It was cold but the oranges and yellows of the fading sky made it seem otherwise.

She watched the clouds race by. They rushed in one direction, while the ground she stood on went the other way. The ground was alive, beating. It breathed, it stretched, it yawned and sweat. Then, in the rarest of moments, it sang in a way that was beautiful and sad. A eulogy she thought. Most didn’t hear it and understandably so. The city was loud with its factories and pistons, crowds and criers. Sometimes she thought they didn’t want to hear it.

No, they insisted on selling their wares. Every so often she’d hear the sales pitches. Dresses! Spices! Parts! The very best fish!

She cocked her head as another thought occurred to her.

“What do mechanical whales eat?”

Bile lowered a brow at her. Lucy laughed. The three sat cross legged on the street side, their respective instruments attached to them in various fashions. Koto had her twynet tied to her back, Lucy balanced her flute on her lap and Bile spun her drum sticks between her fingers. A busy street bustled ahead of them.

“What now Ns. Cloudhead?” said Bile.

Koto turned to her companion, “If mechanization removes the need to eat. Then not eating makes sense, but what did they eat when they were not machines?”

“That,” said Bile, “That is a history lesson. Long one to. And by the crowds our wonderful crew is bringing for us today, I doubt we’ll have time to go over it.”

“Short version?” asked Koto.

Bile sighed, “Really Koto?”

“Ships perhaps? Or… or monstrous anchovies!”

Another sigh, “Alright, well here’s the short of it. A long long time ago our peoples lived on highlands that stretched over bottomless cliffs. In come a horde of hungry gigantic, land eating whales, and well we lost that land. Still a long time ago, some brave stupid soul thought it wise to live on said whales and they did and failed miserably when the whales went to mate or perform acrobatics. Imagine a city on whale’s back yea? Now imagine it turned upside down. Not pretty. But our ancestors were stubborn, so they kept at it. Built easy to repair houses, ways to keep airborn in any turning events, and entire systems to accommodate a moving home. Then mechanization happened…”

Lucy who had stayed quiet for some time, thought it best to enter then, “That’s the long part, Bile.”

“Not really. Whales no longer needed to mate, to eat, to flip, anything really. Our societies flourished, grew and kept growing. We had a few wars, in came the arbiter then no more wars. Done. Not long see?”

“So they eat rocks?” concluded Koto.

“Well not the rocks exactly, but all the nutritious living things that live inside of them,” explained Bile.

Koto imagined a country being eaten by a whale. It must have happened slowly. Like a disease the land knew it had, but could do nothing against, slowly surely letting itself fade into food. She wondered if nonliving things could get sick and unintentionally turned to Lucy who had been busy clearing out her flute.

It did not seem that they could. Disease was a fleshy thing after all. The only disease people spoke of those days were off the foreign soldiers. She fixed on a moving squadron just then. They were not far off from Lucy who sat to Koto’s side.

“Blue,” said Koto suddenly, “Like the man Tig wanted to see.”

“Blue? Where?” Bile leaned over her and started.

“What is it, Bile?” asked Lucy.

“Rat. The navy. Below landers. We best be making ourselves scarce, ladies.”

“That’s going to be hard,” said Koto calmly, her hand outstretched and pointing. “One of them is looking our way.”

…

Somehow she recognized them.

The smell that had conveniently converged to where they needed go split off here, and, following it, Gemjo found the three women that stunk most of it.

She sniffed audibly, giving the other two pause. Turns sped by hastily. The others hissed inquires at her but she only glared. Too late. Somehow they had noticed her first.

“They’re guarded,” she said softly. “But why?”

Franco pointed at them, looked at Gemjo, “Those three? The two full turn women and the half turn girl?”

Remy stepped ahead of Gemjo. “From the bathhouse,” she hushed.

“Aye the same,” confirmed the seawolf. She took steps, wading through the oncoming traffic. Franco and Remy followed closely.

One by one, the three they approached stood up. They had an air of suspicion about them. Well the full turns did. The half turn, or no turn, as Gemjo quickly recalled, was waving.

The other whispered questions into that girl’s still fleshy ears. Confused perhaps, the girl refused to answer. She stared at the seawolf who stared back and neared. Closer and closer. Gemjo parted her lips. An inward breath.

Then silence. A shot. Ringing. A thousand and one steps shifted to stops.

Breaths became confused, the panic audible. Somewhere close by a shot had been fired. Multiple in fact. And Gemjo’s acute senses numbed.

Franco stumbled in front of her, saying tihngs in low rumbles as he shook her. Turns brushed past.

Little by little sounds started to return to her. Amidst the screams and whistles of police, Franco’s mumbles slowly became words, “Gem. Gem! Hey!”

Gemjo snapped to, “What? Gunfire?”

“We don’t have time for this,” urged Remy ahead.

