“What awaits us at Ghastly Wail?”

  “Anything, kid. Cards and gambling, booze and women, thieves and rogues of all sorts and kinds! I don’t want to ruin the surprise for you, you better feel the place yourself. Despite whatever horrors you might expect, the place is safe - as long as you don’t start trouble on your own. But I do have a piece of advice - keep your coins as deep as you can, and check them regularly.”

  Joe nodded, pushing the pouch underneath the chest armor, as deep as he possibly could.

  “Anything else?”

  “Your shiny armor. Keep it hidden for a time being. You can leave the weapons - I bet some parties have discovered their existence way ahead of us since they love to play dangerously within the borders of Sumeilien. Get yourself something to cover it, and use your new companion, it will work nicely.”

  He could use some fabric from the Hold, no problem. Joe was feeling restless - he wanted to witness the place. That one place, that took them at least three days to reach. The road was bumpy and long, but they never stopped pushing forward, and finally, he was going to see that Holy Grail of a location, that any self-respecting adventurer had to visit at least once in his life - the pirate town.

  If it was a town, that is. He still had no idea, but judging by the way Ralf had described Ghastly Wail, it was definitely a hub of some sort. One, filled with types of men he would never dare to approach in his old life.

  Feeling brave, soldier? Keep your eyes on your own back over there.

  Right. He didn’t want to get stabbed in a dark corner. It would be pretty painful.

  …Really, dear?

  Empathy, don’t.

  But first, he had to prepare properly.

  “Ralf, is there anything left in the Kitchen?”

  “Aye. The morning peace of meat. It’s right there, on the table.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  The cook waved his hand, sending him off with a grin.

  It didn’t take long. The shower, the food, getting some old dusty black fabric in a corner of the Hold - it took him thirty minutes for everything.

  He reloaded his weapons and got more ammo. Ralf advised him to stock up on bombs too, but why would he need them in the place, that was full of people, presumably? The cook shrugged, answering him that anything could happen. Might as well.

  His colorful armor was hidden, both on his chest and his arm. Ralf snickered, calling him a ‘thief with a rifle’. Joe couldn’t really disagree with such a title. The only non-black piece of clothing was his light-gray shirt, and it too was covered by his chest piece deep beneath.

  There wasn’t much else to do. Joe and Ralf left the Arsenal together and went upstairs to the Control Room.

  The place was crowded, unusually enough. Joseph noticed several familiar faces - Xander and Pat, Theo and Alchfrid, Roth and Grigory were all there, discussing their current circumstances.

  His gaze stopped on the particular member of the team - one he did not see before anywhere. This person was standing out among the crew like a phone pole in a jungle. And that’s with the rich collection of various freaks of nature around him - be it the literal walking tree, the bipedal lynx with scale-like fur and a sharp tail, the reptilian with a maw from nightmares, or a human, that on the first glance looked like he was literally put and melded together from pieces.

  Said member of the team was taller than Joe by at least twenty centimeters, had four long, thin arms and two legs of the exact same length and shape. Its arms had long noodle fingers - five of them, with talon-like sharp points at the end and three joints on each.

  The head had four giant ‘eyes’, pointed in four main directions. Each ‘eye’ had a thin iron net on them, protecting them from harm. The head itself was covered above by four long flat cones, extended from the middle to protect the ‘eyes’ from above as well.

  The upper body of this being caught Joseph’s attention the most. The vitreous crystals, peeking from ten round bumps on the shoulders - five on each side - were the final proof that Joe needed to be absolutely convinced, that whatever this person was, it wasn’t born in a natural way. The fact that it was covered in dirty stainless steel from top to bottom only solidified his conclusion.

  In short, he was staring at the robot.

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  The robot stared at him with its front camera.

  The long silence hung between them.

  Joe heard a chuckle behind him.

  “Don’t just stand there like a cow in a butchery! Joe, Jackal. Jackal, Joe.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  His voice was just what Joe expected - cold and mechanical, like an automatic announcer. Perhaps, they never outfitted it… him?… her?… gender, no gender?… with a more emotional voice box.

  Joe shook the offered hand. No surprises there - metal all the way.

  “Thank you. Just so we clear - are you he, she, or it?”

  The robot tilted its head.

  “'He' is preferred.”

  Joe nodded. Sure, he didn’t mind. He finally met the elusive mechanic that Xander was talking about.

  “I see. They put a robot to fix a ship. Metal to metal, huh?”

  “Robot? What is a robot?”

  Huh. That wasn’t in his plans…

  “Oh, it’s… the term my people used to refer to beings that do not come from nature… I assume you are constructed?…”

  Jackal lowered his head.

  “Correct. I am a Forged Being.”

  He was talking slowly, one short sentence at a time. The capacity of his voice projector was insufficient for complex speeches, Joe figured.

  “I have heard about you.”

  Ralf chuckled behind Joe’s back upon hearing Jackal’s words.

  “You are a local celebrity now, Joe. That Archrhyder and the weapons you got poured a lot of fame onto your fledgling legend.”

  Joe felt his blood heating up. He shook his head.

