You are now a level 10 Tinker!

DEX+1

INT+1

You have learned the Jury Rig skill!

Your Jury Rig skill is now level 1!

Threadbare sat on the deck and put his paws over his eyes.

He had just gained four levels in about as many minutes.

And it had taken almost every spare part that they'd pulled out of the dungeons to do so. At the end of it, when he was down to a few key bits and they were at the breaking point he'd chanted “Mend,” over and over to keep them from shattering. It hadn't been enough for some of them, but it had been enough. And now the ship had four working engines... for the moment, anyway.

But he'd refreshed all his spent sanity with this last level, and gained a new skill, so he called up his status screen and concentrated on jury-rig until it popped open.

Jury Rig

Cost: 40 San Duration: 1 Turn/skill level

Sometimes a broken object has to work RIGHT NOW. Activate this skill and punch, kick, or thump whatever broken item you desire, and it will spring back to life and function for a short time period affected by your skill level. An object can only be jury rigged once, though, and after its time is up it must be fixed properly if you wish to get any more use out of it at all.

Theadbare shook his head. So far he didn't think much of the Tinkering job skills. Oh, Tinkering itself was useful, and the Improvised Tools skill had let him at least have a chance at fixing the machinery. But Project Team was only good with groups of Tinkers, and this wouldn't be very useful at all until he trained it up.

He was beginning to see what Celia had meant when she'd referred to Tinker as more of a lifestyle choice than a job.

The ship shuddered along, and he could feel it gaining the speed. No more gunnery orders were being called from the decks above. He'd tried to time the engines to start right as the last fire order was given, but he wasn't sure he'd nailed the timing.

So he checked with his people on the outside.

“Wind's Whisper Cagna. Is everyone all right? Did they survive?”

The reply came immediately.

“We're fine. Good work on the jump. We'll catch up to you with Madeline as soon as possible.”

Madeline? Oh, there was no need for that...

“Wind's Whisper Cagna. She's in my party, I can call her whenever I need. So is Fluffbear.” There was one more member in his party he could call over, technically, but it was of questionable use in this situation. And it would certainly be a bad idea to summon it on a ship of this size.

There was no reply. Either he'd moved out of range, or Cagna had nothing else to say. But Threadbare had learned the important thing; all his friends had survived.

The last few days had been a series of ups and downs, variations, and so he just sat there for a second and clung to the feeling of knowing his hard work had been worth it. At least for now, anyway.

Noises from above drew his attention. The crew was getting things ready for a proper flight.

Threadbare recalled how messy it had been the last time he'd been above decks, and they were managing the hasty retreat from Cylvania City.

I have a little time here, he thought to himself.

And there was one person whom he hadn't spent much time with. One who the others were certain had answers.

He looked over to Renny. “Follow me please. I have some talking to do, with someone who's quite familiar with Celia.”

The cargo hold was empty of people when he got there. Empty, save for the beastkin in the cage, right where he'd left her a day ago.

And her red eyes blinked in the dim light, as a smile spread across her face at Threadbare's approach. “Oh thank goodness you are all right,” Jean said. “I heard the cannon. I was very worried.”

“My friends tried to rescue me,” Threadbare said.

“Did they survive?”

“Oh yes, everyone's all right,” Threadbare said, as Renny pattered up behind him, playing the part of a servitor golem.

“That is a relief.” Jean sagged back in her cage. “Anne is more formidable than I thought. I understand now why he sent agents across the ocean to recruit her to this task.”

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

“He.” Threadbare said, clambering up on a nearby crate, and surveying the cargo hold. Empty, as far as he could tell. “We have a little time before anyone comes down here, I think. Can you tell me why some man I've never met is kidnapping me?”

Jean's face twisted, and she bit her lip, looking away.

“What's wrong?”

“I do not know for certain, and it is safer for me if I do not speculate. Not here, not now.”

“We're alone down here.”

“They could be hiding,” Jean said, shaking. Her eyes darted back and forth as she looked around the room, ears twitching.

Threadbare started to tell her that no, he was certain they were alone in here, then stopped.

From what she'd said before, what he'd gathered from the others and her actions, Jean knew Celia well. He had to be very cautious here, or she would suspect the truth.

Or was it better to tell her the truth? No, no, he didn't think so. She was already nervous and frightened. There was no telling what the others could intimidate out of her, if they put their minds to it. He didn't trust Anne not to bully Jean, if the pirate got it in her head that it was the best course of action for her ship or her crew.

So he asked himself, what would Celia do?

“Oh stop that,” he said, trying to sound exasperated. “This isn't the time to be coy. I want to know what I'm walking into.”

Jean blinked at him, uncertain. “What?”

“Don't just sit there and feel sorry for yourself. My friends are putting their lives on the line, the least you can do is tell me why they're having to go through all this trouble.”

CHA+1

Jean's eyes filled with tears, and Threadbare quivered with the need to tell her it was all right. Tell her that he was sorry, and that she could take her time.

But no, he knew that being soft-hearted here would help nothing. And so, though every instinct of his being, every part of him that was made to comfort and care urged him to take it back, he didn't.

