Andrei, Delphia

It wasn’t long after returning to the church when we realized the leather pouch once containing Delphia’s Tear now contained nothing more than a rock. Naturally, we reported the theft, and we spent the rest of the evening being questioned by the local guard. As a consequence for their negligence, the Amali Partisans were escorted to the Liaison’s estate where they were ordered to remain until Councilwoman Blanchett’s arrival from Palisade. There was nothing I could do to stop them from mentioning Finlay and Sinclair, and I had no choice but to corroborate their story. Meanwhile, the Liaison practised damage control. He encouraged the clergy at the church to continue preparing for the unveiling, insisting his people would locate the thieves and the Tear before the ceremony.

For obvious reasons, I was worried about my friends. Their opportune timing suggested they expected there’d be an attempt to steal the Tear. It, too, explained Finlay’s question about what would happen if it were to go missing. I'd given them the information about when it would arrive, with whom, and what the artifact meant to the people of Delphia. But if not from me, I was certain they’d have found out some other way.

The burning question remained: why hadn’t they turned the would-be thieves in at the Drop, and why was the Tear still missing? According to the Liaison's men, the Administrator hadn't heard anything about any thieves, and he claimed to have not seen Finlay or Sinclair since they'd first arrived on the isle.

I considered the possibility the thieves did have a back-up plan, and they’d waited for me and the Amali guards to leave before enacting it. But when I returned to my room after a night of drama and intrigue, the concern subsided. The dirty clothing Finlay and Sinclair were using as a makeshift bed was no longer piled in the corner. There were no crumbs or empty bottles left on my desk. They'd tidied up as if they knew they wouldn’t be returning. It was almost as if they’d never been there at all. Almost, because there was one piece of evidence left behind.

When I fluffed and rotated my pillow before turning in, I discovered a silky blue ribbon tucked underneath. Sinclair must have noticed my bedtime ritual the night before, and was counting on my being a creature of habit. I’d never once attached value to an object until that moment, and so I untied the strip of blue cloth from around my ponytail and secured the ribbon in its place. Other than it being a pleasant reminder of our brief time together, the gesture also gave me hope that she and Finlay were fine, that they knew what they were getting into, and that they had a plan.

The next day, I took my lunch of a peanut butter sandwich and an apple outside to a private area in the back garden. It was one of the few places in the city where the clergy could get some reprieve from the parishioners. I preferred to take my break later in the afternoon when I was more likely to be alone. Summer being the only season in Delphia, the flowers were in full-bloom, and the tall trees surrounding the garden were bushy and green. After a quick walkabout, I settled on my favourite bench and took one last bite of the yellow fruit.

“Pssst,” from above.

Surely I was hearing things—a rustle in the leaves—so I ignored it and took a bite of my sandwich. You couldn’t get peanut butter anywhere else in Auditioria, and it was the perfect answer for someone with an intolerance to meat protein. The other Celestian Partisans back at Palisade would have benefitted.

“Pssssst,” from above.

Glancing upward, I glimpsed a long, blonde braid dangling between the leaves.

“Mother of Might,” I said. “Sinclair?”

“Oi—be careful tossing my name around like that, Strauss. I’m a fugitive now.”

I sighed, tossing the apple core into the bushes nearby. Food for the birds.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you know where to find me?”

“On account of you wrote about it in your journal.”

“You read my journal?”

“Of course not,” Sinclair said. “You know I can’t read. Gus read your journal.”

I never should have left it unattended, but no matter. I had an exceptional memory, so I flipped through the pages in my mind. There was nothing terribly incriminating, except—

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Sinclair asked.

What could I say? “I lied to my journal,” probably wouldn’t cut it. Therefore, I took another bite of my sandwich, thought while I chewed, and went with, “Have you never looked in a mirror?”

“Not lately.”

“Well...” I shrugged. “You should try it sometime. Now, are we done talking about my journal?”

“We can be,” she said. “Do you really wanna know the reason we’re here?”

“Clearly not to apprehend those two thieves since you're still in town. I doubt it's to steal a thousand year old artifact, either, but to be quite honest, I’m not sure I ever should have asked.”

"Come on, Strauss." Sinclair leaped from the tree. “Where's your sense of adventure?”

Even with a heavy pair of boots, she landed on the grass with barely a sound. Joining me on the bench, Sinclair threw her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. She smelled of alcohol, cloves, old leather, and sweat. Not the most flattering combination on paper, I realize, but it was utterly intoxicating. To me, she smelled of fearlessness and fun.

“You know," she said. "We’re only in this mess because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“You would have let those men get away with the Tear?”

“Why not? It’s just a bloody gem. Them being killed would have been worse.”

“Wouldn’t their being killed have made your job easier?”

“Aye, if only our job was to kill them. But there are about fifteen more defects just like them hiding out on the isle. We're here to find their lair.”

“Oh.” I took another bite of my sandwich.

Sinclair chuckled. “Anyhow—it's no big deal. Gus did some quick thinking, traded out the gem last second, and we offered it up as a gesture of good faith.”

“What, why?”

“To convince them that we were looking for them only because we were planning on defecting. We told them we were hoping they’d take us in. And now we know where they live.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” After snapping her fingers, Sinclair flashed me a chipped-tooth smile. “But that’s why I can’t hang around here much longer. Gus is still with them, and I told them I was coming up for air to get some intel on the fallout from last night. We might as well be a pair of cheeses in a pack of hungry rats. Can’t have them getting suspicious already.”

“Already?” I asked. “You’ve found their hideout, isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Sinclair said. “It isn’t. And I’m only telling you any of this so you stop asking random people good questions and fucking shite up in the process. Also, I need your help.”

“Much as I value our friendship, Sinclair, forgive me if I don’t feel particularly inclined to involve myself any further. As you know, me and ‘fucking shite up’ have a long history.”

Sinclair’s large eyes doubled in size, and for the first time in history, I’d rendered her speechless. She snatched my sandwich, took a bite, and after a few uncertain chews, handed it back. “Whatever that is, it’s bloody strange." She washed the bite down with a sip of Hocks from her flask. “And sticky.”

I nodded and took another bite.

“All right—let me paint you a picture,” Sinclair continued. “There are three ways this can go. One: we send word to Palisade with what we know, and a group of Kelly’s Chasers will be sent to clear out the compound. Believe me when I say, the defects are prepared to fight back and it won’t be pretty. Two: we go about this without your help, get caught, lose their trust and any information we might get to prevent a full-scale rebellion. Three: we do it the only way that makes sense, and unfortunately for all of us, that involves asking for help from your pain in the arse.”

All those years locked up, listening to the Strachan’s stories, and now I had the opportunity to take part. I may not have had much of a sense of adventure, but I did have an insatiable sense of curiosity. “Very well, Sinclair,” I said. “What do you need?”