ABOARD THE JEAN PIERRE

“You are brooding again.”

It was late afternoon as I leaned against the deck rail of the ‘Jean Pierre’, watching the trees and underbrush lining the shore pass the ship as we sailed by. I glanced over as Je’kyll and Mr. Stephens joined me. “I am not,” I replied, trying to feign conviction. “I was just thinking about New York.”

Je’kyll smiled as he took a spot beside me with his arms on the rail. “It was an experience, for sure.” My memories of the city were a blur of social engagements organized by Corneal, since New York ‘High Society’, as the papers called them, found themselves fascinated by the exotic nature of our expedition, the notoriety of the attempted kidnapping, and the escort by the now famous Union airship.

Three exhausting days later we boarded the Jean Pierre. Captain Lafitte took a route as far away from the Confederate coast as possible by using the Terramagica engine when the winds ran contrary to our path, and there had been no sighting of the ‘Wendy’s Revenge’, for which I was grateful.

My grandfather spent much of the trip resting in his cabin while Je’kyll spent his time with Mr. Stephens and Catherwood, who were interested in his life, and my three friends played dominoes with the crew, language being no barrier to their games. So, I sought out the company of others. Captain Lafitte enthralled me with his sea stories while giving me the basics of running a ship. Dame Kerry, faithfully taking the crystallized ginger that Je’kyll had found for her at an apothecary, worked with me on fighting hand to hand, while Rune had me practice shooting a rifle off the stern at the small illusions Catherwood created.

When he first broached the idea, I was surprised, thinking him no better with firearms than the Koncava. He laughed. ‘And how effective are swords against rifles at fifty yards, Ja?’ I laughed at myself with him, and took the opportunity to shoot as often as I could.

Then the Confederate privateer was sighted. A steamship, as the Confederate nation remained deeply suspicious of all magical technology, and though it kept its distance, the ship trailed us all the way to the Bay of Campeche. The Jean Pierre now hugged the Yucatecan coastline as closely as Captain Lafitte dared.

Je’kyll motioned towards the area we were about to pass by. A good sized space had been hacked out of the forest, and a large hut made of grayish-white stone, roofed in thatch, sat at the water’s edge, a rickety wooden dock with a dugout canoe tied to a post in front. A native man with black hair, dressed in a white tunic and trousers, stood at the edge of the dock with a machete in his fist. “If the things Naamah said to us in Edinburgh were true, and I for one have no reason to doubt her anymore, that could well have been you standing there.”

Leaning against the wooden rail on my other side, Mr. Stephens chuckled. “I highly doubt that. Shabaka would have been an important person in Campeche, living in a fine house somewhere in the city.”

He hesitated a few moments, as if weighing something in his mind, before continuing. “Jarl Aran confirmed what Naamah told us, both about your star-cells creating monsters and the mad monk’s prophecy, though she said it was not the old gods you would summon but the Lahebal, which means ghost or spirit in Eldarion-Maya. She called you the Tranka, which I believe she told us meant swinging gate, and said it was imperative that you remain in the Yucatan in order to prevent Lahebal Tup’ebal, or ‘The Extinction’.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “The extinction of what?”

“Everyone. Well, everyone except for the Maya and a few survivors who manage to hide, that is.”

My eyes widened as Je’kyll said in a sharp voice, “Mr. Stephens, Naamah was distraught and clearly suicidal, though it is my fault I did not realize it at the time.”

“How could you, or for that matter, how could I? Or Jonathan? The fault, if fault exists, lies with Shabaka, though to be fair, I do not believe he is to blame either. Naamah wanted to impress upon us what she believed to be the gravity of the situation and used her death to get the point across.”

My fear had reawakened, and though I wanted to deny what he was telling me, I had to know. “Sir, do you think there is any truth in what Naamah said about these spirits, or old gods?”

Mr. Stephens gave me an amused snort. “The very notion that one person could be the cause of the destruction of civilization and the death of almost everyone is absurd at best. Jonathan, Naamah was clearly delusional, and even though Jarl Aran did confirm that your star-cells cause changes in others except Eldarions and their half-blood daughters, the rest of what she said was their culture’s antiquated belief system and nothing more.”

“Is that why none of you told me about this? Because you thought she was being irrational?”

“No,” Je’kyll said, jumping in as his words grew harsh. “Shabaka made us swear not to say anything about this until he decided the time was right. Mr. Stephens had no right to go behind his back.”

I felt a flash of anger at my grandfather, quickly replaced by guilt as Mr. Stephens stood up straight. “I understand that Shabaka wants to protect his grandson. However, while I understand his reasons, his concealment of a potentially fatal heart condition is of great concern to me. What else is he hiding from us and more important, from Jonathan?” He motioned towards my chest. “What is Jon going to do when the one he depends on is no longer with us? Yes, I swore the same oath you did, but now I feel the circumstances have changed. Jonathan needs to learn how to defend himself.”