For this was another lesson he had learned from both Celia and his work on the Council; sometimes you had to be firm, for both your sake and the sake of others.

And soon Jean gathered herself, and mopped her face.

“I'm telling the truth,” she said. “I do not know why he has ordered you to be taken. But I can tell you who he is, and perhaps you may draw your own conclusions.”

Threadbare looked to Renny. “Watch the door please, come back and nudge me if anyone interrupts us.”

Renny scampered off, as Jean spoke.

“What do you know of Belltollia?”

“It's where you're from,” Threadbare told her. “It's a small city-state in what used to be the Broke-Crown Borderlands. You're recovering from when dragons burned your lands twenty years ago. And there's a lot of rabbit beastkin that live there.”

“It was supposed to only be rabbit beastkin,” Jean said. “I am too young to have lived through it, but my grandmother taught me well. Rabbit beastkin were the original settlers, driven out of other lands after... disagreements. We had hoped to find our own land there, in that thicket-rich meadow that nobody else wanted. We had hoped to have our own kings and queens to guide us into a better future.”

“But something went wrong,” Threadbare guessed.

“At first it went well. Nobody cared about us, when we were a few scattered tribes of rabbitkin coming together. But then we started breeding, and soon we were many. It wasn't only rabbit beastkin that came to live there, and we were between many countries, so finding mates or dalliances was easy. And in a few short years we had numbers enough to expand our borders, numbers enough for a standing army. Soon we no longer had to journey to find mates; they came to us. In fact, every traveler that came through our lands was taxed; adult males of compatible species could choose to pay the tax with a night of pleasure if they wished. This worked well for us, but it made our neighbors nervous.”

“And in time we had our first king. A male was born to one of the powerful families. I do not know if you know how significant that is.”

“It's supposed to be very significant. Stormanorm III told me about some of it,” Threadbare hesitated. “I'm sure he left out parts.”

“They are the only ones who can carry a family name,” Jean said. “It is a remnant of the culture we got from humans, an idea that we seized upon, and decided was our way. The strongest tradition we have, and one that King Bell used to unite us. We were proud to be his people. And our kingdom had its proper name.”

She sighed, and lowered her head, her ears drooping. “And that was our first mistake.”

“Naming your kingdom?”

“Oh yes. When we were refugees and settlers and, let's face it, bandits, our neighbors could ignore us. Our land wasn't that good. We had no precious metals, or rare natural resources. And we were very snowy and cold in winters, with fairly short summers. There was no point in conquering us.

“But then we gave ourselves a name, and a flag, and when you do that you declare that you are more than bandits. You say that you have nobles, and to have nobles is to have an ever-growing need for more land, more power, more things that mean that sooner or later you will start struggling with your neighbors because eventually there will not be enough to share.”

“It came to war, then,” Threadbare said.

“Of a sort. Our neighbors to the north were unified in their elevation of Nurph above all other gods. It took very little effort to persuade the rich and fat churches up there to throw their weight behind a... moral crusade. Our passion tax was the pretense, and scores of murdering, raping, and pillaging crusaders were the result.” she spat on the floor of the deck. “No one kingdom claimed us; we were too poor for that. They would have lost money ruling over us. Instead the church itself set up a pontifex to 'govern and guide' us. I do not think I need to tell you how that went. We have several plays that you have seen from that era.”

“The Hutch Back of the No Ear Dame, and Less Miserable Buns?” Threadbare guessed.

“Oh yes,” Jean said, with a fond smile. “And they showed the heroes that struggled against the church, and the nobles who came to rule when they bribed the church.”

“How was the church so corrupt?” Threadbare asked. “They were Clerics of Nurph. Isn't he the god of fair play?”

“He is the god of fairness, but he still relies upon servants to do his bidding. And servants can lose their way. Servants can be corrupted. Fair... what is fair? Fair to one person is unfair to another. The god of 'well, actually,' is wishy-washy,” she spat again. “He changes his mind, and true, some of it is due to learning new facts. But those who serve him go one of two ways, eventually. They either become so sure of themselves that they determine what is fair without taking into consideration the opinions of others, or they become so jaded at their impossible and never ending task that they learn how to play the game, how to manipulate the perceptions of others to convince them that their way is fairest.”

Threadbare wasn't sure he agreed with this, entirely. He'd known a few Nurphites in his years, and they had seemed like basically good people. But then, none of the ruling council in Cylvania were Clerics of Nurph, so perhaps it was different where she was from.

“But they are of no consequence anymore,” Jean said, with a wicked smile. “Fuzzymodo and Bun Valbun were two of the heroes we rallied around. But it was the third, that ensured our freedom from the church. And the shining future of our land. The one who came to be called 'The Phantom of the Lop Ear.' And it is he I serve, and he who desires you to come to him now.”

And it was just at that point that Renny nudged his shoulder.

“Someone's here,” he whispered, and turned to face the door.

This was progress, he thought, but he knew there was more to the story. He'd have to watch and wait for his opportunity to speak to her alone again...