The three she smelled earlier had fled into an alley behind them. Remy was in pursuit.

“Oi Gem, did you sniff Tig on them?”

She nodded. He swore.

“Alright. Alright,” he said, calming. “We’ll have to catch them.”

“I’ll catch them,” said Gemjo.

“What?”

“Go after them with rich girl. I’ll meet you up ahead.”

The streets had nearly emptied now. Nearby, policemen dressed in black with red armbands directed turns out and away while more of them rushed into where the shots sounded.

Franco gave her a look, and she sighed at him. “Trust me,” she said, scanning for ways to run.

She found it not far from the alley. It was a smaller entry between two buildings. Franco nodded back at her, running off as she did. While he made down the alley, she rushed into the smaller one.

A few police saw the two’s mad start and called at them, but Gemjo kept forwards. She had run the alley and turned its corner by the time a single officer arrived at its mouth.

The path became a labyrinth. Alleys blurred into more cobbled paths with momentary breaks in residential areas. She closed of her senses. The sight of grimy roads, the sounds dogs barking and the cold touch of autumn, none of it mattered now. They were distractions. She sniffed between breaths. Tig’s smell was her sole concern and it was close.

Leaping over a crate, she stumbled around another corner and slammed shoulder first into frosted boards. The trail wavered in the time lost. She cursed her blunder as she made back to her path.

She ran again, faster this time.

The wider roads of Lion’s way fell haphazardly to the much smaller residential ones. Here, where the buildings were condensed and the cobble work broken, Gemjo found herself struggling to keep up with her opponent’s unyielding pace. Her steps became a mixture of splashes and taps. She swatted at low hanging clotheslines and dodged various half turns who crossed her path without warning. It seemed the streets were working against her. The pink dress she wore had gone heavy drenched as it was in the muddy waters.

Stumbling by another hard to make turn, she tried to rip the foot of her dress and cursed repeatedly when she noticed the smell falter.

She had hoped Franco and Remy would divert the three to her, but that relied on her being quick. Running in a dress, she realised bitterly, was not the best way to accomplish that. Worse, the dress would not tear cleanly. The seams where the fabric folded held the piece together tightly and resisted the sea wolves best efforts.

She snarled bitterly at the now awkward half torn thing and let her back slide against closest wooden wall until she was sitting.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The smell was nearly gone now. Even had she tossed aside the dress and run in her undergarments, and she was not inclined to, catching her surprisingly fast prey would be a challenge.

Thinking that, she saw a child giggling and running down the road with a gnarled black dog chasing her. She envied that dog. It needed neither clothes nor an awkward bipedal body to navigate the streets.

The girl and her dog vanished behind a skyline of fluttering clotheslines. There was one way, she realised, studying her steel palm as she drew her fingers inwards. Transformation. She had done it before on the border isles. But back then had been strange, an exception. She had not told the others how she had managed to shift or how she struggled when she tried to train it the day prior. Nothing had worked back then and she thought nothing would.

Then when Franco was taken out and the Professor leapt in to fight, Gemjo saw Tig focussed on the witch doctor. She remembered him murmuring how the spell could be dodged. He had no book in hand. He had no way to fight against the witch doctor and still he tried to find a way. Taking on losing battles was bad practice, yet there was always an idiot who tried to do it anyways. Lately she had met too many of those idiots. They were mice who bit at the ankles lions, slaves who pulled at their chains.

She touched her neck. Her still fleshy skin felt cold without her scarf. Cold just as she felt that night, right until she saw Tig mouthing the words ‘it can be dodged’. It was a sudden feeling, but she remembered it then as if it were the most important feeling in the world. Hot, up to her ears. A burning determination, a want. It was as if every part of her told her to protect the boy. Run now, sleep tomorrow.

And she obliged.

Gemjo stood, the ends of her steel fur bristling. Her eyes narrowed. She thought of the smell and what it meant rather than the physical sense of it. The smell led to those who had met Tig recently. The smell led to Tig.

Her transformation began. Leaning forwards, the steel of her body engulfed the rest of it. The coils that made her arms split apart, shimmered. They whipped over her clothes and from the gaps the coils left silver furs gushed out, covering her form. Her face stretched. Her butterfly ears melded into two pointed ones. And her back shifted and tensed as her bones rearranged under her silver coat.

She fell forwards onto two canine paws and her hind legs pushed back to her newfound weight. She sniffed the air with her angled snout and growled. Ahead, the girl and the dog had returned, but seeing Gemjo, they retreated behind a barrel, soon after peaking over a barrel as she could not see them.

Gemjo ignored them. She could smell the trail again. The form she took now had doubled her smelling and made her legs just as powerful. She wanted to move. Whipping her head in the direction of the smell, she did just that.

All across the lower residential streets of Jing Mon Ceros, turns bounded out the way of something fast and fierce. It blinded them in its silver brilliance. Those who saw it firsthand would report that they saw a silver blur and nothing more.