Je’kyll’s expression had become guilty as well as he and I both stood up straight. “I agree,” he said, making a conciliatory gesture with his hand. “Yet I was brought up by my father to always honor my sworn word. Mr. Stephens, since you are the closest thing to an expert on the Eldarion-Maya we have, may I ask you to explain more about them, so we might understand why someone, who had lived for a time in a more civilized part of the world, would still retain such absurd notions?”

“To the Maya, human and Eldarion alike, they are anything but absurd. Give me a moment.” Mr. Stephens reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a half smoked cigar, which he lit with a match. “Smoking always helps me order my thoughts. Now then,” blowing out a stream of smoke carried away by the wind, “while the Eldarion-Maya only live within the boundaries of their homeland, the Maya humans also live in areas controlled by the Mexican government. Which means they live in places rigidly controlled by the Catholic church. However, they still retain their beliefs by layering the worship of their gods underneath what Catholics call the ‘veneration of the saints’. So Chaac, the Lord of Storms, is Saint Michael, Ix-Chel, the goddess of the moon and of women, is the Blessed Virgin, and so on.”

“The Orku do the same,” Je’kyll said. “They never say much about it, even to half-bloods and especially not to me, but I do know that, when they are praying to a Catholic saint, in truth they are praying to something else altogether.”

“I do not wish to pry,” Mr. Stephens said, “so please feel free to abstain from answering my question, but why will the full blood Orku not say much about it? For that matter, how do full blood Orku feel about you in general?”

“Since you are asking in a quite civilized way, which I do thank you for, I will gladly answer. Unlike the Koncava, who despise their mixed race children, and the Eldarion, who treat theirs at best like stray cats, all the Orku treat us with respect. We are outsiders because of our human heritage and infertility, yet we possess the intelligence they lack and greatly admire. An Orku mother with a half-blood son is automatically looked up to by the rest of her clan.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Je’kyll,” I said, choosing my words with care, “this is indelicate, but why- I mean, Orku women are a bit, ah, plain.”

Je’kyll gave me a cynical smile. “There is a joke on the East-end that goes, ‘How many bags does it take to shag an Orku?’ Answer, three. Two over her head in case the first bag rips, and the last one over yours in case they both do.” I winced, and he clapped me lightly on the arm. “The reason is the same as to why men will mate with an Ogress: they do it for the money. An Orku extended family will often chip in to pay someone to service one of their female members, because the economic benefits far outweigh the costs.”

“Since we are discussing your people,” Catherwood said as he joined us, “I have a question. You and Jonathan’s half-Orku friends are on the proper side of society, you especially, yet many of those of mixed blood are not. The Londinium Times, which I admit has a great deal of bias against your people, says that the criminal organization known as, ‘The Family’, is recruiting half-Orku to be Punishers, the ones responsible for enforcing the gang’s rules. Yet, the Orku go along with these criminal elements without even a quibble.”

Je’kyll regarded the Eldarion with dark eyes. “First, you are speaking of human laws, human morality. Orku have their own culture and moral code, which is far different from the one imposed upon them, and is the reason they say nothing about their religion to anyone not full blooded Orku. They trust no one else and only go along with human laws in order not to be imprisoned or executed.”

“They obey the letter of the law,” I said, “but not the spirit.”

Je’kyll smiled at me. “More like they do not understand it. Second,” the smile leaving Je’kyll’s face, “is that someone of mixed blood, especially myself, has no people.” He reached up to put his hand on my shoulder. “Jonathan grew up with the other three half-bloods as his companions, and Drog tells me he has always treated full blooded Orku as people and not as chattel. He is a rare human and I hope he considers me a friend.”

“I have since the beginning of this voyage,” I replied, realizing it was true.

Je’kyll inclined his head before taking his hand off my shoulder and motioning at Catherwood. “Everyone else I have come across treats me much as you would an Ogre declaiming Shakespeare. Because of my education and intellect, I am accorded more respect than any other half-blood, yet I will never be considered a true person, regardless of my achievements.”

Catherwood met his gaze without flinching. “And the Orku?”

“Place me on a pedestal. Have you ever been placed on a pedestal by an entire race, sir? I can tell you without rancor that it is a lofty, yet lonely, perch. There is no lonelier place in all the world.” Before any of us could respond, his gesture became inviting. “Enough about me; I want to hear more about the people we are about to meet. Mr. Stephens, in your book, you mentioned an alcoholic drink named posh, which you once sampled. What was it like?”

“Think Eldarion summer wine but stronger,” Catherwood said. “Along with alcohol, posh also has Aethyr mixed into it. They use it for ceremonies, and when they need to raise someone’s affinity for Aethyr, like a human needing to be healed, for instance.”

“Interesting,” Je’kyll said. “Professor Alar once gave a lecture on the properties of Aethyr vapor, saying it can be distilled down into a liquid. I distinctly remember him saying it bonds with ordinary alcohol, but if you drink it, you have to be careful because it significantly lowers inhibitions.”

“Then please do not tell my grandfather.”

