hands began to tremble. Franzen, once just a man, now appeared a looming giant, his silhouette seeming to grow with the mounting hysteria of the crowd.

Thud.

Carrack’s own voice felt muted to his ears, lost amidst the cacophony of wind, rain, indistinct shouts, and those increasingly insistent thuds. His instincts blared alarm signals, recognizing the aggressive look in Franzen’s eyes. Tension wound tightly within him, bracing for an impending confrontation.

Thud.

The pounding noise was louder, closer, morphing into something akin to a beast’s footsteps in Carrack’s fear-addled mind. He tried to focus, tried to speak, but he could hardly hear his own voice over the relentless thuds. He felt an unsettling sensation, like someone or something sighed a deep, hot breath onto the back of his neck. In a reflexive fright, he whirled around, yet found nothing behind him. He barely registered Franzen’s iron grip on his forearm until it was too late. Carrack instinctively jerked away, but Franzen’s grip didn’t falter. Instead, the sudden movement triggered the inevitable—the pin separated from the grenade.

Carrack had heard tales of time slowing during critical moments. It was a myth. Catastrophe struck without warning, leaving scant room for reaction. The grenade slipped from his grasp, hitting the wet wood of the dock with a dull thud. It didn’t skitter or roll, simply lay ominously still.

A spark of clarity suggested he should run, kick the deadly device into the water. But clarity had no place in this chaos. Acting on pure instinct, Carrack lashed out, kicking it and sent the grenade skidding towards Franzen and the roiling crowd beyond.

Heart pounding, he spun and sprinted toward the warehouse, the impending detonation hot on his heels.