“We have a problem.”

Nestor slowly took another bite of his porridge as he stared up at Geralt. It had raisins. They were all settled in the attic as they often did in the mornings. Except this time instead of sitting down to chat like he normally did, Geralt was pacing between two of the support beams.

“You mean you have a problem,” Sylvie said. She offered a bowl of porridge to Geralt. “I’m not involved with any of this.”

He took the bowl from her with an incredulous stare. “You’re feeding and abetting us. Right now.”

“Yes. I’m feeding you out of the goodness of my heart and am completely ignorant of any trouble you might have gotten yourselves mixed up in.” She settled down with her bowl of porridge and watched him expectantly.

Geralt just shook his head. “We’ve been found out.”

Nestor choked on his porridge, feeling the rush of adrenaline flood his system. “The buyer found us?”

“No, not him,” Geralt said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Well, probably not him. No, two people from that,” he cast another look at Sylvie. “From that village we visited.”

She raised her eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

“What do they want?” she asked after the pause had stretched on for a few seconds too long.

“They’re after the skeleton treasure,” Nestor realized. For a moment he felt a spike of horror at the thought of the buyer murdering more people, but he shoved it down. They could use this. Strangers in Skystead might be enough to draw the buyer out into the open, and then he could strike.

“No,” Geralt said, pulling Nestor out of his thoughts. “They’re after the griffin.”

“Then give it back to them!” Nestor snapped out before he could bite the words back. How Geralt had managed to keep the monster with everything that had happened was beyond him. Now they were supposed to deal with angry villagers on top of it?

“Are you kidding? She just had her babies, think of the profit, Nestor!”

“She had…the griffin? You stole a griffin? Is that normal?” Sylvie broke in, clearly trying to make sense of the situation.

“It’s not,” Nestor said, giving Geralt an withering look. His friend gazed back, that stupid grin plastered all over his face. “When did it have the babies?”

“They’re about a week old,” Geralt said happily. “You have to come see them, they are adorable!”

Nestor shot a look at Sylvie, she looked as confused as he felt. “That griffin wasn’t tame,” he said slowly, turning back to Geralt. “How in Ignis’ fiery skies are you getting anywhere close to the babies?”

“Well, that’s why I didn’t tell you, right?” Geralt said with a dismissive wave of his hands. “I had to get her to trust me first, but now she’ll let me and a few of the crew play with the babies. You both have got to come see them. There’s this little gray and black one, he is the cutest thing. Come on, I can take you right now!”

Sylvie took a few steps back, alarm flashing through her emerald eyes. “The shop opens in an hour, I’ve got to stay here.”

Geralt nodded, looking slightly disappointed. Then he fixed his gaze on Nestor. “Well, how about our resident fugitive. Surely you can take some time out of your busy schedule of stalking people.”

Nestor cast the lists that he and Sylvie had made a longing look. They were still ruling out different alchemists and diplomats, he didn’t have time to go look at baby monsters.

“Come on, Nestor,” Geralt said in a softer tone. “You need a break from this stuff anyway. Just one morning and you’re back at it.”

“The buyer--”

“Will still be there. Look, I want revenge for Amos as much as you do, but you’re overworking yourself, buddy. You need a break.”

“He’s right,” Sylvie broke in as she moved for the trap door.

“Sylvie!” Nestor protested. He had thought she’d be on his side.

Her cheeks tinged pink. “You need a break! Looking at monsters wouldn’t have been my pick, but if it gets you off the streets and out of my attic, it can’t hurt.”

“That settles it then,” Geralt said, clapping Nestor on the shoulder. “Time for you to meet our tickets out of here come spring.”

Nestor gave a sigh of defeat. “More monsters,” he said dryly. “Yay.”

Geralt winked at him and moved for the loose window pane. He slipped through with ease, as if this were second nature for him.

“Oh, Nestor,” Sylvie said as he moved to join Geralt. He paused and looked at her, she was already halfway down the ladder, only visible from the shoulders up. “If you end up by the markets today, can you see if anyone is selling pumpkins? A lady came into the shop yesterday raving about this bread and I want to try and make it.”

He tried to glare at her, but he couldn’t hold it. “Sure. If I see some I’ll bring them.”

“And try to pay for them.”

Nestor grinned. “No promises.” He ducked out the window and slid down the steampipe, laughing to himself over Sylvie’s exasperated look.

The air was crisp outside, carrying a hint of something sharp. It was enough that the city's few deciduous trees had finally given into the chill and turned fully to their deep reds and burnt oranges despite the city’s heating elements. Autumn had arrived to Skystead.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He stepped out onto the street after fixing on his mask. Geralt would already be halfway to the main gates, it was safer if the crew weren’t spotted together, particularly if there were people in the village that could recognize Geralt and the buyer already had people trying to find Nestor. Which meant he could get to the ship at his own leisurely pace.

Produce stands and a booth with a woman selling jewelry lined the square he had come to. Nestor had grown accustomed to the upper levels of Skystead where everything felt overly neat and refined, with the shops neatly tucked into buildings and the glass skyways spotless. Here, it felt more alive somehow. People from all the levels of Skystead wandered amongst the stalls, recognizable from their elegant clothing, all the way to their simple workers garb.

One of the elite of Skystead was bent over a basket of plump red apples. They glistened tantalizingly in what was left of the morning dew next to a pile of oddly shaped squash. The vendor was busy trying to convince an older woman from the mid section to buy some.

Maybe his friends had been right, Nestor thought idly to himself. He sidestepped a boy eating a candied apple nearly the size of his face, a break was nice.