Je’kyll gave me a sympathetic look. “Hoping to avoid another lecture over your safety and moral character?”

I nodded. “It seems every time I turn around, I am getting another one. He was never this way before New York.”

“If I may venture a guess,” Mr. Stephens said, “I believe that incident with his heart badly frightened him.”

“Frightened him? My grandfather is not afraid of anything.”

“Jonathan,” Je’kyll said in a gentle voice, “everyone is afraid of something. Shabaka, from what Professor Alar told me, has always taken his strength, his ‘Black Lion of Londinium’ reputation, for granted. However, his heart almost giving out as it did has reminded him of his mortality, and that he will not always be there to protect you.”

“That’s where me and Rune come in,” Dame Kerry’s voice said. I turned in their direction as she and Rune stopped beside Catherwood. “Jon’s got nothing to worry about, because with us protecting him, his life’s gonna be an adventure.”

“What do you mean by that?” Je’kyll asked.

“Exactly what I said. Together, we’re gonna go after our enemies while he figures out just what his powers are and how they can help him.”

“My blood is cursed,” I said.

Dame Kerry snorted. “That’s Jarl Aran talking out his arse. You were born to conquer whatever you set your mind to and don’t you forget it.”

Mr. Stephens remarked, “Now you sound like Mr. Vanderbilt.”

In New York, Corneal had let his tongue run five steps in front of his brain by telling everyone on the expedition what Jarl Aran had said about me. But to make matters worse, he then went on about how the star-cells in my blood were not a curse but a blessing, and how I should begin teaming up with some Eldarions he knew to create monsters, tailor-made to suit my desires. Grandfather almost came to blows with him over his wild ideas.

Now, Dame Kerry said, “Well, why not? Dernhelm’s creatures always want to do whatever Dernhelm asks, which was what Sargon wants them to do, of course. But they only listen to Dernhelm.”

“What if doing so breaks down my moral code and changes me into what Professor Bella and the rest of her cult want me to become?” I put my hands on my hips. “I cannot afford to be tempted like that.”

Dame Kerry waved her hand like shooing away a fly. “That’s never gonna happen, because you’ve got good people like me and Rune keeping you straight.” She looked up at Rune. “Isn’t that right?”

“Ja, you betcha.” His eyes were on the horizon in front of us, and looking over the heads of everyone else, he pointed towards the bow. “I think I’m seeing the first fort.”

“Then we should head for the bow,” Mr. Stephens said. “Campeche City is one of the last walled cities you shall ever see.” I needed no prompting, leading the way along the deck until we reached the front. Seagulls were crying overhead as they swept in to greet us, the sea hissing as the ship cut through the waves like a sword towards the sun slowly dropping towards the horizon. I stopped with my hand on the deck rail and gazed out at the passing coast.

Fishing huts lined the water’s edge, these ones made of wood but with equally rickety piers holding canoes and small boats, the native people pointing at us and calling out to others in a language I had never heard before, as guttural as German but with strange sounds. Beyond the seashore the ground rose sharply, becoming a flat topped hill with a stone fort built upon it. The fort was designed in the Spanish style of a five-pointed star, which deflected cannonballs, their own cannons sticking out of the gaps in the walls. Soldiers watched us from the ramparts.

To the right of the hill was the mouth of a river, with buildings and small fields on either side, and to the right of that stood the white stone walls of Campeche City.

At each corner stood a small fortification, with a larger one next to the stone pier extending out into the water, and though the walls blocked our view of the city, I could see the spires of several churches and a lighthouse tower built of white stone.

Further down the coast were more buildings, including a church, and another hill with yet another fort identical to the first, guarding the city from the south. I turned and looked at the others. “I have never seen a city this well protected.”

“Nor I,” Je’kyll said. “A seaborne assault would be foolish.”

“You never know with pirates,” Mr. Stephens replied. “Still, ever since the city installed the second fort earlier this century, no pirate captain has dared breach its defenses.”

“That is because most pirates are lazy,” Captain Lafitte said as he strode up to the bow, “and because ze age of ze pirate is over. Ze patrols are too well armed and ze places friendly to pirates are gone.” He motioned towards the city. “Still, now that Mexico controls ze defenses, they do not have to worry about ze French taking over ze city without a fight.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “I thought the Eldarion-Maya controlled the city.”

He smiled. “Ze governing of it, yes. But ze Mexican army runs ze forts. In time, I expect ze republic to take over the city while ze Eldarions withdraw deeper into their homeland, thinking they can keep ze world at bay. Yet in time, ze world will take them over as it did to their cousins.”

“For the sake of my race, I pray you are wrong,” Catherwood said in a quiet voice.

“As do I, messier. However,” Captain Lafitte’s voice becoming brisk, “that is not my concern. Delivering you safely is, so please go below and get your kits together. We dock within ze hour.”

While most people believe the Orku race originated in Africa, archaeological evidence strongly suggest that they started out on the Mongolian steppes before migrating into the Indian sub-continent, as well as Africa later on.