Gemjo finished a dozen streets and alleys as if they were nothing. The rush she felt was incredible. Cold air swept over her furs. The smell got stronger. She could taste it. Another corner and her mark was there.

The silver wolf leapt into an open space surrounded by tall wooden houses. She took steps, four at a time, as she circled what she saw standing in the middle of it. They had been focussed on the only other exit to the space. Remy and Franco stood there. She drew their attention with a growl. And then they saw her.

“We’re surrounded,” said one of the three, the woman who had bangs covering her tin face. “Great.”

The tallest one clapped her hand and nearly leapt in glee when she saw Gemjo, “You have a wolf!”

Franco smiled at Gemjo, “We have a wolf.”

“Can I pet it?” asked the tall woman

Gemjo shifted back to her seawolf form and spoke mid shift, “No.”

“A shapeshifter!” chirped Tall woman, glancing low behind Gemjo. “Kept the tail though. Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Hold on,” said the woman with black bangs. “You,” she continued, pointing at Remy. “Blue coat. We heard gunfire. I’ll be blunt with you, I don’t like hearing gunfire and seeing bluecoats at the same time. Hearing gunfire, seeing bluecoats, and being chased? Now that’s alarming.”

“We’re not with the navy.” said Franco.

“Why the blue coat then?” asked Bangs.

Remy spoke up before Gemjo could.

“Army.”

“Military, a foreign military. I lived long enough to know how these. Lucy with me. Koto do your thing.”

Within moments the two full turn women took open fighting poses, leaping from one foot to the other, while the half turn girl untied her twynet and started tuning it.

Franco took up a similar pose while Remy navigated the edges towards Gemjo.

The Seawolf backed up cautiously. The part of her that enjoyed the wolf transformation yearned for the fight, but the rest of her, her true self, wanted nothing more than a simple resolution. The three they cornered were not Mor’de’s men nor did they seem to be the criminal type. Talking was still an option.

“Wait,” said Gemjo. “Before we all punch each other silly, I suggest you lot listen. We’re not here to fight.”

“We’re not?” said Franco.

Gemjo shook her head, her paws rising beside her, “I just want to talk. About Tig.”

That got Tall Woman to lower her fists. “Tig?” she said, smiling. “Ah then you must be…”

Something buzzed in Gemjo’s satchel. It whirred and clicked a number of times as Gemjo searched for it madly. Then, just as she drew it from the bag, it started speaking in a mess of static.

“Gunfire in Lion’s Garden.” Gemjo flipped the device over and knocked on it a number of times. “I repeat Gunfire in Lion’s Garden. This is a free signal, requesting any back up available--”

Gemjo grimaced as she managed to shut the thing up. There were two issues with the report. One it was said in voice she recalled all too bitterly, that of Charles. And two, the guarded looks of the three that heard it.

“Ha,” laughed Gemjo, holding the box for the others to see. “This is not what it sounds like.”

“Koto,” said Bangs.

“Yes, Bile.”

Gemjo had no time negotiate. She dropped the box as Bile ran at her. Running along the edge of the space, Gemjo scarcely spotted Franco meeting the Tall woman in mid charge.

She heard punches, quick grunts, the splash of footwork, and strangely the strumming of a twynet. Her own opponent caught her with ease.

Gemjo ducked the first blow, but not the next. It connected low and hard. Several steps splashed as Gemjo struggled back for her balance, her hands covering her gut where the blow had landed.

Behind Bile, she saw Remy running to her.

“The gun!” cried Remy.

Gemjo looked to Bile, who narrowed her brows. Not good. Bile’s face zipped about Gemjo, looking for where she kept the weapon.

Bile was three-- maybe four steps away and had she known where the gun was, Gemjo was sure to lose it. The punches from the other fight grew flurried.

Sweat trickled down the seawolf’s head. Reaching for her weapon now would tell Bile where it was. And Remy, Remy was close.

Bile held out an arm, her head flicked to the side, “Stay back, bluecoat. You don’t seem the close combat type. Firearms? No. You would have fired if you were.”

Remy’s slowing steps ended with regretful glance at Gemjo.

Bile turned back to Gemjo, curious now. “No, you are firearms. But you don’t have your gun do you? She does.”

Gemjo took a step back. Bile grinned.

“Knew it,” said Bile. “A competition then. Who’s faster? You’re shooting or my moves?”

The seawolf took a step back, her opponent one forwards. The music that played from the twynet seemed to slow. The quick twangs of plucked string became low bursts.

Gemjo reached for the sash of her dress. Bile lunged.

With a single pull of the sash, the seawolf twirled out the dress and threw it at Bile, momentarily blocking her view.

The woman swat it aside, but flinched when she did. Something silver pounced from where the girl once stood.