He let himself enjoy the markets for a while longer before he descended to the city gates. His hand strayed to his mask and he found that he desperately wanted to adjust it. One of the city guards glanced in his direction and his heart rose to his throat. These were the guards tasked with knowing exactly who came and went from the city. What if they recognized him when the upper city guard didn’t? Then the guard was looking past Nestor, his attention as fleeting as his gaze.

Nestor slid into the line of people exiting the city--mostly farmers and a few tradesmen with work outside of Skystead. Did he stick out too much? Only one of the tradesmen wore a mask. But no, the woman at the gates waved him through, hardly seeming to notice him or his mask.

For the first time in nearly a month he was outside the city. He hesitated, feeling almost lost as he gazed at the expansive forest and sprawling farms. Everything was so exposed. How did the crew get around here without being spotted?

“Move it, kid,” a gruff voice said. A man shouldered past him, his arms strong and skin weathered from years of hard labor.

“Sorry,” Nestor mumbled. He stepped to the side, watching through his peripheral vision as the farmer veered off the path and toward one of the fields.

He watched a moment longer before adopting the farmer’s gate and following him into the field. He kept walking past, turning to go slightly south in the direction he had been told the ship was hidden. No point in looking suspicious.

The earth felt surprisingly springy under his feet. The tilled ground was a far cry from the deck of the ship and even further from the streets of Skystead. After a quick glance around him, he slipped the mask into his pocket. It would stand out too much in these fields.

It didn’t seem the farmers paid him any heed mask or no mask. Most had baskets attached to their hips that they were filling with armfulls of parsnips. A chill wind blew past and Nestor shivered against it. Maybe the looming threat of winter pushed their haste? Or maybe strangers wandering through the fields was a common occurrence. Hopefully it wasn’t the rest of the crew.

He shook himself. This was stupid. People didn’t notice you unless you gave them a reason to, and sometimes not even then. Hadn’t Amos driven that into his head again and again? These were just farmers, they weren’t privy to the buyer’s schemes, let alone the fact that they had pirates among them.

A sharp wind blew across as he came to a point just past the fields. The ship should…there. Just beyond a cluster of trees shedding their leaves he spied the deep mahogany wood of the ship. It had been deflated, leaving what had been his home for most of his life looking almost forlorn on the ground.

But at least he had found it.

Nestor climbed onto the deck and rapped three times on the hatch. After a moment, two taps sounded from below and he answered them with four in quick succession. The hatch was thrust open and Geralt grinned up at him.

“Glad to see you made it,” he said.

Nestor smiled back in spite of himself and followed Geralt down. The air felt musty and stale without the sky winds to breathe life back into it. It was also darker than he was accustomed to--half of the oil lamps had been shut off, presumably to conserve their supplies.

There was one other thing missing. “Where’s the crew?” Nestor asked.

Elijah, one of their navigators, stuck his head out from one of the bedrooms. “We’re around,” he said cheerfully. “Most of the crew stays in the city during the day--a few stay there full time. The ship ain’t exactly comfortable grounded like this.”

“Everyone reports in, we haven’t lost anybody,” Geralt said, answering the question before Nestor could ask it. “About six of us sleep here full time and the rest rotate. No one wants a repeat of last year when the city is right there.”

Elijah shook his head. “Last winter was fine. Good time to bond with the crew.”

“Bond to the floor of that cave you mean?” Geralt shot back. “You’re the only one of us content to just sit there all winter.”

“We spend nine months of the year flying. A bit of rest never hurt anyone.” Elijah clapped Nestor on the back. “Look at this one here, a bit of rest and he’s as healthy as a lark. Put on a bit of weight too.”

“I haven’t been resting,” Nestor said before he could stop himself.

Elijah gave him a long, appraising look and then shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Growing boy like you needs better access to food and rest than what you’ve been getting.”

“Geralt is barely three years older than I am.”

“I got after him when he was your age too.”

Nestor stopped himself from replying. He had been taken in much younger than most of the crewmates and was still the youngest on the crew. He would always be seen as the baby.

“Leave him be,” Geralt cut in. “I promised our boy some baby griffins and I aim to deliver.”

Suddenly, being lectured on his weight didn’t sound so bad.

“I’ll send him your way in just a bit, Geralt. There’s a few things I need to ask Nestor.”

Geralt looked at him and shrugged. “Don’t keep him too long.”

Nestor turned to Elijah. A sneaking suspicion of what the man wanted was already forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, son,” Elijah said as soon as Geralt disappeared down the hallway. “You’ve had quite the month.”

“You want to know about the captain,” Nestor said softly.

“Skies, boy, don’t say that so loud!”

Nestor glanced around, but there was no one to overhear.

“Listen, Amos was a good friend, and an even better man, the crew’s been taking his loss pretty hard.”

Bile rose to Nestor’s throat and he forcibly swallowed it back. “They blame me, don’t they?” He had hardly seen any of the crew ever since Sylvie had rescued him. He had been telling himself it was just to keep a low profile, but that wasn’t the full truth, was it?

Elijah’s eyes filled with pity. They were gray, but at that moment they seemed a little more blue. A little more like Amos’s had been. “They know in their hearts what really happened, Geralt explained it to all of us.”

“I didn’t…if there was anything I could’ve done, I would have done it!” His words were becoming rushed as once more he was standing above that horrible scene. What if he hadn’t run? Would Amos still be here?

“Oh, son.” Elijah placed his hand on Nestor’s shoulder. “I know. We know. It’s just going to take the others a while before they realize it too.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Nestor found himself rubbing at the faint scarring on his wrist. Another family destroyed because of him.

“Time heals all wounds,” Elijah said finally. “Now, why don’t you go see those baby griffins? They are mighty cute.”