  “What about Pat and Irfan? Without them, I’d have no chance.”

  He caught a wink on Pat’s mischievous face.

  “Oh, they got their share too, but what I’m saying, kid… you’ve been here for what, three days now? Four? Almost four, right. Now picture this - a shallow nobody gets slammed and picked up by Xander during a usual raid, dropped in the Medbay, half-dead and unconscious, then fully recovers within mere hours, fights in his first shootout ever, almost craps his pants, then goes to the island the very same day, just a few hours later! The island, that screams ‘Death here!!!’ louder than an Imperial announcer! And then this nobody comes back with a truck of loot, the body of rarely seen dangerous predator he personally stabbed and discovers several world-changing revelations along the way! While the strike team, which should be way more competent, is found to be half-dead and half-injured! What else should people think, kid?!”

  “Well, if you put it like that…”

  Now that Ralf laid it out straight, he could see why his success would be a rich fuel for gossip. Even Joe himself found it ridiculous to hear!

  He wasn’t going to write it down as his own achievement. He was very well aware, that Fate was dragging all three of them around with Its beefy hands all the way through their trial. If even one variable didn’t get the right value…

  What if Nature’s Bane wasn’t volatile enough?

  What if Achrhyder attacked them before they even arrived at the estate?

  What would happen, if the washing device was somewhere else, not waiting for them under the reliable roof of the brick shack? If the device wasn’t on the island at all, or never existed in the first place? Then what would he do?

  What if Lady Edna wasn’t as cooperative? Admittedly, she agreed to help them with a fair amount of reluctance on her part.

  Joe sighed. One just had to take a long look at the mangled bodies of Rodger and Duncan to figure how it would play out.

  Jackal was still staring at him. The sight of a camera, that was keeping its focus only on him, on a mechanical body with imposing metallic claws wasn’t giving him a lot of comfort.

  “So… do you have anything else to ask?…” That didn’t sound particularly brave…

  The Forged Being turned its head to the left and then to the right. Joe nodded. He guessed that Jackal was imitating the gesture of denial.

  The mechanic then turned to Alchfrid. Ralf tapped Captain’s shoulder and joined their conversation, the specifics of which Joe couldn’t quite catch.

  So he stepped closer to the windows.

  The Threshold was its usual self. Still the same veil of colors, flowing into one another, still filled with stars, still with the good old red sun on the background. This time, the void chose to dress into the amalgamation of purple and green, wrapping itself in the mesmerizing aurora. The pattern of light was forming a spiral, stretching into the infinity of space. Their ship was flying right in the middle of the imaginary tunnel, giving Joe the impression that Threshold itself was guiding them forward.

  He was grateful for that. Maybe some would find it ridiculous, having any feelings towards the alien distortion of nature, but it felt appropriate for him.

  Joe shuddered, upon realizing one simple thought.

  He was getting accustomed to this world at a frightening speed.

  “...And the launchers at the front, what do we need?… That will be… Right… Fix them… I see, I see…”

  Joseph was catching pieces of the conversation between Alchfrid and Jackal, but aside from the word ‘launchers’ repeated multiple times, he couldn’t discern other details of their discussion. His hearing wasn’t going to break through the wall of noises and chatter behind him. And so he didn’t bother.

  Xander came up to him. He was inspecting Threshold, taking in the image of colorful serenity.

  “What are you going to do in Ghastly Wail?”

  Joseph shrugged. He had never been there to begin with?

  “No idea. What could one do in there?”

  Xander leaned on the railing near the window.

  “Gambling away all of your coins would be a fun start. Or drink some ‘Grutch’, if you are brave enough and don’t value your life. Compete with drunkards and drown yourself in barrels of beer. Play ‘Battalions and Daemons’ with cutthroat gentlemen, who are not above using certain advantages. Visit the local Left Market. The money you earned might get you something useful. Or not. Depends on a seller.”

  “Left Market?”

  What kind of place was that? Joe had a faint idea that it might be a name for a black market of sorts, but it didn’t explain the ‘Left’ bit.

  Xander chuckled after he heard the question.

  “The officially signed Empire-controlled markets are affectionately called ‘Right Markets’ within our friendly community. I think you realize, why.”

  “Because they are official, right.”

  The quartermaster nodded.

  “Indeed. While any Left Market takes its share too, it doesn’t ask for more than a fixed amount. No taxes for bringing goods or crossing borders with a hostile country. Pay a basic fee for a spot in the place you want to sell your stuff; then a certain percent from the profit you’ve made. Percent is counted at the end of each day you spend there. Do all that properly and you are free to trade whatever. If you are in good standing with local… organizers… yes, let’s call them that - you might get a good deal with them too, for a lower fee and profit share.”

  Capitalism at its finest. Even the pirate economy was corrupted. Who could have thought, Darling?

  You tell me, Memory. Where does one find hope, when even vile rogues from the abyss fell prey to the clanking beast of Midas?

  Poetic, Honey. No idea. Within guns and swords, maybe?

  Joe nodded to himself and turned his head to Xander, who was scratching his chin, staring outside.

  “Do you have anything you want to do there?”