They met in a feral embrace. The wolf snapped furiously at her neck and the woman kept it away by the will of her hands, locked with wolf’s own paws.

Bile’s feet rasped as the weight of the creature pushed her back. Further and further. Behind her, Remy made quick work to the fray, commanding Gemjo release the gun, her gun.

“I was right,” puffed Bile, flicking her eyes at Remy. “She’s your gunner. But it’ll do me no good should she get me. Koto!”

A sudden twang wrought the wolf’s attention to the girl with twynet. The ground shook. Then, in seconds frozen in ice, the pounding steps of Remy Le Ricci stopped splashing. And not just her. Franco’s steps to, even the Tall woman’s.

Gemjo pushed back Bile and balanced herself on her canine feet. Her snout flicked in one direction then the other. Sure enough, the puddles that dotted the space had vanished. No. Her snout lifted. The pools had moved.

All around small globules of water collected in midair.

“Koto’s magic that,” said Bile. “To control rain with music. Wonderful ability, eh?”

Gemjo glared at Bile. She wanted to remark just how wonderful it was to be against, but she found herself distracted by how the rain globules seemed to be taking shaft-like shapes. The stringing of the Twynet began again and the water transformations hastened.

From the way the still shifting shafts seemed to be turning to Gemjo, Remy and Franco, Gemjo knew she had to stop them.

Bile seemed to read her intention. She was upon Gemjo in a matter of steps, and Gemjo seeing the attack, met her head on.

Yet this time it was not a wolf that slammed into Bile, but an orca. The impact was audible, crushing. It sent Bile floundering, while the Gemjo turned to Koto midshift into a wolf.

Her run ended before it began. Cracking ice clutched at her paws. She glanced at Remy, saw ice at her feet. It seemed Koto had sacrificed one shaft to halt her attackers. More so for Gemjo since she was the greatest threat. And now, with a new shaft prepared from the remaining globules, Gemjo guessed it was only a matter of time. They were waiting for their execution.

The music tormented her. It was a sad rendition of ‘Give Thanks to Metal’. Every note, every sound that marked the famous lyrics seemed to bend the alien water to a more and more arrow like projectile.

Cursing under her breath, Gemjo realised there was only one way to forestall the watery shots. She needed shots of her own.

She shifted back into seawolf form, stood in the half a second that she had and flung her gun behind her. The ice ensnared her a moment later and she became a half-naked statue caught mid pose. She stood exposed, with nothing but a drab wrap and loincloth covering her.

But she did not care.

She heard the click of the gun first, the practiced cry for surrender second. Remy held Koto at gunpoint some seconds away. No watery arrow was faster than a bullet.

A little ways away, where the Tall woman had been pummeling a foot-frozen Franco, there was a halt. The woman looked to Koto. Bile staggered up and did the same.

“Nobody move. Break the spell,” said Remy. “We just want to talk.”

Koto’s fingers wavered from her instrument. Already, the other two had been considering the command. Gemjo could tell how important Koto was to them by that. In them she saw Tig standing against his brother in the Hungering City. It was his fault that what happened there happened, but even so, following the days she awoke, Franco only had praise for Tig’s action. That they would’ve died if not for Tig. She hated that sentiment. It was if she’d owed Tig something and no matter what she did to repay that debt, nothing worked. What these three had between them was different. Knowing the half-turn’s life was in imminent danger, they had seized all attempts of resisting. It wasn’t a debt to be repaid, no, it was Tig standing before his brother. It was instinct.

Then came the tapping. Gemjo snapped to Bile. She was cross-legged on the floor. Her drumsticks repeated a military tune on the cobblestone. A flute sounded in similar fashion and Gemjo noticed Tall woman playing one.

Remy waved her gun, annoyed, “I said nobody move.”

“We’re not attacking you,” laughed Bile. “Well least not yet.”

The shafts of water dissipated into a myriad of droplets. The droplets danced. They ebbed in and out in waves as if guided by the erratic drumbeat and the calm whistles of the flute. They raced and dribbled to the taps on the stone. And then, they coalesced around Koto in dome of water made manifest.

Bile continued, making cymbals out of stones, “There’s a thing bout magic and it’s true no matter where you’re from: anyone can learn it.”

The dome vaporized. Koto vanished. And Remy fired.

Moments passed as the echo of the gunshot replayed between the alleys. There was a stillness in the mist, an uneasiness in Gemjo. She smelled no blood nor heard no thump.

The mist swirled and Remy swerved her gun. Too late. Two arrows zipped at Remy. One hit her face and the other splashed her gun away. It clattered to the ground and out of reach.

Koto strung her Twynet once more, and the mist burst into a momentary rain.

Koto’s unassuming eyes ran from Remy clutching at her exposed mechanical eyes to Gemjo in her undergarments and stopped there. She cocked her head at the wolf of the sea, “You know Tig?”